I have just finished the rough draft for the next book in the Jonathan Steel Chronicles. Tentatively it is entitled “The Ninth Demon: Cross Time”. It will still be a couple of months before I hope to get it into press but for those of you who have been waiting patiently these past two years, here is the Prologue to give you some idea of what’s going on. (Or, not!)

PROLOGUE

It was time to die. The man standing at the window did not want to die. But, neither did he want his two girls to die. The window looked out over a vast cavern filled with sunlight streaming in through the far opening. A transport airplane appeared in the distance, touched down on a dirt runway and pulled into the huge cavern. Workers converged on the plane like ants to honey.

“Are you ready to die?” Someone said behind him. He had not heard the man enter the room.

“Those your airplanes?” The man asked.

“Yes.”

“You think you own the world.”

“I own you.”

The man turned slowly. He recognized the tall, muscular figure of David Boone. “You’ve grown soft, old man since you were in that alien movie.”

Boone’s chiseled features carried a hint of the steroids he had used as a young professional wrestler. His hair was shot through with gray and his face was an unhealthy orange from bottled tan. Boone glanced down at his arm and flexed his bicep. The muscle tensed and stretched the fabric of a suit that cost more than the man’s entire lifetime of salaries. “I’ve still got my mojo.”

The man looked down at his dark green one-piece jumpsuit. It carried the dirt and dust of the last few days of imprisonment. He ran a hand over his bald head and nodded. “How long has it been since you were in the ring?”

“I’m only 64 and I could take you in a fight any day.” Boone relaxed his bicep.

“You were a professional wrestler, bro. Never been in a real fight. You wouldn’t last a week on the streets.”

“But, I have won in the corporate board rooms and in the halls of Hollywood. Boone Media Network is worth billions. That takes a special kind of courage and I’ve been far more successful than you. And, I never broke the law.”

“I wasn’t always a criminal.”

“Yeah, you were a policeman once. But, admit it. That was only so you could get your revenge. Now, you’re hunted by the riffraff you put away.” Boone walked past him to the window. He had a slight limp. Steroids would do that to your joints. He tapped the window. “I own all of that and more.” He glanced at the man and tapped the man’s chest. “And, now I own you. You see, I paid your debt. You belong to me. Don’t forget that!”

The man looked down at Boone’s finger and fought down the urge to break every bone in the man’s hand. Instead, he stepped back and took a calming breath. He placed a hand on the pocket of jumpsuit. Inside was the photograph. Remember why you are here! It’s for them. “I’ve made my choices. I will do what I promised.”

“Of course, you will.” Boone said as he pulled an envelope from his jacket’s inside pocket. “Now, I asked the Major to get you to sign these papers before you arrived here. Without your signature, we cannot proceed. This is the waiver that relieves my corporation of any responsibility in your death. And, the other form has the space for your signature, so we can send the funds to your beneficiaries.”

“Yes.” The man’s voice was quiet and firm. “Half to my wife and the other half in a trust fund for my daughters.”

“Then, sign them. My patience is waning, and you should have signed them by now.”

“You sent one of your toadies. I wanted to look you in the face, the man who bought my soul.” He reached for the papers and his gaze shifted as he read them. He reached out an empty hand. Boone took his gold pen from his shirt pocket and handed it to him. The man scrawled his signature on the papers and handed them back.

“I didn’t know she was pregnant when I left her.” The man whispered.

“Yeah, whatever.” Boone examined each page and his face grew warm with anger. “Now, why couldn’t you have done this the first time you received these papers? I am a very busy man. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” The man reached out with a dark hand and tapped Boone in the chest. “But, you need me.”

Boone stepped back, shook his head in disbelief and tucked the papers into his pocket. “I’ll have the technicians here shortly to start your preparation.”

“What kind of preparation?” The man asked.

“To get you ready to die, Theophilus.”

“Only friends call me Theo, but you can call me Mr. King.” The man said, and he turned back to the window.