Stephanie Osborn's DragonCon Schedule

by Stephanie Osborn
http://www.stephanie-osborn.com

Okay folks! Yours truly will be officially attending DragonCon this year! Due to circumstances beyond my control I was unable to attend Nine Worlds Convention and LonCon-3/WorldCon in London UK this year, as planned, but unless something really DRASTIC happens (and I'm talking somebody in the hospital or the morgue drastic), I WILL BE at DragonCon!

And since I thought a few of you might like to know my schedule, here it is, fresh from the planning folks.

~~~

Title: Reading: Stephanie Osborn 
Time: Fri 04:00 pm Location: Roswell - Hyatt (Length: 1)
Description: From 'A Case of Spontaneous Combustion'
Track: Readings

Title: First Contact: Make & Create Aliens
Time: Fri 08:30 pm Location: Embassy A-B - Hyatt (Length: 1)
Description: Skilled professionals brainstorm an alien and the first contact that might result.
Track: Sci-Fi Literature

Title: The Detective & The Ripper
Time: Fri 10:00 pm Location: Augusta 1-2 - Westin (Length: 1)
Description: Victorian fact and fiction meld as panelists examine and share theories about the world's greatest detective and famed first serial killer.
Track: Alt Hist

Title: Practical Time Travel
Time: Sat 04:00 pm Location: Augusta 1-2 - Westin (Length: 1)
Description: The science and real theories behind time travel and a survey of time travel in speculative fiction and media.
Track: Alt Hist

Title: Race & Gender Issues
Time: Sat 07:00 pm Location: Augusta 3 - Westin (Length: 1)
Description: This discussion panel explores how to handle historical gender and race roles within the realm of alternate history.
Track: Alt Hist

Title: Autograph Session
Time: Sun 01:00 pm Location: International Hall South - Marriott (Length: 1)
Track: Autograph

Title: Putting Humans on Mars
Time: Mon 10:00 am Location: 309-310 - Hilton (Length: 1)
Description: A discussion of the issues that must be resolved before boots on Mars can be accomplished.
Track: Space

Title: Victorian Technology
Time: Mon 11:30 am Location: Augusta 1-2 - Westin (Length: 1)
Description: A panel discussion of the technology of the Victorian era and how to exploit it for stories or imagination.
Track: Alt Hist

~~~

Do note that schedules can change at the last minute. Also note that in some cases I will be scuttling between hotels on bad knees, with more or less back to back panels. (Dragon is wise and allows half an hour between scheduled panels for people to make this traverse, but for those of us who are handicapped, it may still be difficult.) So if I'm supposed to be on the panel but it starts without me, hang on! I'll get there as soon as I can!

Excerpt: The Case of the Cosmological Killer: The Rendlesham Incident

This is the prologue to the third book in my Displaced Detective Series, The Case of the Cosmological Killer: The Rendlesham Incident, a science fiction mystery. Books 1 and 2 (The Case of the Displaced Detective: At Speed) are in release, ebook and treebook; book 3, (The Case of the Cosmological Killer: The Rendlesham Incident) has been released THIS WEEK! Book 4 (The Case of the Cosmological Killer: Endings and Beginnings) will be released this fall. You can purchase all of them in pretty much any format you like through my website, www.stephanie-osborn.com. Hope you enjoy this excerpt.


~~~

Prologue—Encounters

"Leeming Tower, this is Blue-One-Niner; Tower, this is Blue-One-Niner."

"This is RAF Leeming. Go, Blue-One-Niner."

"Tower, I have visual at one o'clock low, approaching coast along south-southeast heading; range, estimated twelve klicks. Request verification and possible change of altitude."

"Blue-One-Niner, this is Tower. Please repeat visual info."

"Tower, Blue-One-Niner. Visual at one o'clock low, estimated range ten klicks and closing."

"Blue-One-Niner, Tower. I thought you said twelve klicks."

"Tower, One-Niner. I did; it's incoming."

"Blue-One-Niner, radar shows no other aircraft in your vicinity."

"Leeming, better look again. It's right there, range now…HOLY SHIT! It just accelerated! Range now seven kilometres and closing fast! I am executing evasive manoeuvers! Climbing to twelve thousand metres! Bogey heading south-southeast, nearing coastline…"

"Copy, Blue-One-Niner. Evasive manoeuvers; you are cleared to twelve thousand. Be advised, radar still shows no—hold one! Where the bloody hell did THAT come from?! Contact Fylingdales—you did? They don't? Roger that! All other traffic on this channel, this is Leeming Tower; please move to Channel Four immediately. Blue-One-Niner, this is Tower! Do you still have visual on bogey?"

"Roger, Tower! Closing fast…"

"You are authorised to pursue and bring down, peaceful preferred. Scrambling backup."

"Copy, pursue and bring down. If peaceful refused?"

"You are authorised to use whatever means necessary. If peaceful refused, consider hostile."

"Roger that. It's passing below me now. Turning to pursue."

"Copy that. Blue-One-Niner, can you identify aircraft? Radar signature is…inconclusive."

"Uh…Tower, that visual is an inconclusive, too. It doesn't look like any bloody aircraft I've ever seen. In fact, it doesn't even look like an aircraft…"

"Description?"

"It's a…big fuzzy ball, glowing kind of…yellowish-orange. And moving like a bat out of hell."

"Blue-One-Niner, please repeat last transmission. It sounded like you said a big fuzzy ball?"

"Affirm, Tower, that's exactly what I said. Think…giant tennis ball, only more orange. Still approaching coastline near Scarborough… correction! Bogey has changed heading! Damn! Stand by, Tower…"

"Leeming Tower standing by."

"Tower, this is Blue-One-Niner. I don't know what the blazes they've got, but it's way the hell more manoeuvreable than my Typhoon. They just executed a sharp turn to port, and I do mean sharp! I overshot by several miles inland, trying to make the turn. They are now paralleling the coastline, bearing southeast."

"Roger that, Blue-One-Niner. We…saw the turn on radar…"

"Yeah, you probably see something else, too."

"Roger that. Bogey is…ACCELERATING?!"

"Like that bat out of hell—on warp drive. Punching 'burners…"

"Blue-One-Niner, this is Leeming Tower. Report."

"Leeming, this is Blue-One-Niner. Sorry, mates, she's outstripped me by a long shot. Keep 'er on radar as long as you can, and try to anticipate and scramble interceptors. I've already almost lost visual."

"Roger that…"

* * *

Inside the radar room at RAF Fylingdales, the Officer of the Day discussed the situation with his chief technician.

"Are you sure?" the OD pressed his radar tech.

"Positive, sir," the tech replied, grim. "We've been watching it for the last five minutes, ever since it showed on radar. The only thing I know of that can travel that fast is a blasted Space Shuttle, and even they couldn't make manoeuvres like this ruddy thing is making. We're gathering all the radar data on it we can, profiles and such, but so far, we've not been able to put a plane close. Blue-One-Niner got a good visual on it, but that was sheer dumb luck."

"What kind of craft was One-Niner in? Recon?"

"A Typhoon, sir. And the bogey left it in the dust, even on full afterburners."

"Bollocks!" the OD exclaimed, shocked and gawking. "Left in the DUST? A TYPHOON?!"

"Like it was sitting still, as near as I can tell from air-to-ground transmissions. Radar supported the assessment, too."

The OD thought hard for several moments.

"Any idea where it's headed?"

"Yeah." The techie scowled.

"Well?"

"You're not gonna like it."

"Tell me anyway."

"Bentwaters." The engineer gazed solemnly at his superior. The OD blanched.

"Bugger. Get the brass on the bloody horn!"

* * *

Deep beneath the seemingly abandoned RAF Bentwaters base, ciphered telephones were ringing off their hooks. Frantic officers and enlisted personnel scurried about, attempting to ascertain under what sort of threat they were operating.

The underground facility itself was under full lockdown, with absolutely no sign of life visible to the outside.

And that was precisely how they wanted it.

Far overhead, in the deepening twilight sky, a glowing golden sphere floated, searching.

* * *

In the Headquarters of Her Majesty's Secret Service, the Director General was in her office, reviewing the dispatches as soon as they arrived.

"Not again," she muttered under her breath, obviously deeply concerned. "I thought we were done with this decades ago."

"Doesn't look like it, madam," Captain Braeden Ryker noted, subdued, handing her another report. "All hell is breaking loose out there, by the sound of it. Some of the public reports are probably spurious, and some of it—seventy-five percent, I'd say—likely due to hoaxes and copycats and just plain power of suggestion. But that still leaves the remaining twenty-five percent as real. We've got jets scrambled all along the coast, and except for the initial intercept, which was accidental, not one of our aircraft could even get close enough to see the thing." He looked down at the paper in his hand. "We did luck out on one point. Our local field office got a heads-up from Fylingdales at the same time they notified Bentwaters, and Gregory got his ass in gear with record speed. He mobilised a field team in time to have a gander at the object. They're still in the field, so we don't have word yet."

"Is it still out there?"

Ryker glanced again at the communiqué in his hand.

"Not according to the latest information, no, madam."

"Get a detail out there and start looking into the situation." The director shook her head, obviously gravely concerned.

"What about…?" Ryker began, then added candidly, "Do you want me to override Gregory, madam?"

"No, I want you to work WITH him," the Director declared with a wave of her hand. "Get some of the Headquarters experts out there right alongside his team—specialists, to aid him in his assessment, not supersede him. I know Gregory. He's a good man, with a good team. I simply want all the data we can gather. I want to know what this thing is, where it's from, what it's after, and I want to know five minutes ago."

"Right away, madam," Ryker nodded, exiting swiftly.

* * *

The field excursion team filed into the back of the nondescript office building, entering an equally bland conference room. They appeared to be college students and young professionals, clad in jeans or chinos and shirts, carrying attaché cases or backpacks, as appropriate. When the last of them arrived and the conference room door closed, they turned to the man in the corner.

"Here we go again, Gregory," the field team lead sighed, shaking his head. "It's the Halt transcript all over again, right down to the imagery in the night vision goggles."

"Any feeling of intent?"

"Definite intent," another remarked. "It was…looking…for something. A natural phenom doesn't sweep a grid pattern. This bugger did. Nice and precise, too."

"Blast and damnation," Gregory sighed. "What was it looking for? Any ideas?"

"That's the prize question, isn't it, boss?" the second field investigator shrugged. "If we could answer that, problem solved, and on to the next issue—which is, what to do about it?"

"Yeah," Gregory muttered. "Well, boys and girls, get your reports together fast. Headquarters is breathing down our necks. Word has it the Director General herself is involved, and you know to whom SHE reports. We're likely to have help soon. In fact, some experts are supposed to be coming down from London as we speak, to work alongside."

There was a collective groan from the room.

"All right, boss," the team lead noted. "Everyone, laptops out, reports in half an hour. Type fast."

* * *

Ryker came into the Director's office at speed, bearing the collected dispatches from the field office.

"Here you go, madam," he noted, handing them to the Secret Service director. "The latest on the phaenomenon. I can't say I'm pleased with the way this is headed."

The scowling director scanned through the reports, speed-reading. "Ah, I see your point. Are the subject matter experts on their way?"

"They are."

"Very good. Dismissed." As Ryker turned to leave, she changed her mind. "Ryker, wait a moment."

"Yes, madam?" He stopped, pivoting smartly on his heel to face her once more.

"Your…friends…in America…" She pondered briefly.

"Williams, madam?"

"No, the scientist and a certain detective." She threw a small grin at the agent.

"Ah," Ryker grinned back at her, "Dr. Skye Chadwick and Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

"The very ones. What are they doing at the present time?"

"I don't know offhand, madam, but I can contact Williams and find out," Ryker said. "I have strong reason to believe they may be coming across the Pond for a visit after the first of the year, however. Are you considering calling them in on this?"

"Possibly," the director confessed, looking over one of the dispatches. "Certainly they possess the specific expertise necessary to look into so abstruse a problem as this. They…" she paused, staring at the paper in her hand. "The night vision goggles showed a HOLE in the middle of the object?" She raised her head, gazing at Ryker in astonishment.

"Yes, ma'am. It makes no sense, I know, but that's just like it happened back in 1980."

"And you have every confidence in Chadwick and Holmes." She eyed Ryker sternly.

"Yes, ma'am," Ryker responded smartly, with confident emphasis.

"And this is really THE Sherlock Holmes?"

"Without doubt," Ryker smiled. His certainty was almost palpable. Despite this fact, the Director sighed without enthusiasm.

"Very well. Yes, Captain Ryker. Contact Captain Williams and have him ascertain their availability. Provide Williams with a detailed abstract of events through appropriately secure channels, and see to it he briefs Holmes and Chadwick on the matter as soon as possible. Ensure they are instructed to stand by in the event they are called in on the case."

"Consider it done." Ryker snapped off a salute before spinning and exiting the office.

~~~


For more, or to purchase this and more books in the series, go to my website, www.stephanie-osborn.com.

Extraction Point! Ch 1 part 3

Extraction Point!
by Travis S. Taylor & Stephanie Osborn

http://www.stephanie-osborn.com

Ray turned the corner and nearly slammed face first into a brick wall, stopping just in time to scratch his right elbow up a little more on the rough brick as he caught himself against the wall. Ow. Really needed THAT. Quickly he scanned around for an exit. There was only one--a primer-coated metal staircase up the side of the building--and the man had a full story and a half head start on him. It was almost as if the man knew the route he was going and had known the staircase would be there.

Shoving his way through the pain and exhaustion, Ray threw himself up the staircase, keeping his pace steady and the man in sight. Twice he saw the man slip on the wet metal steps, and each time Ray made a slight gain on him, his treaded boots proving a better grip on the metal than the man's street shoes. Pushing harder than he thought he could, Ray closed the gap to only half a story behind the man as he went out of sight over the rooftop of the ten story building.

Ray crested the rooftop cautiously and there was the man, sitting on the edge of the rooftop barely a couple of meters away, looking over the edge at the street below and then at his watch–or one of them; for some reason, he was wearing two. Different ones, at that. His pale blond thatch, cut short enough to stand in upright spikes but not short enough to qualify as a buzz cut, wilted a bit in the rain.

"You… you are rather good," the man offered, wiped blood from his aquiline--though now slightly misshapen--nose, gasped for breath, and looked at his watch again with bright blue eyes.

"Listen, I've got backup right behind me. There is no way down and I can keep you busy long enough for 'em to catch you. What d' you say we just sit down, take a breather, and wait on 'em?" Ray panted and smiled at the same time, hoping to stall long enough that he wouldn't have to fight the guy any more before backup arrived.

"I've got a better idea." The man looked at his watch one last time and then leapt over the side of the rooftop, pushing off with his hands as he slipped gracefully from the lip of the ledge. There was a brief flash of white light--Ray assumed it was lightning--that caused him to flinch and cover his eyes for a moment. And the man was gone.

"NO!" Ray rushed to the edge of the building, peered over, and… saw… nothing. "What the hell!?" No blood on the street below, no screaming passersby, no squished and maimed body–nothing.

"Ray! You all right?" a voice from behind him gasped.

Ray stood there, confused--no, flabbergasted--peering over the edge of the building, visually searching every nook, cranny, alley, and pavement all the way down. Nothing. The man had simply vanished like a ghost. No body, no visible escape route, no sign.

The rain continued to wash the red blood from Ray's broken nose and swelling lip down the front of his already stained and ripped shirt and he could still hear the music off in the distance somewhere. He stood in a contemplative calmness, surveying the volume of space off the side of the building, and gasping for air as his heartbeat slowed. How in the. Bloody. Damn. HELL did he get away? This time, is it… nah, can't be.

"Your pistol, Ray." A young man in his late twenties with a blond military haircut and an athlete's build scanned the rooftop as he offered Ray his weapon.

"Huh? Oh, thanks, Jay." Ray took his favorite handgun, checked the magazine and safety, and slipped it in the clip holster on his waistband at his back. When he did, cold water squished from the holster, down his back and into his already soaked underwear, giving him a severe chill. He shivered violently for a second. He was still more than a bit dazed by what had happened moments ago--and the beating he'd taken--oh yeah, and the running.

"Uh, Dr. Brady?"

"What? I know, he got away." Ray panted, still having a hard time talking between breaths.

"Uh, no sir, uh, Ray, you've been shot." Major Sampson pointed to the bloody mess on his left shoulder. The young Army major said it nonchalantly as if he had seen the same situation before.

"Oh, that. It's just a flesh wound," Ray waved his hand in dismissal–right before he collapsed backwards onto the rooftop.

"Man down! Medic!" Sampson called over the radio.

---

Extraction Point! is available for purchase through Barnes-Noble and Amazon, as well as Twilight Times Books.

See other books by Stephanie Osborn at http://www.stephanie-osborn.com

Extraction Point! Ch 1 part 2

Extraction Point!
By Travis S. Taylor & Stephanie Osborn

http://www.stephanie-osborn.com

Just as the thought occurred to him, the man regained his poise and his vision, and rushed at him wildly–at least it seemed wild, at first. So Ray sidestepped and attempted to Judo throw him. But the man countered the move with an Aikido circular motion that flung Ray around a full three hundred and sixty degrees and then downward and forward, sliding belly first and hydroplaning in the several inch deep rainwater. His belly slide splashed a double rooster tail of water out behind him. Ray tucked his right arm under his body--ignoring the pain caused from the street pavement peeling skin from his forearm--and used his momentum in a Judo roll to bring him back up to his feet just in time to be tackled from behind mid-back. I'm not doing too well with this guy, he thought, rueful. Jesus, this son of a bitch is fast.

Ray twisted and squirmed free, tossing the man backward, and barely missed him with a spinning back kick. In a flurry of elbows, backward head butts, punches, and blocks, the two men ended back in the exact same spot they had been a few moments before. Ray was face down in the same pothole struggling for his breath as his would-be assailant ground knees into his lower back and pummeled him from behind. But this time, to Ray's surprise, the man's grip let go sooner–much sooner.

As Ray forced his head up above the water again, he understood why. He could hear the semiautomatic weapon's fire splattering off the alleyway wall in front of them. The rain of bullets was obviously fired overhead as a warning, spraying yellow sparks and shards of brick ubiquitously, but it still startled the man and the break was all Ray needed to throw him forward. At first Ray covered, afraid of friendly fire, but the man he'd already chased for two solid freakin' miles into this alley entrance had bear-crawled his way to the turn in the alley and was getting away.

"Hold your fire," Ray heard someone call over the music and the rain and his pounding chest. With that, he lunged to his feet with all the strength he had left and headed forward in pursuit of the man, lungs burning, dredging endurance he didn't expect from some unknown, heretofore untapped place inside.

"You are NOT going to get away from me, dammit!" He sprinted around the corner in time to see the man climbing a chain link fence crossing the alley. "Shit!"

Over the fence, Ray said determinedly to himself. Ignoring various protesting bodily parts, he scrambled up to the top of the rusty fence and leaned over it, grabbing the other side of the fence with his hands, and then let his body weight flip him feet over head. He splashed down on the other side, already in a full sprint. Come on! Push it!

Ray was gaining on the larger man, but his heart was pounding at least two hundred beats per minute and felt as if it would explode at any instant. If only I hadn't dropped my damn pistol, I'd have him now!

Extraction Point! is available for purchase through Barnes-Noble and Amazon, as well as Twilight Times Books.

See other books by Stephanie Osborn at http://www.stephanie-osborn.com

Extraction Point! Ch 1 part 1

Extraction Point!
by Travis S. Taylor & Stephanie Osborn

http://www.stephanie-osborn.com

Chapter 1

Ray wasn't quite sure where the music was coming from, but it was loud. The second time he managed to force his head above the murky brown and gray water in the hubcap-deep tire buster of a pothole, he could hear the music pounding even louder than his heart AND the pouring rain–which was saying something. It was a remake of the old Guns 'n' Roses tune Perfect Crime–and from what he could tell, IT ROCKED.

The rain and the music and a chance to catch his breath gave him a quick burst of adrenaline to fight against the force of the two knees in his back, the hand grasping tight at the nape of his neck, and the fist beating into his left ribs. Ray flinched from the repeated jabs of pain pummeling into his side and could feel the adrenaline--and his hold above the water--slipping. So he took a deep gulp of air just before his face was slammed forward into the puddle, his nose bashing hard against the gravelly, broken asphalt at the bottom. The automatic gasp of pain that came next was inevitable. So was the water that filled his mouth.

Instinct engaged, and his body thrashed in wild desperation as he fought to avoid inhaling the filthy water. Despite his best efforts, he began choking, which in turn brought on a cough/gag reflex. Drowning, he realized, triggered bodily responses that were not only hardwired, but damn difficult to overcome.

I'm getting my ass kicked, he thought, verging on panicky despite himself. I've got to do something! Something Goddamned quick!

Using every ounce of willpower he possessed, Ray let his strength go and relaxed so that the man on his back could force him down and therefore be baited into a false sense of dominance–even, maybe, the notion that Ray was dead. Then he gritted his teeth and threw his right elbow up with all the strength he had left.

"Get OFF me!!" he yelled, muddy water gurgling from his lips as his elbow hit something hard–just when he lost his balance with his left hand, causing him to slip full face forward into the murky pothole… again. But the grip around his neck was gone.

Maneuvering both of his hands under himself push-up style, Ray managed to roll his body to the right, forcing his attacker off his back while continuing his roll over and then flipping backwards onto his feet. Ray shook the rain, mud, and blood out of his eyes, hacked slimy water from his windpipe, and made ready for an attack, but soon realized that his elbow had caught the man that he had been fighting square on the nose. The man was standing, briefly stunned and temporarily blinded, with bright red blood mixed with rain pouring profusely down his face. This gave Ray only long enough to catch his breath and scan the area for his handgun. He didn't see it anywhere. Shit. I liked that gun. Ok, hand to hand it's gonna be then, he thought to himself, easing into a shallow horse stance while really wishing he hadn't let the guy get the drop on him and knock his pistol out of his grip earlier.

---

Extraction Point! is available for purchase through Barnes-Noble and Amazon, as well as Twilight Times Books.

See other books by Stephanie Osborn at http://www.stephanie-osborn.com

Extraction Point! by Travis S. Taylor & Stephanie Osborn

Brilliant scientist and government operative Dr. Reagan "Ray" Brady is a man with a shadowed, and painful, past. He should be dead. In fact, the man he was IS "dead," and the identity he now has is not the one with which he was born. Were it not for two faithful friends, now dubbed Jay and Ernie, all three men would truly be dead.

Instead, Ray has what he considers the perfect life: the three now work for an ultra-secret division of the Department of Homeland Security, on the lookout for invasion by rather unique sorts of illegal aliens - "Santa Clauses," or extraterrestrials, and "Easter Bunnies," or time travelers. This team includesnot only Ray, but his wife and team leader, Samantha Brady. The team's "mascot" is their one year old daughter, Abigail.

Things couldn't be any more perfect for Ray - until a mysterious man shows up, leaving several dead men in his wake. When Ray's team confronts the man in the Big Apple, Ray is nearly beaten to a pulp, then watches as the man leaps from the roof of a ten story building - and vanishes in mid-air. Meanwhile, Samantha is watching video from the Y-12 Plant in Oak Ridge, Tennessee, and seconds after his disappearance from NYC, sees the same man saunter calmly in for a full guided tour of the facility. A genetic scientist, whose work is on the cutting edge of research, disappears from his locked office. And large quantities of gold and other items are being stolen from within bank vaults and other secure facilities around the world. Most disturbing is the missing fissile material from Oak Ridge.

Who is this man? Why does his image show up through three centuries of Earth's history? How do he and his men manage to travel seemingly instantaneously? What does he intend to do with all of the stolen wealth and dangerous material he has amassed? And can Ray and his team stop him before Ray loses everything he now holds dear?

Travis S. "Doc" Taylor, New York Times best-selling science and science fiction author of the Warp Speed series, the Tau Ceti series, co-author of the first book in the Cresperian Saga, Human By Choice, and co-author of the Looking Glass series with John Ringo; and Stephanie Osborn, best-selling co-author of books two and three of the Cresperian Saga The Y Factor and The Cresperian Allliance, and the science fiction mystery Burnout: The mystery of Space Shuttle STS-281, have collaborated on the first novel in the Point series, Extraction Point!, for Twilight Times Books.

Extraction Point! by Taylor, Osborn to be released April 15, 2011!

Travis S. "Doc" Taylor, NYT best-selling science and science fiction author of the Warp Speed series, the Tau Ceti series, co-author of the first book in the Cresperian Saga, Human By Choice, and co-author of the Looking Glass series with John Ringo; and Stephanie Osborn, best-selling co-author of books two and three of the Cresperian Saga The Y Factor and The Cresperian Allliance, and the science fiction mystery Burnout: The mystery of Space Shuttle STS-281, have collaborated on the first novel in the Point series, Extraction Point!, for Twilight Times Books. Extraction Point! is complete and to the publisher! Release date is set for 15 April, 2011!

Brilliant scientist and government operative Dr. Reagan "Ray" Brady is a man with a shadowed, and painful, past. He should be dead. In fact, the man he was IS "dead," and the identity he now has is not the one with which he was born. Were it not for two faithful friends, now dubbed Jay and Ernie, all three men would truly be dead. Instead, Ray has what he considers the perfect life: the three now work for an ultra-secret division of the Department of Homeland Security, on the lookout for invasion by rather unique sorts of illegal aliens - "Santa Clauses," or extraterrestrials, and "Easter Bunnies," or time travelers. This team includes not only Ray, but his wife and team leader, Samantha Brady. The team's "mascot" is their one year old daughter, Abigail.

Things couldn't be any more perfect for Ray - until a mysterious man shows up, leaving several dead men in his wake. When Ray's team confronts the man in the Big Apple, Ray is nearly beaten to a pulp, then watches as the man leaps from the roof of a ten story building - and vanishes in mid-air. Meanwhile, Samantha is watching video from the Y-12 Plant in Oak Ridge, Tennessee, and seconds after his disappearance from NYC, sees the same man saunter calmly in for a full guided tour of the facility. A genetic scientist, whose work is on the cutting edge of research, disappears from his locked office. And large quantities of gold and other items are being stolen from within bank vaults and other secure facilities around the world. Most disturbing is the missing fissile material from Oak Ridge.

Who is this man? Why does his image show up through three centuries of Earth's history? How do he and his men manage to travel seemingly instantaneously? What does he intend to do with all of the stolen wealth and dangerous material he has amassed? And can Ray and his team stop him before Ray loses everything he now holds dear?

Watch for this exciting new book, first in the Point Series!