Leviathan (Harbingers) , livre ebook

Baker Publishing Group - Bill Myers

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49 pages

English

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Description

The Harbingers team heads to Hollywood for a taping of the new TV pilot Live or Die, the Ultimate Reality. Little do they realize the depths of darkness they are about to enter--a darkness that, unless they stop it, will soon spread across the globe.

Sujets

Thriller

Informations

Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	05 décembre 2017
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781441231390
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	4 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0086€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
© 2017 Bill Myers
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www .bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2017
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-3139-0
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the authors’ imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Studio Gearbox
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
Epilogue
Selected Books by Bill Myers
Back Ad
C HAPTER 1
Y ou okay?”
Daniel said nothing. No surprise there. Just kept starin’ out the window of the plane. But the workout he was givin’ the napkin in his hand said somethin’ was up.
I motioned to the hills across the city. “Check it out. That’s the Hollywood sign over there.”
Nothing. Vintage Daniel.
We were a minute or so from landing, so I capped my pen and closed the sketchpad. I’d been drawing some sort of octopus thing. In the old days it would have been for somebody’s tattoo. Not now. Now the stuff I see in my head has nothing to do with tatting somebody’s future . . . and everything to do with our group’s assignments.
The plane shuttered and jerked. Not a big deal. ’Cept I’d be more comfortable if Daniel hadn’t muttered something.
“What’s that?” I said.
He stayed glued to the window and repeated it. Something like Leviathan , whatever that means.
The plane bucked harder. I sucked in my breath. Me and flying aren’t the best of friends. Though you wouldn’t know it by the free miles I’ve been racking up.
None of us knows who’s footing the bill for these flights or paying the expenses when we get there. But we got ideas. For starters, they’re the good guys. Least that’s what we hope. And they’re fighting off what we think are the bad guys—something called The Gate, a group that’s got lots of nasty ideas and nasty dudes . . . some who aren’t so human.
’Course we got some unearthly types on our side, too. Seems more than just our world is interested in what’s going on down here.
The plane leaped again and dropped—this time a couple seconds. Enough for people to shout and scream. ’Cept Daniel. He just kept lookin’ out the window. Only now his lips were movin’ a mile a minute. I can’t hear words, but I know he’s prayin’. Or talkin’ to his imaginary friends (who we’re findin’ out aren’t always so imaginary).
Another drop.
“Daniel!”
He reached out and took my hand. A nice, sweet gesture . . . before we die.
More bucking and falling. The screams became nonstop.
Out the window I saw a freeway with cars—so close we could touch ’em. The plane’s engines revved hard, throwing me back into the seat. The pilot was gunning it, trying to reach the runway.
The whole plane banged like we hit something. But we were still picking up speed, folks screamin’, some cryin’ out to sweet Jesus for mercy. A second later, we slammed onto the ground. I got thrown forward, seat belt digging into my gut. The engines shrieked, reversing thrust. The plane shook and shimmied like a car with bad brakes.
But we were down. And in pretty good shape—’cept for the weeping and swearing . . . and the smell of vomit across the aisle.
Daniel leaned back into the seat and closed his eyes.
I took a swallow and turned to him. “We good?”
He nodded. Took a deep breath and blew it out.
I did, too.
The pilot came on, all apologies. Something about wind shears that may or may not be true. Who knows? Who cares. I stole another look at Daniel, his face all wet and shiny, but he seemed relaxed.
I let go of his hand, wiped my palms, and took another breath. Long and slow.
Just another day at the office.
CHAPTER 2
B renda!”
I braced myself as Cowboy, aka Tank, aka Bjorn Christensen, threw his grizzly-bear arms around me. (I’m as fond of hugging as I am flying.) We’d had plenty of talks about boundaries, but the big fellow could never quite seem to get it. And to be honest, with our last few assignments, I felt less and less inclined to remind him. I was changin’. Guess we all were.
“You’re late, Barnick,” the professor barked. He’s also part of the team. But if he’s changin’, he’s doing a lot better job at keeping it hidden.
“Professor, you can’t blame them for the airline being late.” That’s Andi Goldstein. If the professor was the team’s Eeyore, Andi, his bubbly, redheaded assistant, was our Tigger. But a whole lot smarter—‘specially when it comes to computers and in seeing patterns just about everywhere.
The man grunted and headed for the doors. “Limo is waiting.”
I turned to Andi. “Bad day?”
She shrugged. “With him, who can tell?”
We headed out of the terminal. After Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride on the plane, what I wouldn’t give for a smoke. But we were late and there was no way the professor was going to wait.
Outside it was typical LA—noise, busses, taxis. And people. Way too many for my taste. It’s not that I’m anti-social it’s, well, let’s just say the sun ain’t the only reason I like livin’ in the desert.
We followed the professor to a stretch limo waiting at the curb and climbed inside. Memories of our last gig, the one with the fog creepies in San Diego, came to mind. Needless to say, I hoped this mission would be a lot safer.
“So what’s up?” I slipped off my backpack as the driver shut the door. “And why all the urgency? They gave us less than twenty-four hours this time.”
No one had an answer, which was pretty typical. ’Course we could refuse and decline any time we wanted, but they (whoever “they” were) knew we wouldn’t. The mystery and excitement were just too much for us. Like it or not, we’d become adventure junkies.
We always complained. But we never declined.
I glanced at Daniel. He’d already settled in, making himself comfortable playing one of his blow-’em-up app games.
“You know that will rot his brain,” the professor said.
I ignored the man. A good tactic when I could pull it off.
Andi read from her tablet. “This came in just before you landed: ‘Today, 2:00 p.m., Everbright Studios invites you and your party to be our guests for a VIP viewing of the final rehearsal and taping of the new reality TV show Live or Die: The Ultimate Reality .”
“A television show?” I said. “We’ve come all this way for a television show?”
Andi kept reading. “Following rehearsal, after a gourmet dinner with cast and crew, you will be escorted to front-row seats for the 7:00 p.m. taping.”
I frowned. “And our purpose?”
She shook her head. “This is all we have.”
I threw a glance to the professor. I now saw why the resident control freak was a bit cranky.
“And this limo?” I asked.
“The show’s executive producer”—Andi glanced back to her tablet—“a Mr. Norman Anderson, ordered it for us.”
“But why?”
Always the optimist, Cowboy chimed in. “Guess we’ll just have to wait till we get there to find out. But a TV show, that’ll be kinda fun, right?”
Fun wasn’t exactly the word that came to mind. Like it or not, I was already catching the professor’s negativity—something I wasn’t thrilled about.
“Hey, check it out.” Cowboy scooted to the closest window. “Look at them cool pillars.”
Outside there were a bunch of big plastic pillars along the roadway. All different sizes. Even in the afternoon sun, you could see they were lit inside by colored lights that were changing from purple . . . to green . . . to red.
“The LAX pylons,” Andi said. She went back to tapping on her tablet.
Cowboy pulled out his cell phone, made a quick pan across our faces, and began videotaping the pillars out the window.
Andi found a link and began to read: “Originally constructed in the year 2000, the pillars range from twenty-five to sixty feet tall. They were designed to give the feeling of taking off in an airplane. They culminate in a circle of fifteen one-hundred-foot columns that represent the fifteen city council districts, while simultaneously bringing to mind ancient sights such as Stonehenge.” She paused and looked out the window. “Pretty neat art, huh?”
I didn’t know what to say.
The professor did. “How much?”
“What’s that?”
“The price tag. What was the expenditure for this ‘neat art’?”
She glanced at her tablet. “Fifteen million dollars.”
He looked back out the window and muttered, “Welcome to Los Angeles.”
A moment later the TV monitor in the back blasted on. It was a scene from the first Superman movie. It only lasted a couple seconds, then went off. I glanced to Daniel. Then to Cowboy. Nobody had touched the controls.
“Well,” the professor said, “that was certainly—”
The TV came on again. This time it was one of those old Rocky movies.
“Andi?” the professor said.
It went off.
“I’m on it.” She scooted to the control console and examined the glowing buttons.
The monitor came back on again. Longer. It was that weird Leonardo DiCaprio movie with the spinning top.
Then off.
“Andrea!” the professor repeated.
“I don’t—”
Then back on. Some British sci-fi thing with a flying telephone booth.
And off.
Cowboy and Daniel moved over to help her.
Then on. I recognized this one immediately. It was a scene from the first Hunger Games.
Then off.
The professor grabbed the limo phone and spoke into it. “Driver, will you please—”
Back on again, drowning out his voice. It was some cartoon with talking ants.
And off.
“—but surely you have a master control up there that—”
And on. Another Rocky movie. Newer.
Andi scooted from the console and rummaged through what looked like a silverw