Pulse (A Jack Sigler Thriller)
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Imagine a world where soldiers regenerate and continue fighting without pause, and where suicide bombers live to strike again. This is the dream of Richard Ridley, founder of Manifold Genetics, and he has discovered the key to eternal life: an ancient artifact buried beneath a Greek inscribed stone in the Peruvian desert.
When Manifold steals the artifact and abducts archaeologist Dr. George Pierce, the United States Special Forces Delta operative, Jack Sigler, callsign King, and his "Chess Team"―Queen, Knight, Rook, Bishop and their handler, Deep Blue―give chase. They must save Pierce and stop Manifold before they change the face of genetics―and human history―forever.
water. Pushing off the muddy bottom, he launched to the surface expecting a giant fish or snake to try swallowing him whole. He fumbled for his sheathed KA- BAR knife as he kicked for shore. But no attack came. He climbed on shore, caught his breath, and searched for what had struck the boat. He began thinking it must have been a free- floating log, but a splotch of yellow next to the side of the boat told him otherwise. King stepped back into the boat, moving toward the object lodged
hibernating machine. The screen blinked to life and played a start- up chime. The sudden light and sound startled the regens and without pause, the group flung themselves at the computer, treating its actions as a sign of life and, therefore, food. Monitors flew through the air after proving too tough to bite through. Wires snapped and fell to the floor like disemboweled entrails. All the while, the regens worked their way across the lab, headed straight for Queen. She reached up over the
of him and made curt reports, but stayed distant from his teammates. King entered with Thor on a leash and cut him loose. The dog ran through the cabin, smelling everything. He returned from the master bedroom with a chew toy, compliments of what ever dog stayed here previously. As King and Knight did a security check on the cabin, looking for exit routes and scanning for bugs, a knock cut through the silence. Bishop stood and answered the door. Two boys, no older than ten, stood at the
couldn't even recognize Greek, let alone read it. "You're sure the site was untouched? This has to be a hoax," he said. "No tire tracks for miles around," she said. "You can't hide those here. No wind. No rain. No erosion. Once something scratches the surface it stays scratched. That's why the geoglyphs have lasted for thousands of years. If someone had been out here in the past two thousand years with a vehicle or so much as a donkey, the evidence would still be plain to see. I suppose
arid, lifeless Nazca plains. He marched without cease, without pause for food, water, or rest. With each merciless day their numbers dwindled. The women and children turned back first as hunger and responsibility to their kin overruled their desire to worship the visiting deity. The men who continued following the silent stranger fought against their parched throats and scorched feet, determined to see where the giant would lead. One by one, the weakest men fell to the hard- packed, roiling