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eBook Category: Suspense/Thriller/Science Fiction
eBook Description: The years 2026-2027. China is the world's superpower. Recuperating from a nasty head injury in a military hospital, U.S. Army Private Jack Walker experiences vivid memories of fighting along the Chinese-Mongolian border. The military brass insist he's been fighting in Ethiopia, Africa; and they have photographs to prove it. Of course, all isn't what it appears to be. There's the matter of the luminescent purple liquid in the hypodermic needle and the little purple pill.

eBook Publisher: Double Dragon Publishing/Double Dragon eBooks, Published: Double Dragon Publishing, Inc., 2006
Fictionwise Release Date: October 2006

8 Reader Ratings:

Great	Good	OK	Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: eReader (PDB) [33 KB] , ePub (EPUB) [100 KB] , Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [15 KB] , Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [293 KB] , Palm Doc (PDB) [16 KB] , Microsoft Reader (LIT) [134 KB] , Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [88 KB] , hiebook (KML) [114 KB] , Sony Reader (LRF) [117 KB] , iSilo (PDB) [13 KB] , Mobipocket (PRC) [17 KB] , Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [93 KB] , OEBFF Format (IMP) [26 KB]
Words: 4487
Reading time: 12-17 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

Yet again impressionable cover graphics from Double Dragon Publishing compound fascination for this shortie with a mystery title. Once more here, Marilyn Peake's writing is refreshingly polished and clean. A pillbox hat the color of blood; a brilliant red sun like a camp fire; snow leopards like shimmering ghosts: splashings of vivid descriptions throughout carry this futuristic tale from chalk-white walls of a military hospital to an ice capped mountain ridge of a Mongolian border. A recuperating soldier has only jumbled memories and a wife's reassuring hand to hold him. But as Alison Walker marries herself to the foreign concept of a husband with lost memories, a wisp of thread is that which separates imaginings from actuality. Lengthened, this story could develop into an absorbing conspiracy. -Eugen Bacon, Fictionwise Recommender

November 2026

The woman, somewhat gaunt, wore a pillbox hat the color of blood with a black-and-white checkered coat. Hunched over on the narrow wooden chair, she wrapped her long, weathered fingers around a scrapbook. Brittle blonde hair locked onto her hat's bottom edge in a continuous tubular flip.

General Leonard Jacobs studied the woman briefly; then entered the room. Filtering out the melon green walls by habit, he walked behind his desk, sat down in his comfortable leather office chair, and reached out a thick, knotted hand.

Fumbling with her book, the woman extended her own. It was icy cold; she had a weak, hesitant handshake.

General Jacobs stared long and hard with steely blue eyes at the visitor to his office in the United States military hospital. Her height was average. She was maybe twenty-five-years-old but looked forty; had puffy, smudged circles under her pale-green bloodshot eyes. Wrinkles creased her cheeks like droughty riverbed cracks.

When the General addressed his guest, it was brief and to the point, "What brings you here, Mrs. Walker?"

"It's Jack."

"I expected as much. Can you be more specific?"

"I'd like to see him."

"It's been six months since he returned. You should see him. I'm sure it's been hard for him, not seeing you all these months."

"I wanted to see him."

"I know. But he's not right, you understand. You'll both need to adjust to the change."

After closely inspecting the face and hunched over posture of Alison Walker for a few more seconds than were really comfortable for the soldier's wife, the General rose to his feet, pushing his knuckles into his hard wooden desk and his chair out from underneath him. He walked past the massive desk and told Mrs. Walker to follow.

As they traveled down a long hallway, forest green carpet with white walls, infrequent staff saluted in passing. The General acknowledged them with a practiced, nearly imperceptible salute.

When he reached a room at the end of the passage, the General rapped with bare knuckles on the open door, then entered.

"Good afternoon, son."