First Chapter

People seem to want a preview of the novel so here is the first chapter (pre-editor). As you will notice almost immediately, it is a chase sequence. I think it is vitally important to begin every novel with a chase, a plane crash or a sex scene, or people will lose concentration within twenty-eight seconds and get up and walk around the room staring at objects, or switch the television on and watch commercials. My second novel will open with a '69' on a jumbo jet plunging into the ocean after being chased by Muslim extremists.

AGENTS GRAY and Reece shot through the deserted streets, pushing their cruiser hard into the swirls of dust that marked the path of their suspects. In the orange light of the low hanging dawn sun, the clouds thrown up from the filthy streets rendered their tracking system unnecessary. Reece stared ahead impassively, a study of concentration, expertly sending the car from side to side around crates and rusting shopping trolleys and abandoned, burnt-out vehicles, round corners into alleys and cross streets.

Their car was led away from the central district, where thousands of sleek sky scrapers stabbed through the smog into the clouds. Out here, in what had once been the warehouse district of the Old City, the buildings were flat and decrepit - gray blocks of crumbling bricks and stone, a monument to an abandoned way of life.

Gray squinted over at his partner, glad Reece had been so eager to drive that morning. A hangover headache pulsed in his temples. His heartbeat blotched his vision.

They had picked up the call from an overhead observational balloon on a routine sweep, and had been the only unit in the area. The interference from the Insurgents was minimal, almost inconsequential, and there was no profit in the Company chasing them. Still, standards had to be maintained, and an unlicensed vehicle unlucky enough to be tracked by Lumecorp had to be dealt with. Visible crime could not be tolerated, and the criminals knew escape was their only chance of survival.

"Turn it down." Reece spoke without looking away from the road.

Gray looked sharply at his partner. The modern rock station was always blasting from their radio. "What is with you?" he snapped.

"Turn it down." Reece spoke more firmly this time through gritted teeth.

Gray leaned over and punched the power button, and the sound of the revving engine, squealing tires and chips of debris hitting the chassis roared up to replace the music.

Reece had been acting strangely all morning and Gray was in no mood to argue. Usually a relaxed and funny man, Reece had returned from his three week sabbatical distant and taciturn, crisply dressed in full regulation uniform.

"Reece!" Gray had exclaimed when he walked into the locker room an hour ago. He embraced his partner with genuine delight. "How was the holiday?"

"You smell of booze," was his reply. Hardly something a friend should say to you in a place like Lumecorp HQ. A place where microphones and cameras were planted prominently on the walls almost as a source of pride.

Gray masked his surprise and shame with a strained smile. "You're mistaken," he said loudly. "New aftershave. Are you well rested?"

"Very. Thank you." And that had been the end of pleasantries for the morning. Reece didn't relax in the cruiser, and Gray concentrated on his pounding head as he sobered up. He was angry at his friend's comment, but more with himself, and thought it best to let the matter rest until he could be as sure as possible they were not being listened to.

The less attention he drew to himself, the better. The fact was that Gray was slipping. To be an agent was a privilege, providing an opportunity to live with certain freedoms and luxuries, but the Company would only tolerate so much. He was certain he was being monitored, although no one had approached him. He was putting on weight, enjoying his fried food the company discouraged and neglecting the physical training sessions they provided. He had been chosen from many and abused his privilege. He would get a good night's sleep and get himself together.

Reece sped round a tight corner into a narrow back-alley and they had their first visual on the Insurgents. An old Ford maintained years after the company's inevitable demise, in great condition considering its age. Reece eased off the accelerator and activated the standard caution over the loudspeaker.

"You are in breach of Central Territory regulations," the voice droned. "You are under arrest. Pull over and exit your vehicle with your hands in the air."

As expected, the suspects refused the request, and instead ducked into another alley. Reece sped through the turn, scraping the side of the cruiser against the brick wall of an old shop. Gray’s face was pressed up against the passenger door window, sparks and chunks of crumbling brickwork exploding inches from his eyes, the wing mirror smashed off and rattling, trapped between car and wall. Then the car lurched to the side and back on track. Gray returned to the centre of his seat. He shot Reece a look, who appeared not to notice, only keeping his gaze fixed intently on the car ahead. Shaken but unhurt, Gray saw that the corner, though taken recklessly, had brought them closer to the suspects. Deciding to make himself useful, if only in an attempt to keep up with his partner’s new zeal for the chase, Gray unclipped his holster and brought out his handgun, a modestly powerful weapon issued to all street cops and agents.

He opened his window and leaned out far enough to fire a clip into the car in front, shattering the rear window and lights, and managing to send a bullet between the seats and through its windscreen, which exploded outwards rather than simply icing up and blinding the suspects.

As Gray changed clips, the passenger in front suddenly lurched half-way out of the vehicle holding a powerful looking shotgun, which to Gray looked like a home-fashioned hybrid, probably put together from bits of old broken weapons and parts stolen from the Company. It worked well enough, and a first blast ricocheted off the bullet-proofed glass in front of Reece’s face, who barely flinched. The missile was powerful enough to leave a significant chip in the screen, and Reece swerved to make a trickier target as the gun was aimed at the cruiser’s tyres.

The suspect holding the shotgun looked deranged, firing with an utter lack of discipline over the car or into the decaying tarmac. A couple of shells made contact with the cruiser causing minor damage to the car’s body. The man presumably had been firing up the homemade narcotics some of these Insurgents were addicted to. It made them even less of a threat than they could be, but Gray, who battled his own demons, felt he could empathise somewhat. It was a barren existence out here, a struggle for everyday survival. He wondered how often, perhaps in their sober times, these renegades secretly longed for the safety of the city, to accept ignorance for comfort.

The passenger was working his shotgun for some time before it slowly dawned on him that he was out of shells. He ducked in to reload, or perhaps just to throw away the spent weapon.

“Enough,” said Reece. “We’ve given them a chance.”

Concurring, Gray leant out again and aimed his handgun at the driver, through the hole in his headrest into his brain. He squeezed the trigger only for the driver to swerve violently at that moment. The Ford clipped the front end of the burned-out chassis of a car, which slammed against the wall of an old factory and careered back across the street into the agents’ path. At this speed, Reece had little chance to react, and attempted to accelerate out of trouble between the car and the wall it was sliding towards.

Gray, still leaning out of the window, watched with sudden panic as the car skidded into their path, pinned in his position as Reece swerved to one side. Gray was jolted up against the window frame as their car connected first with the wall, and then with the wrecked vehicle a split second later. As their car left the road, Gray became disorientated, then shut his eyes against the pain in his shoulder and back as they were jammed on the car frame. For a moment there was silence, the engine stalled, the tires spinning uselessly in the air, only the sound of blood rushing in his ears. Then just as quickly, a terrific crunch of steel and glass and a bone shaking impact. Gray wrapped his arms over his head, thinking he had been thrown out of the car and fearing it could crush his body. But when there was no tarmac tearing at his skin, he opened his eyes and saw that the car had pivoted in his favour, tossing him back into the vehicle. He was now on his head, watching the road sliding toward him through a cracked screen, sparks flashing up from the tarmac, and the Insurgents ahead, putting distance between them.

The car hit something again out of Gray’s vision, sending them into a spin even as they continued to slide onward. He was thrown across the handbrake into Reece’s chair, head pressed into his chest. Then with a final neck-bracing jolt, the cruiser wedged into an alley entrance.

Immediately, Reece snapped open his seat belt and kicked open the driver’s door, and was out sprinting down the street after the suspects. Gray, who had hardly began clearing his head, fell into the roof when his partner slid out from beneath him. He touched the top of his head tentatively, and came back with blood on his fingers, but not much. Looking up, he became aware of his partner’s absence, then gazed bleary-eyed through the shattered windscreen. It was some seconds before he was able to recognise what he was seeing; the upside-down vision of Reece sprinting into the distance. Uttering a curse and rubbing his neck, he clambered clumsily out of the open driver’s door and picked himself up before making his way along Reece’s trail.


Up ahead, the two rebels were still giggling at their good fortune, the passenger preparing another hit on the crude chemical cocktail cooked up at base. When he caught sight of the cop in his wing mirror, he grabbed at the driver’s sleeve, and pointed in the rear-view. “Yo,” he barked. “He’s catching us, man. He’s catching us.”

The driver pulled his arm away from his friend’s grasp and put his foot down on the accelerator. “Stupid motherfucker,” he murmured uselessly as the car picked up speed.

The passenger continued to gaze into the mirror. “No man, he’s still coming. Go faster.”

The driver pushed his foot harder onto the pedal, already stuck to the floor. He looked at the approaching figure, then at the speedometer, the gauge rising slowly to 60kmh. Impossible, he thought, shaking his head as the fear ate its way into his stomach.

Beside him, the passenger grabbed a small hand gun from the glove compartment and cocked it. The policeman was still gaining on them, arms and legs pumping smoothly, staring forwardly intently, breathing lightly as though on a regular jog.


A few hundred metres behind them, Gray was chasing as best he could, still fighting his way back to full consciousness. His body was battered all over, and he was confusing his hangover for the onset of concussion. He stared at his distant partner, not fully comprehending the scene, just following the urge instilled in the agents since training began, to protect and standby their colleagues.

Reece caught the speeding car just as he reached his limit, something inside him burning, ready to drop. He fumbled for the driver’s door which popped open, the suspects too panicked to lock up. Reece jumped onto the chassis and began yanking the driver out of the open door. The driver looked at him in fear, unable even to fight back, and Reece easily dragged him out by the shoulder, sending the car into a swerve towards the far wall.

The driver slid then bounced, spinning through the air and sending up a sheet of blood, arcing down in splatters onto the concrete. Reece turned his attention back into the car, only to be faced with the nose of the passenger’s handgun. The man hesitated, terror and confusion on his filthy face, and Reece began a move to grab the gun. At that moment, the car smacked against a wall and the passenger’s finger was jerked against the trigger. Reece felt the impact in his arm, and although there was no pain he was unable to keep his grip on the door frame, and he fell backwards, sliding on the road as he fought to keep his head up off the ground.

Gray, his mind clearer, watched in alarm as his friend hit some crates, stopping his roll. Although his uniform provided protection, it had been a terrible fall. But almost immediately, Reece was up again, sprinting after the car that was now swerving out of control, the passenger reaching over for the steering wheel, grabbing it, but unable to slow the vehicle. The brick wall of an abandoned factory loomed, and the car crunched into it, stopping unceremoniously, steam flooding from the crushed radiator.

Reece slowed his run to a jog, then approached the car with his gun drawn, holstering it again after looking into the smoking frame. The passenger had flown forward with the impact, smashing his head on the wall. There was little of it left on his shoulders.

Gray had reached the driver and slipped in his blood, then felt his pulse and registered nothing. Blood flowed from underneath the body’s torn clothes, and most of the exposed skin had been separated from the muscles. He ran on towards his partner, who was walking away from the wreckage, fingering his radio, then turning his attention to the wound on his arm. Looking confused and in a state of mild shock, Reece gazed quizzically at the torn flesh, then began twisting violently at his shoulder. Gray approached, ready to shout at Reece to stay calm, that he would call HQ, then stopped in his tracks, staring as Reece pulled his arm away from his body, through the sleeve, exposing a neat round finish at the shoulder end with metal wires protruding through the bone and sinew. He sank to his knees, still looking at the arm, then prodded at the open shoulder end, causing the fingers to close and open again. His brow furrowed further, and he looked up to meet his friend’s gaze.

Struggling to make sense of the situation, Gray instinctively glanced into the smashed car, noting the corpse, then stepped back towards Reece, thinking about rumours he’d heard but now knew were true, when Reece began to convulse, rolling onto his back and kicking out his feet. Gray rushed to embrace his shaking partner, screaming into his radio for medics, for backup, any help, as Reece began frothing at the mouth and gripping his one hand tight enough to draw blood as fingernails punctured his palm, and Gray’s head was a rushing mess of confusion and panic.