Chapter One

Abduction

Posit for a moment a disembodied eye, invisible and maneuverable and hovering somewhere over sunny Southern California.

If the eye has a mind, it must be as appalled by the smog as amazed by the skyscrapers, jetliners, and densely crowded freeways. One might sympathize as the eye retreats and flees to the outskirts of all this poisoned commotion.

After all there’s plenty of lovely coastline to admire, still teeming with life if not packed so tight. Circling down, soaring in from the ocean now, the eye follows some unknown art inland about three blocks from the beach. It is drawn toward an utterly ordinary apartment complex. Roving over perhaps a dozen stucco-covered units, the eye angles in on the dwelling at the end. Despite it being brightest midday, all of the windows are blocked with shades.

Perhaps this is the home of a dissolute, still sleeping off his latest binge. The mind behind the eye doesn’t think so. It seems to sense something rare and precious behind those blinds. Possessed of powers one can only guess at, the eye passes right through the locked front door, penetrating the wood as effortlessly as it did the smog.

There’s a kitchen filled with cans of grains and gadgets. This is not the home of the average obese American, living on processed slops. The place is spotless, for one thing, as is the adjoining living area. Following whatever beacon or spoor there might be, the eye turns to a short corridor ending in three doors, two of them open.

Straight ahead is a closet, jumbled and over-spilling with athletic gear. Not all is in such conscientious neatness here. Through the opening to the left, the bathroom is clean at least, although one can see at a glance that this is a classic bachelor’s pad. The toilet seat is up for one thing and there’s a definite scent on the air from the bottle of aftershave sitting on the sink.

To the right, the closed door is no more of an obstacle than before. Behind it the searching eye finds the bedroom, though there’s really only a futon covered with paisley-patterned pillows and sheets. It’s dim in here with both the door and blinds closed but one can make out huge posters mounted on the walls. Some depict exalting natural landscapes, upstate Yosemite for example. Others are intricately detailed psychedelic scenes. The only light comes from a blue lava lamp and a half dozen feebly flickering votive candles slowly drowning in wax. Yet this is enough to illuminate the sole occupant.

As expected, this is a young man just into his prime. Rather short and slender, he is nevertheless superbly fit. Appealingly handsome, his sandy-blonde hair is rubber-banded into a short ponytail. Eyes closed, the face is blank and composed. He sits naked on the floor in the lotus position, obviously meditating.

In health-conscious California, this individual seems as ordinary as a broker in New York, a crook in the Capitol or a fish in the sea. Something indefinable has singled him out however. Joyously predatory, the eye moves in to claim its prize.

***

As a marathoner and semi-pro soccer player, Drake Green, 23, introduced himself to people as an exercise fiend. If pressed however, he’d agreeably concede that maybe ‘endorphin addict’ was more accurate.

Vigorous exercise wasn’t the only road to getting those flowing, and Drake admittedly indulged in far more punishing pursuits eagerly. Anything to get that all-natural free rush. Yet even as he placed outrageous demands on his body, Drake scrupulously took meticulous care of it – eschewing all smoking and always eating properly for example. He even took occasional colonics to purge out toxins. Yet as a