There's action aplenty in this future-Earth science fiction. Astrounauts Billy Walker and his friend James Clinton Poole become embroiled in political intrigue and threats on Earth and on an alien planet. It's a hard/soft SF combination as our protagonists travel through space and deal with a unique alien culture.

When Earth's deep space probes send information about the whereabouts of the Cyclopeans (who, ten years before, devastated Earth), Poole is motivated by revenge. Poole's father was killed in the fighting--fighting in which Earth forces drove away the aliens in a grand battle at Hudson Bay. James sets off in a prototype space vehicle TC-111 to find the Cyclopean home world and destroy as many of the creatures as he can.
His friend Billy Walker is left behind on Earth, impatiently awaiting the completion of the second of the new class of ships; he plans to go out as backup for his friend.

Earth politics push actions to desperate measures. Rowena Surguy--top news reporter--gets a tip about a secret space something called Redstone; she calls Billy to see if he knows about it. They are immediately in danger and it seems the only hope is to leave the planet and follow their friend James on his mission.

Womack has given a touch of the past by having both Walker and Poole as The Beatles fans. Lyrics are sparingly used, and Poole even carries his guitar with him into space. Womack has also added elements of introspection, especially with James Poole, who is so driven by revenge. Along with neatly placed (and not too long) flashbacks about Poole's childhood and his relationship with this father, the reader gets to see Poole mature. Redemptive elements make changes in James' outlook.

The intricate story is filled with action and accessory characters who add background and drama. Most notable are the Cyclopeans, (who are embroiled in their own mishmash of power politics), and LM--the live computer that runs James Poole's ship. Her (James christened it female) involvement in the thrilling finale of this story is unexpected and it creatively entices the reader to the next Womack book--a sequel--due out in 2006.

- Review by Arryn Heath, author of the Science-Fiction novel DAUGHTER OF THE STONE

Set in 2218, ten years after a horrific alien invasion, CYCLOPEAN RESCUE is a futuristic-science fiction novel that keeps readers turning the pages at a feverish pace to learn more about the hero’s quest for revenge in the name of family. James Poole’s motivations are strong and believable, and he never veers from his journey for the truth and to avenge his beloved father’s death. Despite the fact a decade has passed, the memory lives strong in James’s mind, and he is more determined than ever to find those responsible. His father was a war hero, and James proves he is made of the same honorable stuff on countless occasions. This poignant theme will resonate with readers and draw them deeper in Steven Womack’s enthralling story.

James, Billy, Rowena, LM and a splendid cast of secondary characters show depth in their fictional personas, and their emotions are palpable. Throughout their voyage, they slough off the fear pervading many scenes and remain steadfast in their personal and collective convictions. The magical imagery used in this novel, as well as references to the Beatles, will garner CYCLOPEAN RESCUE a vast readership and captivate readers of all ages. As well, setting details are well rendered.

Though this story is a futuristic one, the individual themes explored in the book’s pages are pertinent in today’s society. Reaching your destiny despite setbacks. Banishing fear of change and allowing for the resultant self-growth. Embracing the fact that facing the unknown often leads to an inner peace. Struggling with desertion/abandonment in the quest for a higher plain or more important goal.

While reading this book, you will find yourself swept into an “otherworld” rife with problems and pitfalls. Steven Womack skillfully delivers a story many will remember long after the last page is read.

- Review by Shawna Moore, Author of Romance and Women’s Fiction.

Ten years and humanity is still recovering. Ten years and the hatred still burns for the alien race that attempted to annihilate Earth.

James Poole has spent the last ten years planning and training for the chance to exact his revenge. The Cyclopeans invaded Earth and slaughtered billions, his father included. The aliens were defeated but the losses suffered by humans were unimaginable, unforgivable. James is determined that, given the chance, he will mete out the same level of devastation on them. The development of the TC-111 just might be his chance. This new ship takes him deep into space where he intends to find and destroy all Cyclopeans. However, revenge is never easy and what James finds will challenge his humanity and his courage. What happened ten years ago is nothing compared to what he must face now.

Steven Douglas Womack has brought to life an expansive novel that is filled with imagery and action. The author has taken an old storyline and infused it with new heroes and menacing villains. The reader is thrown into the aftermath of a war that is just a precursor of what is to come. The threat against James takes many forms and readers will become engrossed in his fight for redemption. The writer’s style builds tension and allows readers to experience the story from a variety of perspectives. The characters are as diverse as the world Mr. Womack has created. The majority of the plot is action driven with a few sojourns into the past to bring to light the characters’ motivations. Mr. Womack has done a great job capturing the emotions of both sides and portraying them to the reader. The insight into the Cyclopean world is especially menacing as the true threat to humanity is realized by the reader. There are times when the storyline becomes very cumbersome to keep straight, but this may be due in part to this work being the beginning of a series. The variety and complexity of this story ensures that many characters and situations will be revisited in the sequel to Cyclopean Rescue, Cyclopean Revenge. This reviewer looks forward to seeing what comes next for humanity.

Reviewed by: Amanda, Fallen Angel Reviews

PRELUDE

BILLY WALKER STROLLED out of Hardwickes Pipe and Tobacco with a box of expensive Cuban cigars and crossed the bricked street of Monument Circle. He glanced at his watch. His friend was late. The Great Indianapolis sky was crystal blue, and the early April air was mild and fresh. But it was too windy for him to feel warm. He wasn’t used to wind. There was no wind in space.

Billy walked to one of the buffalo-head fountains at the base of the 19th century Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Memorial, which gave Monument Circle its name. He casually surveyed the tall, gleaming stone column and ornate statues of the monument. Workers hus-tled about the old edifice, putting up decorations for the impend-ing Hudson Bay Day. It was the worldwide holiday celebrated every April 14th, and this year’s observance promised to be spe-cial. It was the tenth anniversary of the great victory that had saved humanity. But he knew his friend would do no celebrating.

It was a Saturday, nearly noon, and most of the bankers, busi-nessmen, politicians and assorted elitists who populated Monument Circle during the week were nowhere to be seen. Probably, Billy mused, they had escaped the city for their estates along the Ohio River. But the Circle was still crowded with tourists and colorful street vendors. Children raced up and down the old Indiana lime-stone steps of the ancient monument, and the smell of foods cook-ing from vendor’s carts filled the air. For most of those around him, Billy imagined, it was an idyllic, even glorious day.

He reached out and rubbed the nose of the buffalo head, as water fell from the mouth of the old metal beast into a small basin. It was an old good luck gesture. All things considered, Billy fig-ured, he needed all the luck he could get.

He felt out of place. Billy and his tardy friend had been back on Earth just a week, and he wasn’t quite used to normal gravity yet. They’d spent the past six months in space near Pluto, test-piloting two new prototype fighters. Billy had loved every nano-second of this secret mission. He wished he were still in the cockpit of his ship, racing his friend through space. But the tests were over. Alas, he reflected, they could be stuck in Great Indianapolis most of the summer while their ships were modified.

That wasn’t all bad, he thought with a smile as he brushed back a strand of his dark hair. He could see Rowena.

Then, finally, he saw his friend, about a block away. James Clinton Poole walked with purpose down Market Street toward the Circle, with the ancient but still imposing State Capitol Build-ing behind him. James was an imposing figure too. The sun seemed to bounce lightly off his dark blonde hair, creating a hint of a halo. It was like a mystical sign that proclaimed that this was someone special, someone to be reckoned with. Billy watched him move through the crowded sidewalk effortlessly, confidently. People seemed to voluntarily get out of his way, as the Red Sea obediently parted for Moses. It was as if they sensed his presence and parted a path for him automatically.

And James certainly had presence. He was tall, with square shoulders, powerful arms, and an athletic quickness. His face had chisled, rugged features that were handsome, graced with a touch of warmth and humor behind his light baby-blue eyes. But of course his piece de resistance was his smile. Bold and friendly at the same time, his famous grin was the goal of the paparazzi and set the hearts of women around the world pounding with fantasy and de-sire. It was said to even be powerful against the most reluctant of minds and souls, as if even his opponents could not long withstand its mesmerizing and convincing powers. But James used his smile less and less, in public or in private, Billy thought with regret. It was as if the joy in his friend’s life was slowly draining away by the events of the last ten years, and the famous smile was too much ef-fort to achieve.

James walked with his usual confidence toward Billy, without a hint of any struggle in normal gravity. His look was serious, his face knotted with concentration and Billy became alarmed. Had the meeting with the Mayor been that bad?

As James reached the Circle and began to cross the street to the Monument where Billy waited, Billy reflected about his famous friend. James Clinton Poole was just twenty-eight, a couple of months older than Billy, and a hotshot pilot in Space Command, also like Billy. But James was also a scion of one of the richest and most powerful families in the world, accustomed to incredible privilege and wealth all his life. Billy and James had been best friends since childhood, even though Billy’s family and background were more ordinary.

The Pooles had been one of the world’s preeminent families for nearly two centuries, and the current generation was ingrained with the concept of noblesse oblige. But with all their wealth and power, the usual human foibles and tragedies became magnified in the public spotlight until the glare became overwhelming. Billy un-derstood why his friend loved to escape into the coldness of space.

Billy had never been envious of his friend. Perhaps it was be-cause the Poole family had a long legacy of family tragedies, a leg-acy that came to James early. He was only eight when his mother suddenly died from a rare, undetected genetic defect. And ten years ago, of course, his father had been killed leading the Space Command fleet against the Cyclopeans above Hudson Bay. That had been April 14, 2208, the victory the world now prepared to celebrate.

It was an anniversary James Poole, now an orphan, never celebrated.

James crossed the street with long strides and looked up at the monument. Billy waved to catch his eye, James nodded in reply, and in a moment they were together. They exchanged quick hand-shakes as Billy tried to discern his friend’s mood by studying his face.

“I got the cigars for Professor Sanchez,” Billy said softly. He didn’t think there was a Drone nearby to monitor their conversa-tion, since they were banned from the center of the city. It was an antiquated nod to ancient constitutional rights. But he wanted to be careful.

“Churchills?” James asked, knowing the answer. The professor preferred the oversized cigar, and smoked them incessantly. He was one of the few people, besides James’ uncle, either of them knew who actually engaged in the old smoking habit, which they both found rather disgusting. But they never failed to indulge the old professor with a box whenever they could. They would do any-thing for the professor, the man they admired above all others.

Billy nodded a “yes” and asked about the meeting with the Mayor.

“Not yet, Billy,” James cautioned. “Where’s your car?” His voice was strained and edgy, his face drained.

“It’s parked in front of the church.”

“Let’s go,” James answered, “there’s not much time.” They quickly crossed to the other side of Monument Circle. Billy’s black two-seater unmarked military vehicle waited, parked in front of the old 20th century Christ Church that was dwarfed by 23rd cen-tury architecture looming around the small building. Billy saw Reverend Smith standing near the car, greeting people as they passed on the sidewalk on their way into church for the noon service. Church attendance had soared since the Cyclopean Invasion, when the entire world felt they were in little foxholes of desperation and faiths of all kinds were suddenly rediscovered. Billy knew the minister and waved a greeting. Smith, a middle-aged man with a solid strong build, smiled back and motioned for Billy and James to come inside the church. Billy shrugged a “wish I could” motion to the inviting pastor but James ignored the man, as if the only faith he had time for was in himself.

Billy got behind the wheel, James in the passenger seat.

“Where to, James?”

“Home. I have to pack.”

“Pack?”

“Just drive, Billy. Just drive.”

Billy started the car and turned onto North Meridian Street. He took a quick glance at James, who sat stiffly in his seat, his body tense and rigid. They passed the crumbling World War One Monument on their right in uneasy silence. Billy noticed several workers on scaffolding along the western side of the pyramid-like structure. They always seemed to be working on the old monolith, Billy thought. But it was a terminal patient, the victim of two cen-turies of neglect, mismanagement, pollution, and meddling politi-cians.

“Are we secure in this car, Captain Walker?”

Military rank? Billy realized that was a code to be careful. This was serious.

“Yes sir, Captain Poole.” Billy checked the jamming sensors to make sure their conversation would remain private.

Hearing James take a deep sigh, Billy waited for the silence to be broken as they reached the entrance to Poole’s Park. Billy’s military access code automatically permitted entry, and they en-tered the restricted Park as one of the entrance guards saluted.

The noise and congestion of 23rd century Great Indianapolis faded away as the stillness and quiet of the huge Park enveloped them. James’ grandfather had torn down thousands of buildings and created the vast park more than a hundred years earlier. The Park began at 20th Street and ran north to 38th, and was over a kilometer in width on each side of Meridian Street, the wide north-south street that dissected the heart of the old city. It was the only road through the Park. The Park’s grassy open fields were dotted with ponds, pathways, and many small woods. The clear pure wa-ters of Fall Creek meandered through part of the Park on its lazy course westward to White River.

The uncrowned rulers of the Park were the trees. The spring buds on the hardwoods had become new leaves and the Park seemed to be bursting with life. Tall trees were everywhere, ma-jestic and triumphant, many a century and more old. There were countless varieties soaring into the blue skies, nearly all were na-tive to the old lands once known as Indiana. They offered shelter and sustenance to an abundance of woodland life, with an occa-sional tolerance for the human visitor.

Poole’s Park was Billy’s favorite place in Great Indianapolis. It always offered peace and security from the crushing onslaught of the modern world. It was hard for him to believe the entire Park had once been an expansive residential and commercial district within the Old City. It seemed more like a primeval forest that the powers of Great Indianapolis had mysteriously forgotten to ex-ploit. The park was always open to the public, but the number of visitors was closely restricted and the park constantly monitored. But as an officer of Space Command, Billy had unrestricted access to the Park, perhaps his favorite perk of military service.

As they crossed Fall Creek Bridge, Billy cleared his throat and spoke cautiously.

“Did you talk to the Mayor about his Resettlement policies?”

“Yes, briefly, but not really.”

“Is that a yes or a no? I thought that was the purpose of your meeting with him.”

“Seemed so at the time,” James replied, distracted. “Some-thing else came up.”

“Something else?” Annoyance crept into Billy’s voice. “The politicians practically have us at war over the Mayor’s Resettle-ment policies, and you’re telling me “something else” came up?”

There was an awkward, heavy pause, and Billy felt his chest tighten as if the silence would break his ribs. James finally sighed and spoke softly.

“The Mayor is sending me out, Billy, with LM, tomorrow. Deep Space Reconnaissance.”

“What?” Billy was stunned by the news.

“I’m to report to Grissom 0600 tomorrow, then on to the base on Pluto.”

“I’m going with you.”

“No. I’m going alone.”

Billy was overwhelmed. His hands shook on the steering wheel, and he slowed the car. James sounded so casual. Humanity had moved out into the solar system generations ago, but deep space reconnaissance, beyond the solar system, had never been done.

But Great Indianapolis’ extremely secret new ship, the TC-111, was meant to change that. It was a single-pilot craft with amazing new technologies, built for speed and packed with lethal firepower capable of sustained deep space missions. There were two prototypes, the fastest two ships Earth had ever built, and cer-tainly the most deadly. James and Billy had been the only test pilots over a two-year period, and they had trained as a team. The new ships were officially for defensive firepower above Greater Indian-apolis skies, but secretly they were really meant for something else: Cyclopean hunting in deep space, a job promised to James and Billy.

But now the Mayor was sending James out alone. It seemed so transparent to Billy. James was the Mayor’s greatest potential op-ponent to his Resettlement policy, but in deep space James would be neutralized. Couldn’t James see that?

“He can’t send you out, LM’s not ready! Not tomorrow, and hell, not alone! Deep Space Reconnaissance is a two-ship mission, do you remember? We’re a team, James. You can’t go alone.”

“There’s some urgency, and the Mayor has approved the mis-sion.”

“He’s your damn uncle, James. Your uncle, remember? Tell him to disapprove it! And don’t give me that ‘he’s our Com-mander-in-Chief” crap! He’s just trying to get you out of the way.”

“You’re probably right, except I volunteered to be sent,” James replied calmly.

“Are you crazy?” Billy forgot all pretenses to military disci-pline and decorum. This was his best friend, casually describing a near-suicide mission. He didn’t trust the Mayor’s motives either. Billy swallowed hard, as the car passed slowly under a long oak branch that seemed to reach out to comfort him. He licked his lips and looked intently into his friend’s face. He saw stoic acceptance and absolute determination.

“Look,” Billy said slowly, trying to sound calm. “Many of us in Space Command look to you to lead the fight against your uncle’s Resettlement policies. Before it’s too late. But you can’t stop your uncle stuck inside a tiny ship billions of kilometers from Earth.”

“You can fill in for me while I’m gone. I have a lot of faith in you. You know the score, you know the players, and you’re no fool.”

“But I’m a pilot, not a damn politician,” Billy protested. “I’ll just make it worse for both of us. You’re the only one who can lead us against your uncle! He’s a Poole, you’re a Poole, and in case you’ve forgotten, my last name is Walker.”

James looked at Billy passively, and they fell into silence as the car exited Poole’s Park, crossed 38th Street, and continued north. In a few blocks Billy slowed at huge iron gates, which parted ma-jestically when James entered a security code. Billy drove into the grounds of the ancient mansion on Meridian Street and parked the car.

They got out, and Billy watched as James stretched his arms. They walked up a bricked path lined with freshly planted flowers and paused at a side door to the house. Except for the muted chirp-ing of a distant bird, it was quiet, peaceful. It almost reminded Billy of space.

“And what about Katherine? You’re getting married August 15th. Remember?”

“The engagement is off.”

“Oh hell, James! You can’t be serious! Why? Because of deep space reconn?”

“What makes the difference? Damn it, Billy, drop it! I don’t want to talk about it now. I’ve got a mission to think about.”

“Come on, James, I’m your best buddy, remember?”

James looked at his friend, and for an instant Billy saw deep sorrow in his friend’s face.

“Katherine’s two months pregnant,” James said softly, with obvious embarrassment.

“Oh James,” was all Billy could manage to blurt out, knowing the baby could not be his friend’s.

Awkward silence followed for what seemed like an eternity, until James cleared his voice and let out a deep sigh.

“Look, Billy, I know we’re best buddies. You never have to remind me of that. You’re also one of the few people I can trust. Stay here. Be my eyes and ears.”

“Screw that. I’m going with you. I’ll fly shotgun with HS.”

“No. You’re staying here. Professor Sanchez is still installing warp on your ship. Do a shake down, as fast as you can.”

Billy knew what James was asking. Get his ship ready, for backup.

“Warp installation on my ship will take two to three months, James. And besides, LM’s warp is not installed either.”

“She’ll have to do. The Mayor needs me out there, now.”

“The hell with him.”

“I’ll be back, Billy. I promise!”

“When?”

“You know the drill. I fly LM three months out, three months back. That’s maximum mission capability of the TC-111 without warp. I’ll be back to kiss the last days of fall goodbye. We’ll go fishing in Morgan County, just you and me. All I ask is you watch the store while I’m gone.”

“And if you get into trouble?”

“With a little luck, you’ll have warp ready to get to me in a hurry. I know I can count on you...you’re the second best pilot in the fleet.”

“You wish, fly boy,” Billy said with a sudden grin. When it came to piloting a fighter, Billy knew he was second to none.

James returned Billy’s smile, and the tension between them lessened.

They had competed against each other their entire lives, most of the time a good, healthy rivalry. It was one of the many cements of their friendship. Despite James’ incredible fame and fortune, Billy often won their competitions. He was faster and stronger than almost anyone, at least as self-confident as his friend. He was a natural pilot, with a sharp mind complimented by perfect eyesight and incredible reflexes. Billy was more slender than James and not as tall, but he too had a friendly smile, which unlike James, he en-joyed using. Billy’s nose had a slight crook from a youthful skiing accident, and his eyebrows were a little bushy for their owner’s taste, but his slightly dark features and wavy black hair gave him an air of mystery, one women often found alluring. Except for the one who really mattered.

Rowena.

Billy chased her image from his mind and replaced it by that of Katherine. She and James had been engaged for a long time and had been a couple since college. How could she have done this to James? Was it really over between her and his best friend? He wondered how Rowena would react when she heard this news. He knew Rowena had always wanted James too, but Katherine was always in the way. And where did that leave him? Billy had been in love with Rowena for years, but he’d never...

“And if I get in to trouble,” Billy heard James say, “you can fly to the rescue. With all the dramatics you love so much.”
“Lucky for your ass.”

Billy had saved James’ life on more than one occasion. Billy often wondered if he was the real source of “Poole’s Luck,” a well-known trait that had long blessed the Poole family for generations.

“You won’t exactly be down the block, James. You’ll need more than ‘Poole’s Luck’ in deep space.”

“Maybe so. That’s why we need to do a little planning to-night, before I leave, before I do what I’ve got to do.” James’ tone had become serious again.

“Look, James,” Billy said in a firm voice, “you don’t have to go just because of Katherine. Wait until my ship is ready too.”

Billy felt James’ sudden grip on his shoulder as he looked into his friend’s blue eyes. Those eyes went through a frightening trans-formation as they blazed with an angry fury that gave Billy pause. It was the moment he had feared for several years, the moment when his friend’s hatred completely metamorphosed into hard, cold re-venge.

“It’s not just Katherine, Billy. It’s REDSTONE too, do you understand, REDSTONE!” James’ voice sounded like it was com-ing from the grave.

Billy gulped and had trouble finding his next breath.

“You mean...”

“Yes, at last!”

“No.” Fear rising in his throat, Billy moaned.

“Our long range probes finally found something!” James cried out.

“What?” Billy pleaded to hear, already knowing the answer.

“Their ionization trail, Billy...”

“That means...”

“We’ve found them. We’ve finally found the Cyclopean bas-tards! They killed billions. They killed my father. I’m going out there tomorrow, Billy, and I’ll find them. Heaven or hell can’t stop me.”

And, Billy thought with sadness and fear, seeing the lust for revenge burn from his friend’s eyes, you won’t be happy until you’ve killed every last one of them.

* * * *
The tall, broad-shouldered man puffed vigorously on a thin, short cigar. Exhaling with satisfaction, he walked from his dark mahogany desk to the window of his office. There a solitary, tall figure stood erect, looking intently out the window.

“Where is our boy going now, Wilson?” he asked the other man.

“He is walking to Monument Circle, Your Honor,” the com-mander answered crisply as he turned toward the Mayor.

“Walking? To do what?” The Mayor could see the Circle from his office in the old State Capitol Building. It had once been the legislative seat of the long-defunct Indiana State legislature, but the grand building had housed the Mayor’s government for over a hun-dred years.

“His friend Walker waits for him there.”

“Oh yes, Billy Boy. They’re never too far apart, are they? No matter, I’ve changed that today. All in all, a good piece of work, don’t you think, Wilson?”

“Impressive, sir. You’ve sent one of your biggest potential ri-vals off world for six months.

“The most dangerous critic of my Resettlement policies.”

“A brilliant coup, sir,” Wilson said.

“And if this ionization trail proves to be the real thing?” the Mayor asked before blowing a smoke ring.

“Space Command will have vital information to further plan our defenses against a new invasion. Your leadership inspires us all, sir.”

The Mayor nodded in acknowledgment. “Still,” he confessed, “I worry about our Billy Boy. When he’s motivated, he can be very tiresome. You will keep an eye on him, won’t you?”

“Absolutely, sir. My best agents will watch him at all times. But if he gets too nosy?”

“He is an outstanding pilot, very helpful with the TC-111 pro-gram. I’d hate to lose his skills.”

“And he is well respected in the Fleet.”

“True, commander. Still, if he gets too nosy, well, we must do what we must do. No one is going to interfere with my Resettle-ment policies. No one. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir, but what about your nephew? When he returns...”

“If he returns. Unfortunately, his mission is filled with great dangers.”

“But we must have his data on the ionization trail, sir. It is vi-tal!”

“Not too worry. Your data will come in, as we arranged, from his daily reports. You will get everything you will need. Both of us will.”

“I’m still not sure how you got him to take this mission. His opposition to Resettlement is well known, and he is extremely in-fluential with our critics, and with the military.”

“He is a Poole,” the Mayor reminded Wilson.

“True indeed. Without his leadership, without a Poole in their camp, our opposition will melt away. James Clinton Poole is the final obstacle to Resettlement. By sending him on this mission, you’ve eliminated him!”

“Even got him to volunteer,” the Mayor said with a soft chuckle.

“How did you do it?” the commander gushed.

“That’s one of my secrets, commander. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have to get ready for my summit with the Mayor of Atlanta. There is still much to do.”

“Yes, sir, and best of luck.” With that, the Mayor’s Com-mander of State Police saluted sharply and exited the large office.

“I have no use for common luck,” the Mayor said into the empty office. “I have Poole’s Luck. I always win.”

The Mayor remained at the window, looking east toward Monument Circle, smoking his cigar with a contented feeling. He thought back to his meeting with his nephew, and permitted him-self a small laugh. He had especially enjoyed asking his nephew about his beautiful fiancée, Katherine. He could still see the blood drain from the young Poole’s face, had laughed inside when his nephew had told him the engagement was off. As if the Mayor wouldn’t have known. It was his guarantee the young man would take the mission.

It was too deliciously evil for words.

What was the Mayor’s leadership secret? It was simple, too simple for most to understand. Discover what motivated a particu-lar individual, and then use that knowledge to manipulate him or her. And the Mayor knew what motivated his dead older brother’s son.

Revenge, fueled by absolute hatred.

That motivation for revenge, he thought as he crushed the lit cigar between his fingers, would cost James Clinton Poole his life.

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