Ionshaker (Part I), Felix Timothy [fox in socks read aloud TXT] 📗

Praise for Ionshaker

Nuclear-Powered Thriller - “IONSHAKER by Timothy Felix is a tense thriller from the start. I really enjoyed this read and have to say that it's a page turner throughout with characters that effortlessly pull you deeper into the web of IONSHAKER. If you love a fast paced thriller then this is one to buy. Hats of to Timothy Felix! Can't give too much away to potential readers.....it wouldn't be fair.” – Annie Frame, author of IMPRINT

A heart-Stopping, Action-Packed Thrill Ride! – “I felt the author has a great premise for the storyline and one can imagine how the device can be used to gain control over any country if they have it…I feel overall the author did an exceptional job with his novel.” – Kat, http://reviewsfromtheheart.blogspot.com

A worthwhile thriller – “Brimming with memorable characters, thrilling action shots, theories, titles, murder and more, Ionshaker is a quick-paced, heart thumping rollercoaster. Felix Timothy takes you on a ride from scene to scene, giving the reader glimpses to pull the clues from to determine who is responsible. If you enjoy reading mystery thrillers with a lot of chases, action and good detective work, give Ionshaker a try.” - Wendy Hines


Dedication

The First has to be you John Kioko. You loved my story right from its inception, despite its many shortcomings back then. Thanks man, you made me a writer. Victor Omare a.k.a ‘Pildash’ you can probably tell this story better. You know it off head, right? Thanks for your support. And Mom, thanks for everything…and I mean ‘kila kitu.’


Preface

I must start by thanking all those who read my first draft three years ago, back then titled No Place to Hide. And I’m calling it a draft because looking back it really was a draft - not a book. I was very green to this kind of serious writing. I hadn't published anything before, and so I didn’t really understand the protocols, the techniques, the intricate strategies, how to expertly use few words without sounding shallow, or how to play around with many words without coming off as superfluous, to concoct a legendary, enthralling and addictive work of fiction. And I can tell you right now - it's not a joke!
Friends, family, potential fans (don’t ask me why I’m saying potential – it’s complicated), those I know and those I don't, those I've met and those I'm yet to, thank you so much for your support. If you understand my history, then you know this is a milestone for me.

Anyways, my point is, it has been a long journey but I’m finally here – you are about to read my story. But if you wanna know where I’m coming from, read my blog http://feltim.blogspot.com. You’ll be surprised.


Prologue


Two weeks earlier…

“Please,” she begged Hugo.
“Those are the terms,” Hugo responded with stern eyes.
“I’ll do anything except this,” she begged with tears lingering in her eyes.
“I don’t want you to do anything except this.”
“Please don’t kill me or him. He is totally harmless, I assure you. Come on Hugo we can work something out.”
Hugo took a moment then said, “Okay, we sure can. We’ll fake your death and give you a new identity. From next week, you’ll be called Kemi Rolling, born and raised in Harlem, New York.”
“What about him, I can’t do that to him - I love him.”
“My understanding is you were assigned to keep an eye on him not to love him, but instead you married him?” Hugo chuckled then added you knew the risks and you knew this day would come. You love him, I don’t care, that’s your problem. All I need you to do is get me the device. Get me Ionshaker.”
“I‘ve lived with him, he knows nothing, he’s not a threat, I can assure you.”
“He wasn’t, but now he is,” Hugo replied coldly.
“Why now, he hasn’t done anything. What changed?”
“Ironside and Ionshaker – that’s what. Just remember. If you do love him the way you say you do, you’ll do what I tell you. That’s my final position. So what is it gonna be, Kemi?”
She turned away from him wiping her tears with the back of her hands then asked after a while, “When am I supposed to die – this fake death I mean?”
“In two weeks.”

http://feltim.blogspot.com, http://www.facebook.com/TheFeltim, Twitter ID: TheFeltim


Part I
The Manhunt



Titles.

The first lady of the house on Foothill Road Beverly Hills California, the loving wife, the courteous neighbor, the one and only Mrs. Brooke Woodley had just been awarded more new titles: the late, the deceased, the former, the murder victim.
She had been shot dead in her own house, in her own living room, now titled “the crime scene.”

The LAPD were the first to arrive at the house, oh sorry, the crime scene, and were sniffing around, fervently scavenging for signs, facts, suggestions and indications - searching for evidence.

But their stage presence was short lived.

The pompous arrival of the big boys, the tiptop connoisseurs of crime scenes, the so raved about FBI grabbed all the attention from the media, the neighbors and other idlers.
Yet, even these cognoscente investigators were just like dogs, with leaders of the pack. Two detectives – a somewhat conceited man in his thirties, the lead detective, and a blond in her late twenties with a pretty face and the body of a model, the deputy to the self-important man – stood out in the elite pack as the leaders.

The two hurriedly entered the house.

“Brett Dawson, FBI. This is my deputy Nicole Anderson. We understand that you were looking into a robbery– am I correct?” Brett asked quickly as if he had come with all the answers.
“Yeah, something like that. Someone called 911 and gave this house’s address.”
“What did the caller say?”
“Not much. He just rambled that he’d heard a gunshot then cut the call.”
“And what did you find when you got here?”
“Her,” the officer said gesturing to Brooke’s body. The three started moving to the center of the living room.
“And what do we have here?” Brett asked rhetorically stepping closer to the covered body and after squatting, he gently lifted the white sheet to take a peek. But as soon as he lifted the sheet, camera shutters began clicking as camera flashes played over the partially revealed, blanched face.
“At first we thought it had been a violent robbery but when we looked closely we realized that nothing had been stolen and there wasn’t any indication to support a robbery theory. So we called you guys,” the officer explained to the two federal agents.
“Tell us about your robbery theory,” Brett said straightening up to listen to the officer’s response.
“An armed burglar broke into the house to loot, Brooke returned home much earlier than anticipated and stumbled upon the thief in the living room, startling the armed thief into firing a shot.”

Then quietly Brett threw random glances around the cozy living room. In the meantime, his aficionado counterparts – the forensic team – were busy foraging the house for any sort of clue: foot prints, finger prints, hairs, scratches, broken glass, vandalized locks, you name it.

The murder victim had been bumped off around 7:15 pm and by the time the police arrived at the house, Brooke Woodley had already been titled – the late.
The array of photos embellishing the living room sent a clear message: Brooke’s marriage had been bliss. The faces of the newlyweds were full of life, beaming with joy and happiness.

For reasons best known to himself, Brett was strangely drawn to one of the wedding photos. In the photo, the husband was kissing his precious new wife on the lips.
Nicole quietly watched the lead detective stare at the picture like he’d been struck by some form of brain freeze. The blonde couldn’t see anything peculiar about the photo. She wondered what he was seeing.

But little did she know that Brett was actually pitying the husband, who’d arrive home at any time after a typical excruciating nine-to-five and find the love of his life – the Juliet in his own interpretation of the epic romantic story, his Rose in his conjured version of the Titanic movie, his young beautiful wife – spread out on their velvet carpeted living room floor, dead and covered in gore under a white sheet.
It was still very early to accurately profile the murder and the reasons behind it now that the robbery theory had been ruled out.

Across the room, Brett saw the murder weapon on a coffee table – a small J-frame Smith and Wesson air-weight revolver – properly sealed in a transparent evidence bag, after the gun had been recovered in the hallway leading to the back door.
He dipped into his jacket to take out a pair of gloves as he walked to the coffee table then lifted up the aluminum alloy framed 642 model, with stainless steel barrels and cylinders, to check it out.

“Only one bullet is missing,” the officer said as Brett emptied the barrel.
The cop was right, had it been a robbery, broken glass, twisted locks, scratches or abrasions of some kind would be found in the house. Moreover, nothing appeared to have been pinched from the house.
“The officer is right,” Nicole told Brett who was still studying the gun.
“Any theories?” Brett asked her without looking at her as he returned the gun into the evidence bag.
“She must have either pissed somebody off so badly, or knew something she wasn’t supposed to,” Nicole answered quickly surprising the two men at how quickly she came up with that.
The two men remained quiet; they didn’t have anything better than the deputy’s theory.
“I guess its time to go now,” the officer excused himself as soon as the coroner and his assistant rolled a stretcher to the center of the living room in order to pick Brooke’s body.
“Just one question before you go,” Brett turned quickly.
“Sure.”
“What about the husband…” Brett pretended to have just forgotten the name. The truth is he didn’t know it.
“Trey Woodley? We’ve been trying to reach him ever since when we arrived but our calls have been going straight to voicemail,” the officer said with a slight smirk on the face.
“What about his friends, colleagues…?”
“Those we contacted last saw him at work…no one knows where he is.”
“Thank you officer,” Brett said shaking his hand as Nicole grinned at him and the officer reciprocated with a slight nod then turned to go. To discover the root cause, Brett and Nicole had to look beyond what was on the table. They had to dig for motives, enemies and secrets.

Brett was still looking around when he heard the