text:
"You know you don't have to through with this?" My mom whispered in a desperate attempt to keep her only son in her arms.
"Ma, come on, we've talked about this for months now. This is a good opportunity, for you to go forth with your goals like you always wanted to and I can go live with my father in Chicago to get away from the demons that hold me here," I reassured her. God, I swear that woman never could make up her mind. But, in a sense, I guess she's worried about her 16 year old son moving to another city far from her protecting eye. I mean, after all, she gave birth to me; she's been there for everything from the start of my martial arts training to coming out to her a month ago. She was still here, so when she was offered to a job that would better her success it was my turn to repay many favors.
"I know,Troy, I know. I'm going to miss you, that's all," she said while kissing my forehead.
The announcer's voice rang through out the airport, "Now boarding Flight 3695 toChicago."
"That's me," I said gripping her in a hug.
"Ok, I love you! And remember what I told you–don't let anyone get you down about your eyes they're beautiful!" she reminded me.
"Ah, yes that's all in the past now, Ma," I smiled, "I love you too."
As I boarded the plane I turned around to give her one last wave goodbye and teary-eyed smile. On the plane ride I thought back to how I was constantly picked on because of my eyes. They used to harass and torment me because my eyes were completely white. It got to the point where I was beat up and bullied daily until the third grade. When my mom made me take some self-defense classes, then I began to act out seeking my revenge on those that tormented me before. I was getting in fights daily, but it never helped ease the mental pain of someone teasing me relentlessly. Sure, the physical pain and bruises eventually faded, but the emotional scars of the torment in some those hateful words tended to stick and latch on and never want to dissipate into the background. The self-defense classes helped in protecting my physical self but the inside was screaming and boiling to points of rage unheard of. Until I had a talk with my mother. She told me, "You shouldn't let anger and pain cloud your better judgment. Those who do stay trapped in the same situation looking for a way out, but don't realize that the way out is to move past the anger and pain. Besides, the ones that tease you 90% of the time are doing it to cover up their own misery. So just let it go," She then took me to a mirror and made me repeat all those hateful things they called me. And she then complimented my eyes and pointed them out so I could see them and every day since she's done that. And after that I started to take notice, just her little comments alone made me start complementing myself and everyone else's negative comments just seemed to dissipate into the wind. I started to fall in love with myself, looking in the mirror daily just to see myself again. Once, I started to not care about the others opinions they started taking notice and complementing me. Let's just say it did wonders for my ego and self-esteem and to say the least it has made me a little conceited.
The flight fromBaltimoretoChicagowas particularly long for being in the air. I was getting very irritable, so I tried to sleep but I was nervous. I never met my father before and the thoughts were brewing uncontrollably. Is he gonna recognize me? Would I recognize him? Will he like me? Is he gay? Straight? Does he have a boyfriend? Girlfriend? What if we don't get along? Does he have other kids? What if he's homophobic? What if…?
"No," I whispered to myself, "concentrate,Troy, everything's gonna be fine." I did my best to concentrate so I thought about sand at the beach. How it has this timeless, adaptable nature. It kind of reminded me of myself and what I want to be as a person in life. Timeless, I wanted to make my mark, a lasting impression on whomever I met. I didn't want someone to ever just remember me asTroythe short black kid with dreadlocks. No, never that. Some way, shape or form I was gonna hold a place in your memory forever. I am adaptable in the sense that I take to situations better than some people due to analyzing them from all angles, and choosing the one that helps ensure my survival.
The flight finally touched down and I was breathing very heavy. In thoughts of meeting my father, the walk from the plane to baggage claim was endless. "This is it," I said breathlessly, as I came down the escalator.
The first thing I noticed was a tall, muscular man. At least in his mid 30's, bald with bubbly brown eyes, he had a sign and a dazzling smile. I mean just showing all 32. But, this man looked just like me except for the hair, height and eyes. He was standing at a good 6'1″ tall, while I was down to a meager 5'5″. Before I read the sign our eyes connected. And his smile got brighter–blinding almost–and I started to get excited to meet my father.
"I can't believe you're finally here," the man said, wrapping me up in a hug. His embrace captured me not just physically but emotionally. He is a very open person and I was beginning to see where pieces of my personality came from. Physically, his embrace made me feel whole in a parental sense. That this man was the missing piece to a puzzle.
"God I've waited forever for this day," I cried.
"So you're my younger half…Troy Gabriel, Jr.," he smiled.
"Yeah, that's me," I sighed.
We got acquainted for a bit. And took off towards his apartment. Upon arriving he told me that there was this beautiful park not far from the penthouse, Grant Park. He said it would be a good place to check out while he was running some last minute errands and then we would hang out at Navy Pier.
The skyline was pretty dark as I reached Grant Park. I decided to stroll around the area to take in my surroundings. I let my mind wander while I strolled the park. There was only one topic that concerned me though. Coming out to my father–it had to be done. I was surprised that I cared so much about his opinion toward my sexual preference. I mean I just met him for the first time and, honestly, part of me says that he'd have to deal with it. Maybe I should wait a couple days and get settled first, then feel him out about how he'd digest the situation. Then break it down to him. Through my deep thought I must've done laps around the fountain.
"Are you lost sugar?" A voice called out to me. I looked around to see this drag queen sitting on the park bench looking at me.
"No, just in deep thought," I replied, shuddering at the cold weather.
She chuckled at my shuddering and said, "Welcome toChicago."
I laughed with her, "Is it that obvious?"
"Well most of us here in the 'WindyCity' wear jackets or are used to the cold weather," she said. "So what seems to be troubling you?" she added, tapping the space next to her on the bench.
I contemplated for a minute sitting down with her. Something about her had my senses tingling. I couldn't put my finger on it but something screamed danger in the back of my mind.
"Come on, Diva don't bite on most nights," she said while digging in her purse. I chuckled lightly at her comment but my senses went off again like she was being rather serious. But I brushed it off because she seemed like a genuine person and I could use someone to talk to right now.
"So, tell Diva what seems to be troubling you?" she repeated as I sat down on the bench.
"Oh, nothing really…I mean nothing that I want to bother you about," I replied.
"Suit yourself, but let me say this if he loves you then it shouldn't be a problem, he may be shocked but he'll understand" she said looking me in the eyes.
"Oh, ok." I said awkwardly.
"So…where you from?"
"Baltimore," I said proudly.
"Oh, you traveled along way from home, honey," she said.
"Yeah, but it was for the best," I said, staring at the fountain.
"Well, I'm sure sugar," she smiled at me looking me in the eyes, "Ah, your eyes…are giving me life."
"Thank you, Ms…." I chuckled pointing out the fact we never officially introduced ourselves.
"Divinity James, but everyone calls me Diva," she said.
"Troy Gabriel," I chuckled, "Thank you for the advice."
"No problem…besides it wasn't troubling you," she replied.
"I did say that didn't I?" I sighed. Looking out at the park I saw my father walking towards the park.
"It was nice talking to you, Diva, but I gotta take that advice now," I smiled.
"Alright my little Ken doll, don't let Ms. Diva stop you," she said, "come back and see me sometime."
"Will do."
"Also, you should stop wandering around at nights, it's not safe," she said with a real serious tone.
"Advice taken."
The Pier is beautiful I love the way it mashed with theChicagoskyline. The people all came from all walks of life. I felt like I was back inBaltimorefor a minute.
"So what do you think so far?" my dad asked.
"This city's beautiful, I think I might like it here."
My hands started sweating, I was nervous at the words beginning to form in the back of my throat. My mind started bursting with 'what ifs'. We continued walking and ended up at an area where we could look out at the water. 'It's now or never,' I thought. But before I could speak he beat me to it.
"You know,Troy, this whole father-son thing is very new to me and I was hoping you could look past the fact that I haven't been there. I know I should've been there and believe me, I wish I had been. But I want us to start fresh. What do you say?"
Damn, how do you move on from that. I couldn't do it not tonight it just didn't seem right for him to tell me what he really wants and then I come in and lower the boom. My father was really trying, he wanted to be there. So the least I could do was try.
"Better late than never, right?" I said, pulling him in for a hug.
After our father-son moment we decided to head back to the car. And my senses were tingling and it was weirding me out. It was like we were being followed. I looked around and saw two guys staring at us. I made a mental note of the two faces as they weren't moving, just glaring like they were taking mental pictures, too.
We made it to the car and went to a nearby diner to eat, and my senses started going off again. Upon leaving the diner I saw them, the two faces from the pier. Now I was on alert.
"I think we're being followed," I whispered.
"You noticed it too?" he replied. He then rolled up one of his sleeves and raised his arm that had some weird marking like a tattoo. And they stopped from the looks of it. We were good for a couple blocks with no sight of the two faces.
"Troy, listen to me, I want you to run," my dad said.
"What?" I started and my senses went off stronger than before. These two faces were still coming for us.
"Go now!" he shouted. Like lightning, one of the guys was in front of us. It was unreal his eyes so dark and decrepit with purpose. My father shoved me out of the way and I started to high tail it down the street.
I didn't stop, in fear of what was behind me. I kept moving…forward crossing streets, jumping fences. This shit wasn't a joke like just simply losing the cops, no these bitches were after a nigga.
I ran into some abandoned car lot. My thoughts were in a frenzy I can't run for too much longer. I used to much energy to try and fight whatever it is that was after me. And then I ran into a dead end. I turned around and the other guy was right there. His dark, crimson eyes feasting on me, I only had two choices die helplessly or go down swinging. Thinking of self defense class my teacher said this was only to be used in a life or death situation. This is definitely one of those situations. All I had to do was find his chakra flow and hit it hard enough to block it off completely.
"You really think that's gonna work?" the guy hissed. I froze instantly, not because of the malice and venom in his voice, but he was reading my thoughts: that's not possible.
"You know, your 'father' put up a good fight, too bad I wasn't after him though. You know, if you weren't on the bosses shit list I'd cross you over and keep you with me. But you know what they say, you shouldn't mix business with pleasure," he smiled.
Business? I don't even know this dude to even establish myself on his bosses list. I still had one shot to possibly leave out of this alive. I found his chakra flow now I had to get a quick hit in his lungs to cut off all air and hit the pressure point in the heart to cut him off completely.
"Determination! I like that," he said, "Still willing to try it, by all means, humor me," he said, still approaching me. I analyzed him for any other opening that may help me. When something caught me by surprise, he had two fangs growing out of his mouth. He hissed at me and started charging.
This was it the final standoff and I had a clear shot. In a flash one hit to the left lung another to the right lung. He sunk his teeth into my neck as I hit the heart. "I missed," I whispered as the realization of being bitten sunk in. I couldn't have had a clear shot, there's no way. And I was right, I felt the fangs dislodge from my neck and his body just collapsed.
I started hyperventilating as the pain kicked in. It felt like fire was shooting through my veins. I had to get help. I began to wander around this car lot, hoping to God there might be someone around. It hurt to move and the fire shooting through my veins was growing all over my body. But I couldn't give up, I wouldn't. I made it this far, there must be a reason. Faster and faster I was losing this battle, pieces of me dying with every step. I was ready to give up when I saw a boy who ran and hid as soon as he saw me. "Help me please?" I whispered, as I dropped on the sand and darkness set in.
I gasped in shock upon waking up. My hands went directly to my neck. Nothing there, but I know that bastard bit me.
"Where am I?" I said. Looking at my surroundings it looked as if I was in some car with painted black windows.
"Maybe somebody can help me find a way out of here," I said while exiting the vehicle.
It was nighttime. I felt the cool breeze whip around my face. Something was off, I felt different, like there was something missing in me. I felt…empty. It soon vanished but it creeped me out. I began roaming around this old car lot, looking, searching for anybody when I heard a car door slam. It was some kid no older than 14 or 15 I'd say.
"Hey!" I yelled.
"Oh, dude, please don't yell, it's way too early."
"Early?" I repeated, "look, I'm lost, I need to find a way outta here. Can you help me?" I asked, and another boy stepped out of another vehicle, noticing me right away.
"I see someone's finally awake," the boy smiled.
"Oh, is that the kid Dylan found?" the other boy said, "I'll get Bryson."
"Can you guys please help me?" I said as calmly as possible.
"Listen, take a deep breath, there's a lot you have to digest tonight." the two boys chimed in unison. There it was again, that feeling of emptiness, it hit harder this time. I felt my stomach grumble, loudly. And my legs gave out as I hit the dirt.
"Where is Bryson?" one said, as they helped me to stand up.
"What is wrong with me?" I said, feeling lightheaded.
"Your body's still adjusting to the changes."
"Changes? What the fuck are you talking about?" I asked. They both led me over to another vehicle and profusely began to bang on the door.
"Look, who are you guys and what is going on?" I asked.
"I'm Gyro and this is Justin, now do you remember anything that happened to you recently?"
I had to think back, my memory started clicking. "Uh…yeah, I was attacked by–you'll never believe this–a vampire, and my dad…" I started, "My dad!" I screamed. He's got to be looking for me, did he make it to safety? The other face appeared in the back of my head.
"Chances are, your dad didn't make it. Sorry, dude." Gyro explained.
"We were quite surprised you made it." A guy my age said stepping out of the truck. My head started spinning with all these teens popping out of different vehicles. Gyro saying my father is dead, but I wasn't, but I was bitten in the process.
"So are you all vampires, and am I?" I asked, looking at the sudden crowd growing around me.
"Yes. Now we need to get you fed, immediately, before that pain you're feeling gets worse," the older boy said, helping me to my feet.
"Ok, wait slow down. One life-changing decision at a time," I said, "Now how long have I been out?"
"Honestly? You've been out for several weeks, dude," Justin said.
"Weeks? Are you serious?" I said. Where did the time go? I thought I was out a mere day or two, but weeks? I need to calm down, there's no reason to panic at least your alive, somewhat. The pain came shooting back through me as I stumbled a little bit. But this was different the air around me began to bubble with scents of possible prey. My body hissed automatically and I felt a numbing tingle from my gums. I touched my teeth and tasted blood. I savored it as it slowly trickled down my throat. It was my own, but it was delicious, sweet and tangy.
"I'm going crazy," I said as the pain started to dissipate and I was beginning to feel normal again.
"Walk with me," the guy they called Bryson said. I followed hoping to find some way out of this pain.
"Look, kid, I'm gonna ask you to do something that you may not want to do, but I need you to trust me."
"It'sTroy…my name."
"Ok…Troy," he said, leading me out of the lot. We were walking briskly down streets, parks and alleyways.
"I know this is a lot of me to ask of you right now,Troy," he said, studying me.
"You care to elaborate?" I said.
"You need to eat or your body is going to die of starvation, and I'm afraid it won't wait any longer."
"You mean like hunt, take down some innocent person?"
"Yes," he sighed, "I know it sounds gruesome, and you may not think you can do it but I assure you, you will die if you don't," he said .
Damn that's tough, kill somebody? Could I do that? Could I be the person that kills someone who could possibly do the world some good? In that same instant images of the night my life ended flashed through my thoughts. I already had blood on my hands from my father's supposed death. Not to mention I already had one body under my belt and the taste of blood I was craving for more. I came to the realization there's no way around this, this is a new world with a new set of rules, and whether I like it or not the game is going to remain the same. The only question is, do I play this game or do I wait until I receive the big GAME OVER. I nodded in agreement with myself.
"I got you," I said softly. "We kill for the basic need of survival, it's no different than a tiger stalking a gazelle or a shark eating a seal, versus society's 'just because' killings, like gang shootings, rapings and murders. And whether I like it or not, there's no guarantee that some other vampire won't come right behind me. So when inRome," I added.
"Alright, let me tell you the basics first," he said with concerned eyes.
"Honestly, dude, I just wanna get this over with ASAP to get rid of these hunger…" I gasped as I started to feel another rumble low in my stomach, making my knees buckle, "…pains," I whispered, gripping my stomach.
My nose caught a scent, dull at first but which started to get stronger. The smell was irresistable and strong enough for my senses, I don't know how, to lock on and track this scent automatically. I licked my lips hungrily as I picked up the pace to reach my prey. Bryson followed me and that scent continued to grow stronger as I got closer to my first meal. I came to a dark alleyway where I came across the pull on my senses from this human. My eyes started to churn into that dark crimson as my mind crept into bloodlust. I was ready to make my move when doubt showed itself. Prying and trying to convince me that this was wrong and unethical. "Come off it," I silently said, "this is only done as a means to keep us alive." With that, doubt no longer existed in my mind.
I glanced at the human that I was shortly gonna make a meal out of and felt my gums tingle as my fangs began to drop. This human was so unsuspecting and unaware as I crept behind him deeper into the shadows of the alleyway. With one pounce it was over, my fangs slid into his neck like it was made of butter. The reward was well worth it, the blood was utterly delicious as it ran thick down my throat. His struggles were effortless as I got a hold of him, it was just a matter of when he let that realization set in. I was done draining this poor human in a matter of minutes, and belched out of satisfaction.
Then something else hit me while I was over this corpse. My clothes were all dirty and bloody from the feast. I realized I had no clothes, I was stuck with these dirty clothes so I figured, glancing down at the lifeless corpse, he's got to have something useful on him that I can use. I proceeded to run his pockets for cash or anything that can get me what I was in desperate need of. I ran across a cell phone and a good $150 cash.
"Wow…dude really that's cold-blooded," Bryson said walking up to me.
"What do you mean?" I said innocently pocketing the goods.
"Honestly, first, before I could attempt to teach you the basics, you split completely into this other person, and I must say dude you're a natural, but then you go through his pockets, that's fucked up."
"Well, the human's dead. What's he gonna do with it, spend it in heaven?" I snapped.
"I guess you make a good point," he said, putting his arm over my shoulder. "Come on lets head back to the lot, we have much to talk about."
"Thanks for the offer, but I have to head home…whichever way that is?" I said, looking around. Bryson locked eyes with me and said, "Troyyou can't go back to wherever you came from, it's now in the past. Your human life ceases to exist."
That stung a bit and I swear the words kept echoing in my head, 'YOUR…HUMAN…LIFE… CEASES…TO…EXIST.' Words have never pierced my soul so hard in my life, or should I say 'existence' since my life was already over. Over, but how? I mean, I know how but I had so many goals, dreams and ideas. Not to mention the one person I left behind, my mom. Oh, God! She's got to be going crazy. They said I've been out for weeks and she hasn't heard from my father or me. Wait, what if he made it, I know its highly unlikely but there's always hope right? He's got to be worried, too. And my friend back home that I would never see again. My heart hardened and words left my mouth that I couldn't believe I was saying.
"Hmm…so I guess this starts a new chapter of my existence." and as soon as I finished speaking I could feel my body locking away the thoughts and the pain and just…brushing it off.
"Okay, lets head back, then," Bryson said as shocked as I was.
Meanwhile across the street hiding in the shadows…
"Hey, Boss, I spotted the kid who got away…bad news though," the man spoke.
"What bad news?" the boss yelled through the phone.
"He's crossed over and not alone."
"Well, I want you to wait 'til he is alone and then you take him out."
"I don't know why we have to take out such a sexy specimen," the man mumbled obviously interested in his bosses target.
"If he isn't killed we will have a war on our hands which could potentially lead to exposure of our world," he said growing angry.
"But, what if we have the wrong guy?"
"One life won't be missed," he spat, "Now you have your orders. Report back to me when you have followed through," then he hung up.
The voice behind the phone was very displeased that the target crossed over. Which means he'll be coming into his extras soon. And that could possibly bring Comicality back out of hiding. Hmm…but that necessarily could be hit or miss, he could see the threat the kid possesses. There will be no uprising, I shall see to that. As an elder, I will kill him myself before that happens.


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China, the most powerful youth track and field team in the world, claimed 12 gold medals at the Australian Youth Olympic festival, held in Sydney last week.
Over 1400 teenage athletes from 25 nations contested the third Australian Youth Olympic Festival, a multi-sport international youth competition hosted by the Australian Olympic Committee. Previously held in 2001 and 2003, the AYOF is a legacy from the 2000 Sydney Olympics.
The international teams from New Zealand and particularly China, provided superb competition for the Australians. Half the Chinese team of 23 athletes, were the best in the world for their age.
Exciting Shot Put competition
Billed as the clash of the meet, the women's Shot Put lived up to all expectations with a dramatic competition between World No 1 Jiang Limin (CHN) and World No 3 Dani Samuels (AUS). Jiang started well with a putt of 15.10m, but in round two Samuels took the lead with a tremendous 15.30m put. A surprise was on the cards, until Jiang grabbed the lead by just 3cm on her very last throw with a distance of 15.33m. Samuels had just one more chance and she rose to the occasion with an awesome effort of 15.50m to equal her personal best, clinch victory and defeat the current IAAF World Youth champion.
An elated Samuels explained later that she felt she could achieve a personal best and would "give her (Jiang) a run for her money". During the competition Samuels said she kept an eye on her opposition but was primarily concentrating on her own throws. For Samuels, the most pleasing aspect was "I performed well when it counted."
In contrast, Jiang described her performance as "not good; I was not in shape and weary after the long travel yesterday". However she did enjoy the competition. Her season commences in earnest next month with some indoor competitions in China. Samuels and Jiang Limin should next go head-to-head at the 2005 IAAF World Youth Championships in Morocco in July.
Competing in her second AYOF, Australia's throwing star, Dani Samuels was back in the circle on day two. On this occasion she was up against the clear number 1 discus thrower in the World, China's Tan Jian. But unlike the shot the previous day, where Samuels sprung a surprise, China's Tan Jian stamped her authority in the very first round with a lifetime best throw of 57.01m. Effectively the competition was over, but Samuels rallied well reaching a near personal best of 51.80m.
"I was happy with my result but my technique wasn't too good. My first throw was good and my finishing phase was very good, but I wasn't happy with the start of my throws." Said Tan Jian. "It was a PB in competition but not overall. I have thrown 59.70m back home in training."
Tan Jian is from Sichun, a town in China's west. But this winter (last three months) she moved to Beijing so she could train with an elite squad at the centre there. She was shy about what her dreams for the future are: "First I will try for 65m," she said. But the Beijing Olympics is definitely in her sights as she is ranked 11th overall in China and has a lot of improvements she believes she can make to her technique.
Preparing for World Youth Championships
One of the undoubted stars of the meet was the Sunshine Coast's Chris Noffke (AUS). Noffke is ranked No. 1 in the World at under 18 and had no trouble beating a competitive field, which included World No. 2 Lin Huadeng. By leaping 7.61m he set a new meet record and, despite the fact that was a little short of his best, Chris was happy to be performing so well so early in his preparation for July's IAAF World Youth Championships in Morocco. "It's just the start of the season," he said, "and I'm just starting to freshen up a bit."
In particular Chris has benefited from working with Olympian Bronwyn Thompson who, as well as providing priceless technical hints, has passed on an invaluable message. "She just shows that dreams can come true if you believe you can do it," said Noffke.
An interested spectator at the AYOF was Australia's Athens 20km Walk medallist, Jane Saville, who witnessed China's two outstanding race walkers, Li Gabo and Chai Xue who completed dominated their events. However China's world leading high jumpers, Zheng Xingjuan and Huang Haiqiang ran into inform Australian's Sophia Begg and Liam Zamel-Paez, who cleared outstanding heights of 1.86m and 2.16m respectively, to take the titles.
At 1.81m tall, Zamel-Paez was the shortest in the elite field but said his recent training had given him confidence. "I was the shortest person out there so it could have been a disadvantage but it didn't affect me," she said.
Zamel-Paez trains only three times a week and is coached by his parents, with input from Swedish star Staffan Strand (PB 2.35m), who the 16-year-old corresponds with through e-mail.
"Doing 2.10m lifted a weight off my shoulders, so I felt pretty relaxed after that. In jumping 2.10m, I thought I would probably win it and I had been hoping to clear 2.13m," he said. "At 2.20m, the first two attempts were a bit off, I think because of the height, but the third was all right."
Likewise, New Zealander Tim Jones, who broke his personal best by almost half a second in winning the men's 200m sprint, is an accomplished rugby winger and full back and has recently been selected to represent the "Baby Blacks": New Zealand's formidable under 17 rugby team.
He was delighted with his PB of 22.06, achieved into slight headwind, in the 200m though, saying he had "been working towards a performance like that all season." Queenslander Ken Bridger grabbed second in 22.17 and Victorian Joshua Ross third in 22.25.
David Tarbotton for the IAAF
Medal Tally
Australia G-24, S-32, B-36, T-92
China G-12, S-8, B-1, T-21
New Zealand G-4, S-0, B-3, T-7
Leading results
(w: 2.6) 1, Olivia Tauro AUS, 11.83. 2, Madelin Poke AUS, 11.99. 3, Deng Hailian CHI, 12.03
(w: +0.0) 1, Madelin Poke AUS, 24.32. 2, Liang Qiuping CHI, 24.49. 3, Olivia Tauro AUS, 24.51. 4, Mim Hill AUS, 24.59
1, Carly Feben AUS, 55.66
1, Zoe Buckman AUS, 2:08.84
1, Zoe Buckman AUS, 4:41.60
1, Jenny Conder AUS, 9:47.22
100m Hurdles (76cm)
(w: 3.1) 1, Tara Holt AUS, 13.82. 2, Charlotte Yeates AUS, 13.90.
400m Hurdles
1, Lauren Boden AUS, 60.54
2000m Steeplechase
1, Ashlea Gilfillan AUS, 6:49.14
5000m Race Walk
1, Chai Xue, CHI 23:16.73. 2, Tanya Holliday AUS, 24:37.60
4x100m Relay
1, Australia 48.04.
4x400 Metre Relay
1, Australia 3:48.21
High Jump
1, Sophia Begg AUS, 1.86m. 2, Zheng XingJuan CHI 1.75m. 3, Lauren Ford, AUS, 1.75m
Pole Vault
1, Zhou Yang CHN, 3.80m, 2, Rachel Birtles AUS, 3.80m, 3, Vicky Parnov AUS, 3.75m, 4, Miranda Tiong AUS, 3.70m
Long Jump
1, Sha Li CHI 6.18m, w:-0.1. 2, Grace Scantlebury AUS 5.96m, w:3.6. 3, Candice Morley AUS 5.91m
Triple Jump
1, Sha Li CHI, 13.28m, w:-1.0. 2, Alyisha House AUS, 12.20m, w:-1.4.
Shot Put
1, Dani Samuels AUS, 15.50m. 2, Jiang Limin, CHI, 15.33m.
Discus Throw
1, Tan Jian CHI, 57.01m. 2, Dani Samuels AUS, 51.80m.
Hammer Throw
1, Li Juan CHI, 51.65m
Javelin Throw
1, Li Lingwei CHI, 51.19m. 2, Laura Cornford AUS, 45.14m
(w: 2.2) 1, Heath Goodall AUS, 10.83. 2, Huang Xing Wei, CHI, 10.89. 3, Joshua Ross AUS, 10.90
(w: -0.4) 1, Brendan Watt, AUS 22.02
1, Liu Xiaosheng CHI, 48.49
Ryan Foster AUS, 1:54.77
1, Julian Matthews NZL, 4:05.77
1, Terefe Ejigu NZL, 8:56.49
110m Hurdles (91cm)
(w: 2.7) 1, Lachlan Stanton AUS, 13.89. 2, Hong Xiaofeng CHI, 14.01. 3, Brett Watton AUS, 14.03
400m Hurdles (84cm)
1, Mark Watts AUS 54.07
5000m Race Walk
1, Li Gabo CHI, 20:54.76
4x100m Relay
1, Australia 42.39
4x400m Relay
1, Australia 3:20.34
High Jump
1, Liam Zamel-Paez AUS, 2.16m. Brendan Sutcliffe AUS, 2.10m
Pole Vault
1, Michael Leask AUS, 4.60m
Long Jump
1, Chris Noffke AUS 7.61m, w:1.0. 2, Lin Huadeng CHI 7.39m, w:-1.2.
Triple Jump
1, Scott McLeod-Roberts AUS, 14.95m, w:3.9. 2, Li Min CHI, 14.71m, w:2.7.
Shot Put (5kg)
1, Emanuele Fuamatu AUS, 19.16m. 2, Fan Wei CHI, 18.96m. 3, Joe Stevens AUS 18.24m. 4, Dale Stevenson AUS, 18.12m
Discus Throw (1.5kg)
1, Xin Jia CHI, 61.97m
Hammer Throw (5kg)
1, Zhou Heng CHI, 71.26m.
Javelin Throw (700g)
1, Jin Chao CHI, 66.07m. 2, Nathan Burgess, AUS, 62.73m.

subset: commoncrawl


text:
The 3MC Hay Ranch, located in southern Oregon,
was established in 1993 with 300 acres. Over the
years, our operation has increased in size to
over 800 acres currently in production. Our main focus is Timothy hay production.
We currently have in production over 500 acres of 1st and 2nd cutting Timothy. In addition we also produce Orchard Grass and Forage mix hays.
Since our ranch is family owned and operated, pride goes into every bale.
We hope you enjoy our website and photo gallery.
To see what hay is currently available visit
the "Hay Sales" page.
If you would like to leave a comment, please email us @ firstname.lastname@example.com
Thanks for visiting
Welcome to 3MC Ranches


text:
Manorbier Bed & Breakfast
Bookings at Manorbier Bed & Breakfast are subject to availability. The person making the booking must be 18 years of age or over at the time of booking. This person will be deemed the party leader and therefore responsible for all of the rest of the party, and also for all other aspects of the booking, including payment and any shortfalls of any monies due, either during the booking or after the event. Please note, a deposit of one night stay per room booked is required at the time of booking. This can be paid by UK/Euro bank transfer,cheque, debit/credit card via the Free To Book Online Booking button on my website. I can only hold a room booking for seven days without a deposit. On receipt of deposit I will send you confirmation showing your booking details and the balance of your holiday cost. When you receive your confirmation, you must check all details and inform me immediately if anything is incorrect. The final balance payment will be due at the time of your stay, and can be paid by bank card, bank transfer, cheque or cash.
Arrival and Departure
Your room is available after 4.30pm on the day of arrival and must be vacated no later than 10.30am on the day of departure. If you wish to arrive at any different times this needs to be arranged in advance. I may be able to arrange varying times with you.
Care of Property, Breakages and Damage
I request that care is taken with the property as it is my home. All guests should inform me of any damage. If damage is caused to fixtures, fittings and upholstery both in the bedrooms or guest area the guest will be charged for repair or replacement. If the cause of damage is to the bedding or carpets in the bedrooms, which would make the room unavailable due to the smell/damage for the next guests. The guest who caused this type of damage will be billed for professional cleaning and a further nights stay as there is a likelihood that next guests booked into the room may not be able to stay and will have to be relocated into alternative accommodation as has happened in a previous year. You agree to keep the accommodation clean and tidy and leave the property in a similar condition. I reserve the right to refuse to hand over to you, or to repossess, the accommodation if I reasonably believe that any damage is likely to be caused by you or your party or can repossess the accommodation if damage has been caused. These circumstances will be treated as a cancellation by you.
Maintenance and Repairs
You must allow me the right of entry to the room at all reasonable times, for the purposes of inspection or to carry out necessary repairs or maintenance.
Cancellation and Insurance
All bookings cancelled a month or more before the arrival date will be charged a £10 administration fee even if it is due to an exceptional circumstance.
Bookings cancelled outside the 14 – 30 day of arrival date there will be a £10.00 per room booked as an administration charge.
Bookings cancelled between 7 – 14 days prior to the arrival date a charge will be made of £55 per room booked.
If the booking is cancelled within seven days or less prior to arrival the full amount of the booking will be charged.
If the guests fail to arrive or decide to leave before the end of their stay, the full amount of the booking will be charged.
I have all necessary third party and public liability insurance on the property, however your personal and travel insurance is not included, and I strongly advise you take out Personal Travel and Cancellation Insurance.
Matters Beyond our Control
You must take all necessary steps to safeguard your personal property and no liability to you is accepted in respect of damage to or loss of such property.
I try to make every effort to ensure that your holiday is enjoyable and relaxing. If you do have a complaint or problem, please let me know immediately, so that I maybe given the opportunity to try to rectify or correct the problem as soon as possible.


text:
About Me
My name is Ivy Lim. When it comes to buying, or selling Singapore real estate, I want to help you. As a proud agent of Huttons Asia Pte Ltd, I am looking to assist you with all your real estate needs. With honesty, reliability, and integrity, I am a professional that will go above and beyond for you every step of the process.
I am proficient in assisting you with any Singapore real estate needs you may have and proudly represent buyers and sellers, with a specialty in Developer Sales, Private Residential and Landed Homes. Whether you are looking to buy your first home or simply looking to invest in local area real estate, I utilize the latest technology to make each transaction an understandable and smoother process.
When I'm not spending quality time with my family (& Pets), I keep myself active and fit with gym visits, hiking and K-Cardio workouts. I love photography and videography. In fact, I photograph all of my own property listings as well as produce videos of the properties I am listing.
Your Professional Agent
Working with home buyers, homeowners looking to sell, and clients seeking investment opportunities, I will go above and beyond traditional services to ensure you are informed, educated, and your interests are protected.
I achieved my CEA license in 2012 and have had the honor of being awarded a Top 300 Producer since 2013 - Top Producer for Cambodia Properties Silver Award (2014), Top 20 Producers (2014), Top 50 Producers (2015), and Top 50 Producers (2016).
I hold a Bachelor's Degree in Mass Communication, Diploma in Leadership & People Management and I am a certified ACTA Trainer and Singapore Accredited Mortgage Planner (SAMP).
My Values
My goal to serving your real estate needs is three-fold:
I believe that INTEGRITY is a key ingredient to every success. "To give real service you must add something which cannot be bought or measured with money, and that is sincerity and integrity" ~ Douglas Adams.
Providing a VARIETY of property developments to suit your needs is my priority. This encompasses landed houses, cluster houses, condominiums, commercial and HDB resale. Whatever you need, I'll find it.
My service is always about YOU, the customer. I want you to have accurate information at all times. I want to answer your questions. I want to provide you with useful market information. And finally, I want to help you to the purchase or sale of your property in an effective and efficient manner.


text: I've posted about Saint Pepsi on CasaSwoop before; in fact, he was our very first New Swoop. His original stuff is, obviously, unbelievable and very well done, but his remixes are also incredibly well put-together. His remix of Erik Hassle's "Talk About It" is a tremendous showcase of his capabilities is a remix artist. Erik Hassle's original is a minimalist synth pop track that grows to almost epic proportion with little more than a powerful, deep bass, a compelling moving synth line, and a passionate vocal. The track breathes between just a simple beat and synth, to these towering chords that seem to come out of nowhere blended perfectly with a two-part melody/harmony line. This track, for me, is defined by doing what isn't expected. There are so many subtle changes that are made that keep this track fresh and current without falling into the sort of cheap tricks that you've come to expect from these "big" synth tracks. The asymmetric beat with all the accidental hits and the surprisingly timed chord changes in the synth line kept me on my toes constantly and make the song worth more than one listen. Saint Pepsi, in classic fashion, turns this track into this sort of dreamy synth track that could easily be read as an R&B slow jam, pretty different from the original, right? After a few listens, however, you realize that Saint Pepsi stays remarkably close to the original, but makes just the right changes to put his unique trademark on the track. First, he slows it down in the beginning. The original leads with the beat, but Saint Pepsi's remix shows you almost immediately that the dreamy synth will be the star of this track. He muffles the vocal and embeds it deeper into the track instead of leaving it exposed as in the original. But don't let that fool you into the thinking that tremendous vocal is lost, in fact because it stands on the same footing as the synth line, the musicality of the original vocal is actually enhanced. There are so many interesting moments in this track, like the seemingly random moments when the beat gets trappy and takes all the focus, but somehow it all ends up working. Both tracks are excellent in my opinion and both worth a listen, or 10. Check them out below and tell us what you think!


text:
quasi-judicial immunity.
The plaintiff in the case, Daniel Gross, sued after spending 10 months in the locked ward of a Connecticut nursing home while under involuntary conservatorship.
Gross, an octogenarian New York resident, sought treatment in a Waterbury, Connecticut hospital in 2005. While there, a hospital employee filed an application for appointment of a conservator in Waterbury Probate Court. No one knows why.
The probate court named Kathleen Donovan as Gross' conservator. Soon thereafter, Donovan placed Gross in a "locked ward" in Grove Manor Nursing Home, where he stayed until the Connecticut Superior Court granted his habeas petition. (The Superior Court described Gross' conservatorship as a "terrible miscarriage of justice.")
Gross sued Donovan and Newman for civil rights violations. The district court dismissed his claims, reasoning that all three enjoyed quasi-judicial immunity.
Full Article and Source:
Elderly Man Can Sue Conservator, Attorney for Nursing Home Stay
See Also:
The Daniel Gross Case Decision: Standing Up for the Elderly and Infirm


text: Adhering to and understanding proper citation formats is a critical component of scholarly research and communication. This page links to resources that will help you format your in-text citations and works cited pages correctly. If you are in doubt as to which citation style to use for a particular course, consult your professor.


text:
a spiritual family - a congregation of disciples reaching out to each other and to the world.
Lech Lecha "Go forth, yourself"
Torah Reading
Shabbat: Genesis 12:1-17:27
We study Torah and Hebrew, support the nation of Israel, celebrate the Shabbat and all the "Feasts of the Lord" mentioned in the Torah in Leviticus 23 (traditionally called the Jewish holidays). We participate in most traditional Jewish life-cycle events. These include brit milah (circumcision), bar and bat mitzvah, chuppah (wedding), and saying Kaddish upon the death of our loved ones. Our worship is Davidic in nature: we sing, clap hands and dance for joy as King David did (Psalm 150).
We believe:
Temple Aron HaKodesh is a New Covenant community of Jews and non-Jews called to be one in the Messiah, Yeshua. We rejoice in our freedom to worship the God of Israel within our own culture, traditions and calendar with the special joy of knowing God in a personal way through Messiah Yeshua.
We are inspired, intentional and invested in our vision to be a part of the spiritual restoration of God's chosen people, the Jews, and to provide a strong Messianic Jewish heritage for generations to come.
God is restoring His people to the Land of Israel, and He is bringing them back to Himself. As foretold in Ezekiel 36:24-27 and Jeremiah 31:31-35, Jewish people today are receiving a "new heart" as a part of a new birth through Yeshua the Messiah.
The God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob gave Dr. Neil Lash the vision of Temple Aron HaKodesh in July of 1976, at a 6:00 AM prayer meeting. At that time, Dr. Lash had no knowledge of Messianic Judaism, but he and his wife, Jamie, obeyed the voice of the Lord and began Temple Aron HaKodesh.
Through many anointed rabbis and teachers who have poured their hearts into the congregation of TAK, Temple Aron HaKodesh has become one of the largest Messianic synagogues. It began in the heart of God, was birthed in prayer and has borne much spiritual fruit since its humble beginnings in 1976. Hundreds of people, both Jews and non-Jews, have met their Messiah at our synagogue. Some have gone on to become Messianic rabbis and leaders in the worldwide Messianic Jewish community.
Our name, Aron HaKodesh, means The Holy Ark. At the foot of Mt. Sinai, the Holy One of Israel provided the Holy Ark for His dwelling among us. Today, we celebrate His dwelling in us as we are transformed from Arks wandering in the wilderness to Holy Habitations created anew, glorifying the Lord through His Messiah, Yeshua.


text:
Grammy-winning rapper Macklemore spoke at length about race in America and white privilege in a wide-ranging interview on the Hot 97 radio station Monday morning.
For me, as a white dude – as a white rapper, I'm like, 'How do I participate in this conversation? How do I get involved to a level where I'm not co-opting the movement, or I'm not making it about me, but also realizing the platform and reach that I have, and doing it in an authentic way?
White people, we can just turn off the TV when we're sick of talking about race. White, liberal people want to be nice. We don't want to be racist. We want to be, 'Oh, we're post-racial. We don't want to talk about white privilege and it's all good, right?' It's not the case. We have to get past that awkward stage of the race conversation, step up, and just have it. As a white person, we have to listen.
Macklemore also discussed the recent "hip-hop history lesson" that A Tribe Called Quest alum Q-Tip delivered to fellow rapper Iggy Azalea, in which Tip said that while "hiphop is fun it's vile it's dance it's traditional it's light hearted but 1 thing it can never detach itself from is being a SOCIO-Political movement."
"This is a whole debate right here, but this is not my culture to begin with," Macklemore commented. "As much as I have honed my craft, I do believe that I need to know my place."
The rapper also related how his white skin color confers on him a privilege not ordinarily given to black rappers.
"Why am I safe?" he asked. "Why can I cuss and have a parental advisory sticker on my album, and still parents are like, 'You're the only rapper I let my kids listen to?' Why can I wear a hoodie, and not be a thug? Why can I sag my pants, and not be a gangbanger? Why am I on Ellen's couch? Why am I on Good Morning America? If I was black, what would my drug addiction look like?"
Check out the rest of the hour-plus interview above.


text:
10 Draws.
10 Months.
10 Winners.
To celebrate a decade of providing Australia's best-value web hosting, domain names, and online services, we're giving away a combined $100,000 in cold-hard-cash to 10 lucky customers over 10 awesome months!
The winner of each month will be announced live on our Facebook Page and will find out exactly how much cash they've won as we perform a live prize draw to determine their cash prize, ranging from $1,000 to $10,000!
May 2019 will be the final month of our $100,000 giveaway, where one lucky customer will walk away with the jackpot total of up to $90,000 cash! Our jackpot will be calculated based on the prizes given away during each of the prize draws that take place prior to May.
Beginning in August, every invoice paid will automatically put you in the draw to WIN your share of $100,000 cash. It's simple: The more invoices you pay, the more entries you get, the more chances you have to win each month!
The first prize draw has already begun and with no limit to the number of times you can enter, now's the perfect time to register that new domain name, renew your online services, and upgrade to our brand new lightning-fast web hosting hardware!
The first winner will be announced on the 5th of September where we'll be running some instant-win giveaways so be sure to follow us on Facebook, tweet us on Twitter, and connect with us on Instagram to keep up with all the latest action.


text:
Welcome to Sab Losy Consultancy
Getting this far shows you're already interested in personal and professional development – coaching and mentoring is the crucial first step.
We're here to help develop you, to grow your business or become a better manager; to increase your skills, confidence and build a path to your personal version of success.
Coaching's about helping you create a vision, plans and strategies to achieve them. Read through these questions – if you answer 'yes' to any of them, we can help…
Do you find change difficult?
Do you have low self-confidence, but know you have what it takes to succeed?
Do you feel the results you've achieved don't justify your efforts?
Are you married to your work?
Are you always busy, and struggle to fit everything in?
Do you feel you're not getting the best out of the people around you?
Have you hit a barrier in your current role, and need to develop the passion and desire to move on?
Have you gained lots of business experience, but neglected your personal development?
Do you procrastinate?
Do you want to be even better?
Do you have belief that you can improve?
See how we can help your business achieve real growth.
Coaching has numerous benefits, including:
- Confidential, one-to-one advice
- Perspective
- Confidence
- Encouragement
- Developing your skills
- Somewhere to vent
- Networking
- Developing methods and strategies
- Building long-lasting relationships
Whether you're an entrepreneur starting out, an SME, owner manager or professional manager, coaching helps you clarifying your thinking, seeing things differently to create the change you're looking for.
[contact-form-7 id="2584″ title="Contact form 1″]


text:
Laura castro Chamberlain
Family Stability and Community Program Coordinator
Ph: 503.283.6881 | Em: email@example.com
Roles and responsibilities at Latino Network:
I provide resources and case management to families in our community so they can thrive and successfully achieve their goals.
What motivates you to do this job at Latino Network?
Latino Network's mission and values match my core beliefs therefore the job that I currently hold allows me to serve our community and learn daily from my team and the families I help.
Interests and activities:
Travel. Exercise. Read. Family and Friend's Gatherings. Sports.
Most proud achievement:
My family, my cultural background and my professional experience.


text: The promise of Live A Life You Love is simple: being true to your most authentic self and following essential principles of wellness will make you happy, healthy, and passionately in love with life. With insights drawn from her own personal transformation from a depressed medical doctor to a joyful and fulfilled flamenco dancer, writer, speaker, and life coach, Dr. Susan Biali's seven-step plan will help you discover (or re-discover) the hopes, passions, and talents that make up the real you. Even if your dreams have faded, or you worry they are unrealistic, Dr. Biali will teach you how to reach that creative, hopeful place and work towards making those dreams a reality. Along the way, you'll also learn how to maximize your physical, emotional and spiritual well-being.You will learn how to: Begin making YOU a priority. Understand your body's language. Choose foods that slow aging, boost health, and improve energy. Improve your most important relationships. Balance your life and find time for what counts. Turn this knowledge into action today.


text:
M&A Due Diligence: Insurance, Lawsuits, and Government Paperwork
A Buyer wants to purchase a business that is safe from unnecessary risks. During the M&A process of due diligence, he should check on the Seller's insurance, lawsuit history, and government paperwork filings.
M&A due diligence: Insurance
Insurance — that is to say, risk management — is another important factor for any Buyer. Understanding the costs of insuring Seller's business is important, of course, but so is understanding the underlying risks associated with the business. Insurance info for due diligence may include the following:
The company's insurance policies, which may include general liability, personal and real property, product liability, errors and omissions, directors and officers, and worker's compensation.
Schedule of insurance claims
Listing of areas of self-insurance
Listing and description of any outstanding premium adjustments
Buyers may be able to get better insurance rates after the deal closes; larger companies are often able to warrant preferred pricing from insurance carriers.
M&A due diligence: Litigation history
Understanding Seller's history with lawsuits, both as a defendant and plaintiff, is another must-know due diligence area for any Buyer. The following list lays out some important litigation info:
All litigation, arbitration, and other proceedings to which the company is a party
Listing of all pending or threatened claims, lawsuits, arbitrations, or investigations (including investigations by any governmental authority)
Description of settlements of litigation, arbitration, and other proceedings
Bankruptcy proceedings in which the company is a creditor or otherwise interested
All orders, injunctions, judgments, or decrees of any court or regulatory body applicable to the company
All agreements in which the company agrees to indemnify or hold harmless another person or entity for claims against that person or entity
Schedule of any litigation involving an officer or director of the company concerning bankruptcy, crimes, securities law, or business
M&A due diligence: Governmental filings
Depending on the industry and the nature of Seller's business, a slew of government filings and paperwork are a part of due diligence. These documents include
Any governmental licenses, permits, and authorizations
All filings to any national, state, or local governmental agency or authority, including the SEC, the IRS, the FDA, and the INS, to name just a very few
Any complaints, investigations, or other informal or formal proceeding by or before a governmental agency or authority and involving the company


text:
Tom Clancy's Power Plays #4: Bio-Strike
Audio Other(Other - Abridged, 2 cassettes, 3 hrs.)
Temporarily Out of Stock Online
The most dangerous man of this century has employed the most dangerous weapon yet. Criminal mastermind Harlan DeVane has developed—and spread—a deadly, genetically engineered "superbug" resistant to all known cures. A microscopic time bomb, it will lie dormant inside its human hosts until detonated by specific biochemical triggers.
DeVane plans to auction off the triggering elements to the highest bidder, but first he'll use them to destroy the greatest threat to his operation: Roger Gordian, head of UpLink Technologies. As Roger falls prey to the disease, his medical and intelligence teams race to find the cause and the cure—but because in Roger's fate lies the fate of the world.
Product Details
|Simon & Schuster Audio
|Publication date:
|Tom Clancy's Power Plays Series , #4
|Edition description:
|Abridged, 2 cassettes, 3 hrs.
|Product dimensions:
|7.10(w) x 4.52(h) x 0.82(d)
About the Author
Hometown:Huntingtown, Maryland
Date of Birth:April 12, 1947
Date of Death:October 1, 2013
Place of Birth:Baltimore, Maryland
Education:Loyola High School in Towson, Maryland, 1965; B.A. in English, Loyola College, 1969
Read an Excerpt
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
John Clark is used to doing the CIA's dirty work. Now he's taking on the world. . . .
—The New York Times Book Review
The most devastating terrorist act in history leaves Jack Ryan as president of the United States. . . .
—The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
It begins with the murder of an American woman in the backstreets of Tokyo. It ends in war. . . .
—Entertainment Weekly
The smash bestseller that launched Clancy's career—the incredible search for a Soviet defector and the nuclear submarine he commands . . .
—The Washington Post
The ultimate scenario for World War III—the final battle for global control . . .
CIA analyst Jack Ryan stops an assassination—and incurs the wrath of Irish terrorists. . . .
—The Wall Street Journal
The superpowers race for the ultimate Star Wars missile defense system. . . .
—Los Angeles Daily News
The killing of three U.S. officials in Colombia ignites the American government's explosive, and top secret, response. . . .
—The Washington Post
The disappearance of an Israeli nuclear weapon threatens the balance of power in the Middle East—and around the world. . . .
—The Dallas Morning News
The Clancy epic that fans have been waiting for. His code name is Mr. Clark. And his work for the CIA is brilliant, cold-blooded, and efficient . . . but who is he really?
—The Wall Street Journal
The Hunt for Red October
SSN: Strategies of Submarine Warfare
Submarine: A Guided Tour Inside a Nuclear Warship
Into the Storm: A Study in Command
Splinter Cell
Tom Clancy's Op-Center
Tom Clancy's Net Force
Tom Clancy's Power Plays: Politika
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with RSE Holdings, Inc.
PRINTING HISTORY Berkley edition / November 2000
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2000 by RSE Holdings, Inc.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
eISBN : 978-1-101-00259-9
I would like to acknowledge the assistance of Marc Cerasini, Larry Segriff, Denise Little, John Helfers, Robert Youdelman, Esq., Tom Mallon, Esq.; the wonderful people at Penguin Putnam Inc., including Phyllis Grann, David Shanks, and Tom Colgan; and Doug Littlejohns, Kevin Perry, the rest of the Bio-Strike team, and the other fine folks at Red Storm Entertainment and Holistic Design. As always, I would like to thank Robert Gottlieb of the William Morris Agency. But most important, it is for you, my readers, to determine how successful our collective endeavor has been.
—Tom Clancy
AMERICAN CITIES RUN BY THE CLOCK. THIS IS TRUEST of the largest and busiest, where the minute hand impels people through their routines without room for pause. The sleep-demolishing clatter of a five A.M. trash pickup, a breakneck dash to the subway, back-to-back conferences noted in a desk planner, business luncheons, happy hours, and more commuter sprints—these are distance markers on the constricted urban fast track, a daily marathon of appointments and schedules where it is only an apparent contradiction to say even the unpredictable occurs at predictable times.
It was largely because of its precise adherence to schedule, its tidal inflow and outflow of humanity, that the New York Stock Exchange was chosen to be ground zero for the northeastern seaboard of the United States, the epicenter of an explosion that would be neither heard nor felt by the thousands of souls it overtook, yet was potentially more catastrophic than a full-scale nuclear assault.
Inconspicuous as the weapon he was carrying, the man in the dark blue suit walked past the statue of George Washington in Federal Plaza to the impressive Greek Revival building on Wall Street amid a swarm of traders and clerks eager to make the opening bell. A tobacco-leather briefcase in his right hand, he climbed the broad outer stairs, passed under the stone pediment with its sculpted gods of finance and invention, and strode through the entrance onto the main trading floor. Once inside, he continued moving with the flood of conservatively dressed men and women as they pushed toward the brokerage booths, trading posts, and banks of phone and video monitors that linked the Exchange to the national and foreign market networks.
Scanning the room, he discovered an unoccupied phone stall, jostled toward it, placed his briefcase on the floor near his feet, and lifted the receiver.
His hand on the hook, he randomly keyed in a number and pretended to make a call.
He would stand there waiting until the time was right.
A few moments later, the bell rang out from the platform, and the nation's most powerful engine of commerce jolted into high gear. The buzz of voices around him became an enthusiastic clamor, the loud outcries of stock auctioneers carrying up to the vaulted ceiling, tantalizing their bidders like bright flashes of gold and precious gems.
He felt sure that no one was paying attention to him. He was invisible in his conformity, to all eyes just another securities professional touching base with his office as the early quotes hit the board.
The silent phone cradled between his chin and shoulder, he leaned down and pushed a catch beside one of the briefcase's combination locks. The latch did not snap open. Nor had that been his intent.
Still bent over the case, he heard a low sound issue from its side panel.
Like a venomous snake.
The device was patterned after the modified attaché cases once found by authorities in the compound of Japanese Aum Shinrikyo terrorists, the same extremist cult responsible for the 1995 Tokyo subway attack that killed a dozen riders and left over 5,000 people grievously injured from exposure to sarin nerve gas. Like the Aum's delivery system, it had been contrived from a small aerosol canister, a battery-operated handheld fan, and a nozzle running to a camouflaged vent in the shell of the briefcase. His single improvement to their original design was the lock-catch triggering mechanism, which eliminated any need to raise the lid and reduced his chances of drawing unwanted attention.
Lifting his case, the man in the dark blue suit hung up the receiver and stepped back into the crowd. Someone immediately shouldered past to take his place at the phone, scarcely noticing him. Good, he thought. In the general commotion, the expulsion of aerosol couldn't be heard. He had only to wind his way around the room a bit, insuring the agent was spread throughout, and his job here would be finished. His targets would do the rest with their scrambling between appointments, their five o'clock cocktail gatherings, their close-packed bodies on homebound trains and buses. Mingling with coworkers, casual acquaintances, and friends, kissing their wives and hugging their children, going around and around in relentless, cyclical patterns of high-speed movement, they would very effectively do the rest.
Soon he left the Exchange and turned onto Broad Street, the canister in his briefcase emptied of its unseen contents. In his mind, he could still hear the noise from the vents: hissssss.
The memory raised the hairs at the back of his neck. He'd been guaranteed there was nothing to worry about, and the assignment had paid handsomely enough to help compensate for any lingering anxiety. Still, he was glad to be outside the building, and he welcomed even the thick, unseasonably warm air of Manhattan in fall . . . knowing he hadn't really left anything behind. Not anything that couldn't follow him.
If what he had released wasn't already out there on the street, it would be.
Soon enough, it would be everywhere.
The Air Tractor AT-802 turboprop is a mainstay of the agricultural aviation industry and a common sight in the sky above central Florida, a region that accounts for almost 70 percent of the nation's total citrus production. Aboard the plane is an 800-gallon hopper that may contain any of a wide range of fertilizers, herbicides, pesticides, and fungicides. Pumps beneath the fuselage drive the chemical from the hopper into wing-mounted booms equipped with either special nozzles, in the case of liquids, or spreaders, in the case of solids, for spraying the vast groves of orange, grapefruit, lemon, and lime trees.
On this particular morning, an AT-802 launched from a grass airstrip west of Clermont for a spray run with something worlds removed from the products normally used by ag pilots. To prevent its degradation in storage and transport, the material had been lyophilized, or freeze-dried, into an ultrafine, whitish powder that resembled confectioners' sugar to the naked eye. The particles were then embedded in tiny granular spheres composed of a biodegradable organic compound, increasing their stability and ensuring a controlled and uniform rate of release. Perfectly smooth and free-flowing, the microcapsules rolled virtually without friction and would not acquire electrostatic charges that might make them cling to objects on which they alighted, enabling secondary dissemination of the agent in breezes kicked up by weather, the wings of birds, or the tires of a Mack semi whipping down the interstate.
Its manufacturer had wanted only the best and obtained it at the cost of millions, knowing his clients would find the product irresistible, and confident of an impressive return on his investment.
The crop duster banked to the southwest now, maintaining a low altitude, flying across the wind. At his controls, its pilot could see the trees spread out beneath him, row after row seaming the fields to the extreme limit of his vision, their heavy green crowns jeweled with orange and yellow fruit that would soon be harvested, packaged, and shipped from coast to coast. On his panel were state-of-the-art GPS and GIS displays mapping the acreage to be covered in exact coordinates, displaying a stream of real-time data about outside environmental conditions, monitoring every aspect of his dispersal unit's operation. According to the instruments, a meteorological inversion had kept a band of cool air close to the ground today, ideal weather because it would prevent the powder from drifting off target with warmer, rising air currents.
He buzzed over the groves, once, twice, and again, a vaporous swath trailing from his wings with each deliberate pass. The aerosol hung in the blue, billowed in the blue, marked the blue with wide, white, parallel stripes that gradually scattered and bled into a light, milky haze.
Then—gently, softly—it settled to earth.
A Boeing 747 wide-bodied jumbo jet can carry over 400 passengers on an international trip, seating as many as 10 abreast, far exceeding the capacity of other commercial airliners. For Steve Whitford this had been so much a mixed blessing that he found himself happily awaiting his layover as his flight taxied to a halt in Sydney.
While he had gotten the last available booking on that flight at the very last possible minute—and supposed he should have been too thankful for the seat to bemoan the absence of leg and elbow room—Steve had little doubt the plane would have burst open like an overstuffed tube of Pillsbury cookie dough had they tried squeezing even a single additional body aboard. At a spindly six feet four—with most of that beanpole height stacked from hip to shin—he was willing to admit his opinion might be a tad prejudiced, but he would have argued its worthiness, nonetheless. Higher than himself can no man think, hadn't some famous philosopher said that once upon a time?
Good lawyer that he was, Steve never missed an opportunity to cite precedent.
". . . like to thank those of you who are visiting Australia or going on to connecting flights for choosing our airline. For those continuing to London with us after the stop, please feel free to stretch your legs and enjoy the airport's restaurants, shops, and other amenities. . . ."
Steve unfastened his seat belt, slid into the aisle, and took the flight attendant's advice, stretching, massaging the small of his back with his knuckles. His achiness and complaints aside, he had to admit that there were worse things in life than rubbing up against his neighbor in the window seat.
He glanced over at her, an appealing blonde of about thirty in a sort of retro hippieish outfit consisting of a peasant blouse, hip-hugging bell-bottoms, and big, round red earrings like three-dimensional polka dots. At fortyfour, Steve could recall an era when clothes of that type hadn't been so, well, form-fitted, as if they'd come straight out of a chic fashion designer's showroom.
Not that she didn't look good in them. In fact, he'd been very aware of how good she looked the moment they boarded the jet in Hong Kong, and had tried striking up a conversation with her soon after takeoff. Just chitchat, really, while he'd checked her finger for a wedding band—a quick glance verified there wasn't one—and tried to assess whether she might be inclined to pursue a more intimate dialogue at some later point in time. He'd told her his name, that he was an attorney who had been in Asia doing some patent and licensing work for a Massachusetts-based toy manufacturer, and that he was about to take a few days' R and R in London before returning to the grind. She, in turn, introduced herself as Melina, no surname given and none asked, her English subtly laced with an accent he couldn't associate with any particular nationality. It was kind of exotic, that name, especially hanging there exparte, so to speak. With a whimsy peculiar to the solo traveler, he had speculated that she might be an actress or pop star.
At any rate, she'd been reserved but pleasant, responding to his comments on the weather, their runway delays, and the lousy airline food, not revealing much about herself in the process. When he thought about it, she seemed almost secretive . . . although it was likely he was coming off too many days of legal gamesmanship to be a reasonable judge.
Steve got his travel bag out of the overhead stowage compartment, figuring he'd find a restaurant, eat a halfway decent meal, then maybe slap some cologne on his face in the rest room to freshen up for the next long leg of the transcontinental haul. He'd batted around the idea of asking Melina to join him and was still undecided. Why necessarily take her reticence as a snub? It was understandable that a woman flying alone would be cautious toward some strange guy talking her up. Besides, he couldn't see anything inappropriate in a friendly invite.
He stood looking at her from the aisle. Still in her seat, she'd reached into her purse for a pen and a paper bag with the words Gift Shop printed on it in frilly silver lettering, then slipped some postcards out of the bag. It appeared she meant to stay put during the layover . . . unless he could persuade her to do otherwise.
He took a breath and leaned toward her. "Excuse me," he said. "I was wondering if you'd like to join me for a cup of coffee, maybe grab a quick bite. My treat."
Her smile was polite, nothing more, nothing less. "Thank you, but I really have to fill these out." She placed the postcards on her tray table. "It's the kind of thing that can slip right by."
"Why not bring the cards along? A change of scene might inspire you to write better. Or faster, anyway."
The cool, unchanging smile was a rebuff in itself, making her clipped reply superfluous. "No, I think I'll stay right here."
Steve decided to do some face saving. They would be sitting together for another seven hours or so once the plane got back in the air, and he didn't want the situation to get awkward.
He nodded toward the postcards in front of her.
"Guess you do have a fair-sized stack there."
"Yes." She looked at him. "You know how it is with obligations. They're like little plagues on my mind."
Steve stood looking back at her. Sure, whatever you say, he thought.
He told her he'd see her later, turned back into the aisle, and filed toward the exit with the other debarking passengers.
She waited, her eyes following him until he stepped off the plane. Then she rapidly got down to business.
She removed the top of her pen and dropped it onto her tray beside the postcards. The ink cartridge was metal, with a small plastic cap above the refill opening. She twisted the cap to loosen the cartridge, slipped it out of the pen, and put the bottom half of the pen beside the other items on the tray.
Little plagues, she thought. A choice of words the man who was both her employer and her lover might have appreciated, though he surely would have disapproved of her speaking them aloud.
Her thumb and forefinger tweezered around the cap, she separated it from the cylindrical cartridge with an easy pull. Careful that no one was watching, she held the cartridge away from herself, turned it upside down, and tapped it with her fingertip. A powdery white substance sprinkled out and immediately dispersed in the cabin's cycling air. On newer commuter jets, maximumefficiency filters might have trapped a significant amount of the contaminant, but she knew the aging fleet of Boeing 747s used ventilation systems that would suck it in and recirculate it with the plane's oxygen supply.
Entering the respiratory tracts of the aircraft's crew and passengers, the microscopic capsules would release the dormant presences within them. Transmitted from person to person, airport to airport, and city to city, spread across nations and continents by their hosts, these unsuspected invaders would aggressively do what they had been created to do.
They would incubate. They would multiply. And they would smolder until fanned into inextinguishable wildfires, outbreaks that would burn scouring rings around the world.
Now the blonde woman checked her watch and decided it might be best to move on.
She extracted a replacement ink cartridge from her purse, loaded it into the pen, then put her stack of blank postcards back into the gift shop bag. Returning the pen and bag to her purse, she recapped the empty ink cartridge and dropped it into her sweater pocket for later disposal. When she noticed that a few specks of powder had landed on the surface of her tray table, she blew them off with a little puff of breath. They wisped away into the artificial air currents of the cabin.
She nodded, satisfied. Her business was concluded.
Folding back her tray table, she rose from her seat and slid into the aisle. The plane was empty except for a handful of passengers and one male flight attendant near the exit, and she smiled at him as she left the plane.
He smiled back, a touch admiringly.
She passed through the jetway into the terminal and glanced up at the monitors listing arrivals and departures. Her next flight was slotted for departure in just over two hours. It would be the seventh and last, and she knew better than to believe the number was coincidence. No, it was without question a demonic fancy. A conceit of the fiend to whom she had given herself willingly, needfully, body and soul.
Little plagues. Seven, and then some.
She was tired, even exhausted, from crisscrossing the globe. But she had dispensed almost her entire supply of the agent and, after the jog into Frankfurt, would be through with the remainder.
Meanwhile, she could find a place to relax for a while and possibly have something to eat. As long as she was careful to stay clear of her latest seatmate, why not?
There was a comfortable margin of time left before she had to be at the boarding gate.
Sight being its only faculty, the eye trusts what it sees. Striving always to keep us on a steady path, it will often slide past the out of place to turn toward the familiar. This makes it easily fooled.
A business-suited investor in Manhattan's financial district. A crop duster winging over open farmland. An airline passenger filling out postcards to kill time during a layover. All are sights that fit and belong. And all may be something other than they appear, camouflage to deceive the willing eye.
In San Jose, California, a municipal street sweeper brought the aerosol payload through the target zone, dispensing it from an extra spray reservoir aboard its heavy steel frame. It whooshed along Rosita Avenue, amber cab lights strobing, circular gutter brooms whirling, wash-down nozzles deluging the pavement with water as the lab-cooked agent jetted from its second tank.
An everyday part of the urban scene, the sweeper barely scratched the surface of people's awareness: It was a minor inconvenience, a momentary hiccup in their progress through the morning. Motorists shifted lanes to get out of its way. Pedestrians backstepped onto the curb to avoid its rotating brooms, raised their conversational pitch a notch or two as it swished past, and otherwise ignored it.
They breathed invisible clouds of aerosol and never attributed the slight tickle in the nose or scratchiness at the back of the throat to anything more harmful than stirred up sidewalk grit. They scattered the microscopic particles with their shoe bottoms, ferried them on their skin and clothing, and sent them out along countless routes of transmission with the money they exchanged for newspapers and lattes.
Their eyes seeing nothing amiss, no disruption in the orderly and ordinary course of their lives, they went on to their workplaces without an inkling that they had become carriers of a wholly new and insidious type of infection—many of them heading north on Rosita toward the high, sleek office spire that was the famed main branch headquarters of UpLink International, far and away their city's largest corporate employer.
Hardly by chance, the street sweeper kept moving in the same direction.
When Roger Gordian's daughter telephoned him on her way home from the courthouse, he didn't know what to say. No matter that the proceeding's outcome had been a foregone conclusion or that he'd had months to prepare for the news. No matter that he was used to talking to business leaders and heads of state from everywhere on earth, often under hot-button circumstances that required quick thinking and verbal agility. Julia was his daughter, and he didn't know what to say, in part because almost everything he had said to her these past few months had proven to be exactly the wrong thing, leading to more than one inexplicable skirmish between them. Gordian had found himself having to consciously resist feeling like the parent of an adolescent again, prepared for every word he spoke to come back at him and explode in his face. That would have been thoughtless, unfair, and corrosive to their relationship. Julia was a remarkably competent thirty-three-year-old woman who'd led her own life for many years, and she deserved better than stale, fatherly programming from him . . . difficult as that sometimes was.
"It's over, my divorce is final," she had told him over her cellular. "The paperwork's signed, and I should be getting copies in a couple of weeks."
That was four long seconds ago.
Five, now.
His stomach clutched.
He didn't know what to say to her.
Six seconds and counting.
His watch ticked into the silence of his office.
Gordian was not by disposition an introspective man. He saw his mind and feelings as fairly uncomplicated. He loved his wife and two daughters, and he loved his work. The work less. Though for some years it had consumed a greater share of his time than it should have, and the family had felt bumped to the sidelines. His wife, in particular. He hadn't realized, then, how much.
At first there was so much to be done, a decade of struggle building his electronics firm up from the ground. The importance of being an earner, a provider, had been fostered in him early in life. His father had died before the term quality time was coined, but it was doubtful Thomas Gordian would have been able to grasp the concept in any event. He'd been too busy adding thick layers of callus to his fingers at the industrial machine plant where he had pulled a modest but steady wage from the day he'd turned sixteen and quit high school to help support his depression-stricken family. For the elder Gordian, bringing home a paycheck was how you expressed your love of family, and that dogged blue-collar sensibility had taken deep root in his only son, enduring long after he'd returned from Vietnam and, with the help of loan officers and a handful of farsighted investors, purchased a limping, debt-ridden San Jose outfit called Global Technologies for the giveaway price of twelve million dollars.
The rewards of his gamble far exceeded Gordian's hopes. In less than a decade, he turned Global into a Silicon Valley giant with a slew of tremendously successful defense industry patents. One after another, the contracts started coming in, and Gordian had worked harder than ever to keep them coming. He had used the technological windfall from his development of GAPS-FREE advanced military reconnaissance and targeting equipment to propel his firm to the leading edge of civilian satellite communications, and rechristened it UpLink International.
He had earned. He had provided for his loved ones. He had made more money than he would ever need.
And so he'd gone ahead and found a new reason to keep working.
By the time his corporation went multinational—and Fortune 500—in 1990, Gordian's thoughts had slung outward to pursue what his wife usually referred to as The Dream, based upon an idea as straightforward as his personality: Information equaled freedom. No lightning bolt of originality there, perhaps, but his real inspiration had been in how he'd set out to draw concrete results from the abstract. As head of the world's most extensive civilian telecommunications network, he'd been in a position to bring people access to information, a currency with which he could buy better lives for untold millions, particularly where totalitarian regimes sustained themselves by doing the very opposite—choking off the gateways of communication, isolating their citizens from knowledge that might challenge their strangleholds of oppression. History had shown that radical government change nearly always followed quieter revolutions in social consciousness, and the old axiom that democracy was contagious seemed no less true for all the times it had been used as a political cheer line.
Again, Gordian's triumphs went far beyond his expectations—but, ironically, the signals Ashley was sending from home about her own unhappiness weren't getting through the bottleneck of humanitarian goals he'd continued to pursue. Not till she'd compelled his attention with words he would remember for the rest of his days.
"I know that everything you've accomplished in the world makes a huge difference to people everywhere. I know it's your calling, something you have to do. What I don't know is if I'm strong enough to wait until you're done. "
Her words, those shattering, unforgettable words, had forced him to look into a deep mirror and see things about himself that were difficult to accept. Far more importantly, they also saved his marriage.
He had been luckier than he'd even realized at the time.
"Dad, you still with me? I'm on the highway ramp and it's pretty noisy—"
"Right here, hon." Gordian tried to pull his thoughts together. "I'm just glad the worst of the ordeal's behind you and that you can get on with your life."
"Amen." She produced a sharp laugh. "You know what happened when we were leaving court? After everything we've been through, all the legal sniping, all the ugliness, he asked me to have lunch with him. At this Italian place downtown we used to go to sometimes."
Her voice dropped abruptly into silence.
Gordian waited, his hand tight around the receiver. That laugh—so harsh and humorless—had startled him. It was like hearing a thin pane of glass suddenly crack from extreme cold.
"I guess," Julia finally said, "we were supposed to toast to our future as born again singles over wine and pasta."
Gordian heard the creak of his office chair as he changed position. He, common noun, had once been referred to by name: Craig. Her husband of seven years. It was still unclear what had pulled them apart. The divorce petition Craig had filed cited irreconcilable differences, no elaboration. Over the months she'd been staying with her parents, Julia had occasionally talked about their long separations because of his career, about her loneliness when he was away on the job. He was a structural engineer, freelance, though most of his recent assignments had been for the big oil companies. His specialized niche was the design of fixed offshore drilling platforms, and he'd often spent many weeks on-site, overseeing construction. One month it was Alaska, the next Belize. His absences surely contributed to their problems, but Gordian suspected there had to be more. If Julia was the one feeling neglected, why was it Craig who'd wanted out? Gordian hadn't pushed for answers, however, and Julia had offered very few on her own to either him or Ashley. She had claimed there was no infidelity, and they were trying to take her at her word. But why had she been so guarded with them? Were the reasons too painful to share? Or might Julia herself still be in the dark?
Gordian shifted in the chair again. "What did you tell him?"
"Nothing. I was too incredulous," she said. "But wait, it gets better. While I was staring at him, really dumbstruck, he leaned over and tried to kiss me. On the lips. I turned my head soon as I realized what he was doing, or trying to do, and it landed on my cheek. I had to stop myself from wiping it off. Like a kid who gets a wet one from some ancient aunt or uncle she hardly knows."
"And then?"
"And then he backed off, wished me luck, and we went our separate ways. God, it was just so awkward and squirmy."
Gordian shook his head.
"An overture toward putting the bad feelings to rest," he said. "Ill-advised, inappropriate, and without any grasp of how you'd be affected. But I suppose that was his intent."
"He wanted the greyhounds as part of the settlement, Dad. If I hadn't been the one to sign that contract at the adoption center instead of him, giving me ownership in black and white, he'd have taken Jack and Jill away from me. There's an overture I won't forget."
Gordian strove to come up with a response. In the end he could only echo his own previous comments.
"It's behind you now, Julia. You can move on. Let's be glad for that."
Another significant pause. Gordian heard car horns squalling at the other end of the line. He wished she hadn't insisted on going to court alone, wished she weren't driving unaccompanied—not being as distressed as she sounded.
"Better go, traffic's a mess," she said. "I'll be home in time for dinner."
But it was barely nine o'clock in the morning, Gordian thought.
"There are quite a few hours between now and then," he said. "How are you planning to fill them?"
There was no answer.
He waited, wondering whether she'd heard him.
Then, her tone suddenly brittle: "Did you want a complete schedule?"
Gordian raised his eyebrows, puzzled. His fingers tightened around the receiver.
"I only meant—"
"Because I can pull over at the nearest Kinko's and fax something over for your approval."
Gordian made a gesture of frustration into the empty room. His stomach went from bad to worse.
"I'm a grown woman," she interrupted. "I don't think you need a full rundown of my comings and goings in advance."
"Julia, hang on—"
"See you later," she said.
The connection broke.
Blew it, Gordian scolded himself. Somehow, you blew it again.
And try as he did to see where he had gone wrong, he could not.
He simply could not.
Many stories below on Rosita Avenue, a street sweeper shot past the building as Gordian's employees began to arrive for the commencing workday, but the clamor of its equipment would not have impinged upon his thoughts even had it reached the heavy floor-toceiling windows of his office. From where he was sitting, alone at his desk, the dead, silent telephone still clenched in his hand . . .
From where he was sitting right now, the rest of the world seemed immeasurably far away.
IN THE CENTER OF LA PAZ, ON THE MAIN THOROUGHFARE that descended from the heights to the modern business district, one could look up beyond the rows of exhausted little shacks on the canyon wall to where three of Illimani's five snow-capped peaks took a great bite out of the Andean sky. It was a sight that none who visited the city could forget, and that even indigenous Aymara Indians, with their blood memories of the Incas as encroaching newcomers, viewed with awe and respect.
The National Police Corps vehicle and its motorcycle escort headed southeast on Avenida Villazón to its wide fork less than a mile past the Universidad Mayor San Andrés, then bore left onto Avenida Anicento Arce toward the Zona Sur. Nuzzled deep within the canyon in Calocoto and other suburban neighborhoods, sheltered from the cold sting of high-altitude winds, the city's affluent lived behind high gates in exaggerated chalets and sprawling, tile-roofed adobe mansions constructed in deliberate imitation of Hollywood cinematic style.
Excerpted from "Bio-Strike"
by .
Copyright © 2000 Tom Clancy.
Excerpted by permission of Penguin Publishing Group.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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Nature offers many beautiful gifts and wonders to explore, and parents can help get kids outside to discover them when they step away from the television or computer screen. Here are a few fun ways to encourage your children to explore nature.
A growing trendAs more Americans are discovering every year, gardening is a great way to enjoy nature. Kids will enjoy starting plants from seed or picking out starter plants at the nursery and watching them grow and develop. Even a small container garden on a balcony or patio can yield tomatoes for salsa, flowers for an entire season or strawberries galore. Cook up your favorite recipes with home grown ingredients and donate any excess produce to local food banks.
For the more adventurous gardener, help your kids plant a "vertical garden." In the style of famed French artist and botanist Patrick Blanc, grow your flowers and vegetables in a fun new way. Try filling a canvas hanging shoe organizer with a light-weight potting mix and filling each pocket with one of your favorite plants. Have fun using tomatoes, bell peppers, marigolds, strawberries, vinca vines or impatiens. Poke a drainage hole in each pocket and hang the entire organizer on your back fence or balcony. Water daily, and in just a few weeks you will be enjoying your own living art piece.
Find a local community garden or gardening co-op and volunteer with your family to help with weeding, watering, planting or harvesting.
Nature's bountyYard waste? Not when you can re-use and repurpose. Find the beauty in what nature provides by creating new uses for things that would otherwise be considered waste. Large sticks make great garden stakes for plants that need a little extra support, like tomatoes. Smaller sticks can be written on or carved into (by an adult) for an inexpensive way to label plants in the garden or pots.
How about using leaves for gift tags or place cards? Kids will love writing names on the leaves with a little paint and a fine-tipped brush or metallic pen. Then, simply punch a hole in one end and tie with a decorative piece of raffia or ribbon for a personalized touch to any gift or place setting. Flowers from your pots or garden don't have to fade away – they can be easily dried for use in homemade potpourri, candles or soap.
Give a worm a job. Many of us know that composting is a great way to reuse what Mother Nature has given us. Even a small compost bin will fill up quickly with kitchen scraps and yard waste. This waste can be used produce a nice compost mix for next year's garden – especially if you add some red worms to the compost bin. Worms are nature's little composters. They make composting more fun, interesting and efficient by breaking down organic matter into nutrient-rich vermicast allowing your family to compost kitchen scraps easily, and reduce the amount of garbage produced each year. Red worms can be purchased inexpensively from many garden centers or online outlets. A small bin will require about 2 pounds of red worms to get the job done.
The art of recyclingRecycling is a great way to reduce waste. It's likely you already have a recycling bin next to the garbage can. Chances are, however, that your kids do not see those recyclables as art – it is time to change their minds. Reusing and recycling everyday objects not only reduces waste but, with a little imagination, can also provide hours of creative fun. Make something together that will bring years of enjoyment to your home or landscape.
Make a bottle tree to enhance the garden or balcony. Since the invention of bottles, people have found ways to use them as decorations. Used as a way to explore the beauty of glass or ward off (or attract) spirits, bottle trees have been "planted" across the planet in various forms for thousands of years. To build your own bottle tree, collect colorful glass bottles from your recycling bin or from friends, family or even local restaurants. For a "tree" form, use steel re-bar, sturdy wire, wood, fallen limbs or dying trees. Simply remove labels from bottles and wash out. Then, hang the bottles from your form – use your bottle tree purely as a decoration or as a nice support for vine-like plants such as morning glory or tomatoes.
Preserving nature in photosA digital camera may not seem like a device to get your kids outside, but they can be acquired quite inexpensively and are a great tool with which to view nature and animals. Go on walks in the yard, neighborhood, a local park or zoo and click away. Zoom in or change the angle of the camera for new perspectives. By simply changing the way that we look at things like flowers, animals, trees and even bugs, cameras provide an up-close and personal view of the world that you would not otherwise get to see.
Use your photos for great screen savers on the computer, make photo collages or print them out for uniquely fantastic artworks to frame. Any way you use them, you will have preserved a little piece of nature and will have great memories for years to come.
Once you and your kids start exploring nature together, you will discover hours of fun for the entire family. Mother Nature may more to offer than you realized.
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What is the Historic Review Commission? Find out with this handy primer.
Want to submit an application to the Historic Review Commission for exterior work? Click here.
What are the Mexican War Street Historic District guidelines you need to follow when renovating you home? Here are some answers.
Have a question about the MWSS bylaws? See the latest version here.


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The City of Light is not, by any stretch of the imagination, a pushchair friendly place.
And of course, there is the thing which Paris is most famous for: excrement coated pavements. Depending on which arrondissement you live in, and how often the street cleaners do their rounds, you will be faced with an obstacle course of dog and pigeon droppings, the avoidance of which demands considerable dexterity (and occasional use of two wheels only, provided baby is securely strapped in).
There are narrow pavements, with great, hulking trees growing out of them at regular intervals, causing you to swerve around their cobbled or grated bases and the refuse which habitually collects there. There are cafés with tables overflowing outside, leaving only a sliver of tarmac to negotiate through. All it takes is a swinging shopping bag on the handle of a pushchair for drinks to take flight.
Then there are people brandishing their lit galloises precisely at pushchair level, insouciantly flicking ash onto baby's head. There are wheelie bins. There are clochards stretched out across air vents, taking a nap.
Should you wish to cross the road, your first task is to locate a pedestrian crossing where access is not obstructed by a parked car. No mean feat. After waiting patiently for the little green man, advance with caution, bearing in mind that some traffic still has right of way, other drivers may choose to ignore traffic lights altogether, and that motorbikes, and even cars, might unexpectedly take it upon themselves drive the wrong way around a traffic island, on a whim. As I edge gingerly out onto the open road, I am always painfully conscious of the fact that the pushchair, which precedes me, is even more vulnerable than I am.
Travelling further afield in the French capital, if you don't own a car, means a ride on a public transport, or in a taxi. The Parisian métro with a pushchair is not for the faint hearted. First, ensure that you have a narrow buggy which fits neatly through the metro turnstiles. Then be prepared for steps, steps and more steps. Even in stations with lifts or escalators, you will invariably find yourself at the bottom of a flight of steps at some point. They are unavoidable. Which is why, when I think about it, I have never seen a wheelchair-bound person in the métro in the decade I've lived here.
What amazes me the most however, is how little French shops cater for parents with very young children. I've lost count of the number of shops selling baby clothes and puériculture equipment whose wares are spread over several floors but which do not boast a lift. Surely it is in their best interests to help mothers and fathers spend their money? If they can't make the effort, then clearly no-one else will.
So, if you ever happen upon an Englishwoman in North East Paris cursing a sour-faced old lady whose poodle is fouling the pavement, giving an emphatic bras d'honneur to a thoughtless driver or muttering insults at the man who has just narrowly missed her toddler with his hawking and spitting, it just might, conceivably, be petite anglaise, in the throes of pushchair rage.
And if you are tempted to park your car across a pedestrian crossing, I would advise you not to do so in my neighbourhood, unless, that is, you fancy acquiring a few fresh scratches on your bonnet.
Because, you see, I carry a set of keys in my pocket for that very purpose.


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The Central Post Office was originally built as Durban's first Town Hall and was officially opened on 25th October 1885. The Natal Mercury described it as the 'handsomest Town Hall in the country, whose central hall will be the gathering place of the citizens on every occasion of public or social interest'.
At the time, it was the largest building in South Africa and was designed by Philip M Dudgeon. Winston Churchill spoke to the citizens of Durban from its steps after his escape from the Boers in 1899. From October 12th to November 5th, 1908, the building was the venue for the National Convention which led to the formation of the Union of South Africa in 1910.