LIVING BANNER
A Time-slip Novel of Historical Suspense
Chapter One
1 a.m., April 19, 2002
Outskirts of Albany, NY
Our ambulance hurtled through the early morning blackness; the siren’s incessant scream could be my own.
Swallowing the bile in the back of my throat, I stared out the back windows at the eerie shadows dancing in our wake and cursed my father for my new reality: a well-respected member of academia running for his life like a common criminal.
I buried my face in my hands.
Lorie jounced against my arm, and whispered, “Steve, I don’t think I can do this.”
I slipped my arm around my dear wife, who refused to let me endure this hell alone, and kissed her tear-stained cheek. I choked out, “We’ll be okay, honey. I’ll help you.”
The agent pretending to be a medical attendant winked. “Sir, just follow my lead. We’re going to make this little accident look genuine. The media will be all over it.”
If he’s right and this “little accident” gives us the time advantage we sorely need, what happens next? Will we be on the run for the rest of our lives? If only Dad had trusted me with the truth!
The siren’s abrupt silence meant only one thing—we reached the cliff.
I broke out in a cold sweat and squeezed Lori’s hand.
As the ambulance slowed to a crawl, the driver barked out, “Get ready to jump.”
Lorie trembled. “I love you,” she said.
We crouched on the floor as the agent unlatched the door and eased into a sitting position. As soon as he dropped to the road and jogged behind, it was my turn. I took a deep breath and maneuvered my long legs over the edge. The agent ran alongside, helping me find traction on the loose gravel.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the driver’s door opening. But I focused on Lori, stretching my arms toward her. Within seconds, she was resting in my embrace—shaken, but safe.
The agent patted my shoulder. “Are you both okay?”
We nodded, and he pointed toward a green minivan idling near a clump of trees. “Go with God, my friends.”
Before I could express our thanks, he and our ambulance driver were racing toward the other side of the road where a shabby, faded pick-up waited.
Suddenly, the black coolness exploded with a burst of light and the sounds of crashing metal, breaking glass.
I grabbed Lorie’s hand. We sprinted to the van and tumbled into the back seat.
Our new driver yelled, “Hold on!” and hit the gas. He never faltered.
We escaped into the night, leaving the precious remnants of our lives scattered across the countryside like a broken strand of pearls on a marble floor.