Praise For W. Michael Gear And Athena Unleashed

  “Dr. Frankenstein has at last perfected his art and hung out his shingle in Hollywood…a hell of a novel.”

  STEPHEN COONTS, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR

  “With a Crichton-like mix of scientific intrigue and pulse-pounding suspense, the Gears deliver a fascinating exploration of the frontiers of science.”

  BOOKLIST ON RAISING ABEL

  “Gear writes superbly rolling prose with flair, confidence, wit, an ear for sounds, and an eye for details .... And he has another gift: the ability to teach his readers as he entertains them.”

  ROCKY MOUNTAIN NEWS ON THE MORNING RIVER

  “Extraordinary .... Colorfully integrates authentic archaeological and anthropological details with a captivating story replete with romance, intrigue, mayhem, and a nail-biting climax.”

  LIBRARY JOURNAL ON PEOPLE OF THE OWL

  “Gripping plot, lots of action, well-developed characters, and a wealth of authentic historical facts.”

  BOOKLIST ON PEOPLE OF THE MASKS

  “Simple prose brightened by atmospheric detail sweeps this fluid, suspenseful mix of anthropological research and character-driven mystery to a solid, satisfying resolution.”

  PUBLISHERS WEEKLY ON PEOPLE OF THE MIST

  Genesis Athena

  Also by W. Michael Gear

  Big Horn Legacy

  Dark Inheritance

  The Foundation

  Fracture Event

  Long Ride Home

  Raising Abel

  Flight of the Hawk Series

  The Moundville Duology

  The Wyoming Chronicles

  Saga of a Mountain Sage Series

  The Anasazi Mysteries

  The Athena Trilogy

  Genesis Athena

  THE ATHENA TRILOGY PART TWO

  W. MICHAEL GEAR

  Genesis Athena

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright © 2024 (As Revised) W. Michael Gear

  Wolfpack Publishing

  701 S. Howard Ave. 106-324

  Tampa, Florida 33609

  wolfpackpublishing.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, other than brief quotes for reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  eBook ISBN 978-1-63977-189-9

  Paperback ISBN 978-1-63977-190-5

  Contents

  Get your FREE Starter Library

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  A Look At Book Three:

  Acknowledgments

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  About the Author

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  Genesis Athena

  Chapter 1

  The water was colder than Nancy Hartlee had anticipated. A chill unlike anything she had ever experienced ate through her, trying to numb her muscles. Above, the night sky seemed remote, cold as the water, and as callous. She swam on, glancing up on occasion to orient herself by the bowl of the Big Dipper. Shivers were picking at the edges of her muscles. The midnight waters had an oily feel. From some vague corner of her mind, she was reminded that ocean swimmers greased their bodies.

  Come on, Nancy. It can’t be far.

  Aboard ship, she’d seen the faint sparkles of lights just after dusk. She hadn’t expected to see them from the water, not bobbing on the surface. Not until she got close.

  Stroke after stroke, she forced herself forward. A leaden feeling had grown in her legs. Had it been so long since she’d been on the high school swim team?

  It seemed a distant memory, as though from a dream life. She maintained the rhythm. Stroke and kick, stroke and kick. This race wasn’t to the fast, but to the steady.

  She had too much to live for. Not just herself, but the others. They all depended on her. No one had escaped before. It was all up to her. The world had to know what Genesis Athena was all about. No matter what the cost.

  It would be so nice to stop, float, and rest for a bit.

  Stroke and kick, stroke and kick.

  She tried not to think of the black depths below. What did it matter? One hundred fathoms? Or fifty? All it would take in her condition was six feet.

  Stroke and kick, stroke and kick.

  She maintained her pace, doggedly panting as her muscles began to ache. A desperate fear had knotted in the back of her brain. What if she cramped?

  Who would ever know?

  No one. Only the black and lonely sea.

  Stroke and kick. Stroke and kick.

  Blessed God? Where are the lights? Please, just show me the lights!

  Chapter 2

  As the Gulfstream winged eastward with the night, acclaimed Hollywood screen sensation Sheela Marks glanced at her manager, Rex Gerber. He was in the window seat, his head lolled to the side, slack mouth agape. A faint snore was borne on each exhalation. The stubble on his dark cheeks marred the shiny texture of his skin. She could see where the oils in his hair and scalp had smudged the clear plastic of the window. What was it about men that they were at their most hideous when they were asleep in an airplane seat? Their breath seemed to taint the very air, thickening and fouling it with a faint odor.

  She unbuckled her seat belt and stood, walking back in the hunched posture necessary to clear the Gulfstream’s low cabin. Dot was propped sideways in her seat, a pillow cushioning her hair. Her two makeup and wardrobe women were likewise slumped on their side of the aisle.

  Sheela found her private security agent, Lymon Bridges, and his newly hired investigator, Christal Anaya, sitting across the aisle from each other in the rear. Lymon had the reading lamp on and was scrutinizing papers. Christal was frowning down at her laptop as she periodically tapped the scroll key. Sheela hunched down in the aisle between them. “What are you both doing awake?”

  “Just double-checking the itinerary.” Lymon tapped the papers on his lap. “We’re on schedule for an eight thirty am arrival at Teterbough. We’ll check into the St. Regis in the city by nine—traffic and security willing. You can nap until three. Makeup and prep until five, when you’ve got a podcast interview. CosmoCeleb, I think. At six thirty, Rex throws them out if they haven’t left already. At seven, we leave for the premiere.”

  “I’m still a little hazy on this,” Christal said. “We’re flying to New York, checking into the hotel, watching a movie that Sheela didn’t even star in, and flying back to LA the same night. Am I the only one who thinks that’s a little nuts, or is there something wrong with Zoom presence?”

  “Fox is going to be there,” Sheela said with a shrug. “I have to smile and hug and schmooze in person. Jagged Cat’s producers want me sucking up to the Fox bigwigs. The company producing Jagged Cat still hasn’t locked down the distribution rights. Universal and Paramount are dickering for them, and involving Fox adds heat to the deal.” A pause. “Can’t do that with a Zoom call.”

  “Don’t they have people to do the selling?” Christal seemed confused. “You’re an actress. You’re supposed to be playing a character.”

  “Christal, you seriously don’t think that they just pay me to act, do you?”

  “Uh…yeah.”

  “Oh, you dear naive girl.” Sheela gave her a sympathetic smile. “This entire trip is targeted on three men who will be at the screening. They run Fox’s film and streaming distribution. That means they put the movies into the theaters and on your television. My sole job is to smile and flirt, to snake my arm around their shoulders and bat my eyes suggestively. My people want pictures of me and the Fox management in Variety, People, and most of all, going viral on social media. By tomorrow morning, rumors will be floating all over Hollywood that Fox is interested in distributing
Jagged Cat.”

  Sheela managed a dry chuckle. “Next week, I’ll be doing the same with Netflix, Apple TV, and Paramount to help sell the streaming rights. That will probably be in LA, but we might have to fly to San Francisco. It’s all about whetting appetites.”

  Christal pursed her lips, frowning. “Just how far will people go?”

  Sheela caught the undercurrent. “Christal, these deals can be worth tens of millions of dollars depending on the picture’s success. It’s just as ripe for abuse as any other deal when people stand to make or lose fortunes.”

  “I got it. Suddenly a midnight flight sounds perfectly reasonable.” She paused, laughing. “Oh, hell!”

  “What?” Lymon asked.

  “I stood Tony Zell up. I promised him dinner tonight.” She pulled out her phone, staring at the dark screen. “Bet when we land, I’ll find a thousand frantic messages waiting.”

  Lymon burst out laughing. “He’ll be stewing! That’s hilarious. Do you know when the last time was that a woman stood him up for dinner?”

  “Nineteen ninety-six?” Sheela wondered. “Oh, Christal, what a blow to his overinflated ego. He’s going to be drooling for you now.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “Make room.” Sheela motioned Lymon over, aware of Christal’s return to introspection. She replaced her phone and was evaluating something, expression pinched.

  “What are you thinking?” Sheela asked.

  “Brad Pitt was assaulted in New York tonight.” Christal tapped her laptop suggestively. “He was getting into a cab when some guy in the crowd outside a club on West Fifty-second shot him in the ass with some kind of dart gun.”

  “That’s a joke, right?”

  Lymon, who had moved over to the window seat, slowly shook his head. “No joke.”

  “Shit!” Sheela dropped into his vacated seat, feeling his body warmth. Reassured by it. “So, they grabbed the guy?”

  Christal continued, “Witnesses said he looked Middle Eastern, dark complexion, medium build. When spectators tried to interfere, some kind of stun device was detonated. Probably just like the one that flattened you and Lymon at the St. Regis a while back. In the confusion, he got away.”

  “The dart is interesting, too,” Lymon remarked. “Kind of like a harpoon, it apparently spools out, impales its victim, and is reeled back in.”

  “So, how’s Pitt?”

  Christal was pensive. “They took him straight to the emergency ward. They’re running tests now. Trying to see if anything was injected. They’ve got him on antibiotics and an HIV protocol, just in case.”

  “It’s not an injection.” Lymon gave Sheela a meaningful look. “It’s another…what? Specimen retrieval? Just like snipping a bit of Manny de Clerk’s penis.”

  Sheela leaned back, closing her eyes. “This doesn’t make sense.”

  “Witchcraft,” Lymon muttered as he stared down at his papers.

  “Hey,” Christal chided softly from her seat.

  Sheela glanced back and forth between them. “That’s the second time I’ve heard that brought up. You want to fill me in?”

  Lymon rubbed his eyes, then looked at her. She liked the concern in his weary hazel gaze as he said, “How are you on soul possession? Targeted evil? Voodoo dolls and the like?”

  “Not very. I don’t believe in that sort of thing.”

  “Neither do we,” Christal answered. “It’s just something we’re tossing around. It has to do with the personal nature of the things being taken.” She made a helpless gesture. “It shows how baffled we are, Sheela. Surely, you’ve heard the stories of witches collecting fingernail clippings, strands of hair, and navel lint. Taking some personal item to do sympathetic magic. It’s the only comparison we can find. And it’s silly.”

  “Is it?” Sheela felt a coldness in her breast. “Did Lymon tell you about my freaky fan? The one with the slice-and-dice course for unrequited love? She just knows that when I smile down from the screen, I’m smiling straight at her.”

  “Must make you feel peculiar.”

  “Until you’ve been there, I’m not sure I could ever make you understand. It curdles your soul. In a world full of eight billion people, how many of them have wounded minds? How many were abused as children? How many brain damaged? How many have fried their synapses with drugs? How many have chemical imbalances? How many live for their fantasies, and how many would sell their souls to satisfy their delusions?”

  “I’ve heard figures as high as one to two percent,” Christal answered. “More, given the right circumstances.”

  Sheela barely nodded. “One of the most horrifying moments of my career came after I made my first film, Joy’s Girl. My character was a young prostitute. I did a scene that was sexually explicit.”

  “I’ve seen it. That expression on your face is a heart-stopper. Was he really that attractive?”

  “Hey, there were thirty people on set at the time. I hated the guy. The director knew it, so he told me to imagine that my favorite dessert was being dribbled on my face. That’s where that look came from.”

  Christal laughed in delight. “Wow! It worked. The first time I saw that, I thought the screen was going to melt. Every man in the theater walked out weak-kneed.”

  Sheela shrugged. “That scene was pieced together with bits from four days of brutal shooting. Do the shot, change the lighting, redo the shot, change the camera angle, redo the shot, change the color of the sheets, redo the shot. And on and on. You can only dream of chocolate soufflé for so long. After the first hour, I felt as sexy as bread mold.”

  She glanced at Lymon, curious about how he was taking it. “It wasn’t until the screening that I finally understood what a good film editor can do. I couldn’t believe that was me up there. My manager at the time, Angel, leaned over and said, ‘Well, kid, how about it? When this starts streaming, you’re going to have a half million men playing it slow motion, over and over, while they slump on their couches and jack off.’”

  “Yuck!” Christal gave her a disgusted look.

  Sheela arched an eyebrow. “Sometimes, on really bad nights, I try to imagine that…all those men. I can picture them, illuminated in the television’s glow, sweaty, hairy, their rumpled pants down around their knees, hands stroking, and their wide eyes fixed obsessively on mine. How are they playing it in their minds? What would they give to turn that momentary fantasy into the real thing?”

  Christal swallowed hard and looked away. “Jesus.”

  Sheela made a gesture of acceptance. “In that instant, they all possess me in one way or another. Maybe my soul, but always my body. So, what’s a little witchcraft compared with reality?”

  Chapter 3

  FBI Special Agent Sid Harness strode down the hall, his coat flapping as he entered the New York City medical examiner’s office. He was still blinking, wishing desperately for another cup of coffee, and decidedly sleep-deprived. He’d had a whole blessed three hours of somnolence in his own bed, next to Claire’s warm body before the phone rang.