The Gatekeeper (30 page)
K
elly rose and fell on the waves. Every so often a noise intruded, the background bleats and calls of enormous undersea creatures, but as the swell kicked up even that receded. It was so peaceful here, so warm. The long rays of a setting sun dusted her skin with traces of pink and lavender. Invisible arms wrapped around her, cradling her close.
The low murmur again. In spite of herself Kelly strained to hear. The voices sounded familiar, and she suddenly realized where she was. Growing up she’d replayed this day over and over in her mind, claiming it as the last remaining shred of what her family had been. But she hadn’t thought about it in years. It was odd that it came to her now.
It was the day before her brother vanished. She was standing on a stool at the kitchen counter, helping her father make pancakes. Alex came in from taking out the trash, and their mother made him wash his hands before setting the table. Fingers still wet, he poked a finger in the batter she was stirring, flicking it at her. She yelled at him to stop, but he just grinned. Her father barked at both of them to be quiet, it was impossible to concentrate on
flipping with all that racket. He was making her favorite, one large pancake with two smaller ones serving as mouse ears: “Mickey Pancakes,” they called them. Alex usually claimed he was too old for them, but that day he ate without complaining. The smell of sizzling bacon mingled with fresh-cut grass. Her mother sat at the table, sipping her coffee and reading the paper. A typical weekend morning, like hundreds of others they’d shared. There was nothing particularly significant about it. If Alex hadn’t disappeared the next day, it would have slipped into the patchwork of her other childhood memories, fuzzy and indistinct and frayed.
The image spun away from her on the next wave. She halfheartedly reached for it, feeling the warmth trail through her fingers. Kelly caressed it once, then released it with a faint sense of regret. It was too pleasant to resist. She let go of everything and floated away.
B
ooks have their origins in all sorts of strange places. This one started with a late-night conversation over drinks, when a friend who works for the FBI mentioned that hate groups have doubled their membership in the past decade, but the level of surveillance on them has dropped significantly. All of the information and statistics contained in the text are accurate to the best of my knowledge. I did, however, invent the job that Randall holds; as far as I could determine, no one is currently overseeing low-level radioactive materials, and the U.S. government is not working to consolidate them in secure locations, despite the fact that many sources are lost or stolen each year. It’s enough to inspire a serious case of insomnia.
As always, there are countless people to thank for their gracious assistance with my research. Any mistakes are solely my own. Dr. Sidney Drell helped me sort through the seeds of ideas to find one with the potential to sprout. Camille Minichino worked tirelessly through many drafts to ensure that a writer who truly can’t tell the difference between an isobar and an isotope got the “ra
diation stuff” right. Robin Burcell helped with police procedures and terminology. Lee Lofland not only answered multiple niggling questions, he also directed me to Richard McMahan and Michael Roche, my “bomb squad” who helped me figure out what would and wouldn’t work (and as promised, Mike, I left San Diego relatively unscathed). The real-life George Fong is even cooler than his fictional counterpart, and always patiently answers countless questions about FBI procedure and gangs, in addition to arranging my once-in-a-lifetime tour of Quantico.
Mark Potok of the Southern Poverty Law Center was kind enough to answer questions about the current status of hate groups in our country and some of the threats we face. Dr. D. P. Lyle always comes through with an innovative and undetectable way to kill someone (which inspires not just admiration, but a healthy dose of fear).
My beta readers, whose keen eye for typos and inconsistencies made each draft better than the last: David Gagnon, Kate Gagnon, Vickie Browning, Deborah Indzhov, Richard Goodman, Raj Patel. Everyone at the Sanchez Grotto for providing such a warm, supportive writing community and being excellent procrastination buddies: Raj (again), Shana Mahaffey, Alison Bing, Paul Linde, Diane Weipert, Sean Beaudoin, Ammi Emergency, Jeff Kirschner, and Whimsical Doggo Doug Wilkins, who makes it all possible. And of course the inestimable Kemble Scott, who always remembers my events in his newsletter (even when I have forgotten them) and has been a great friend, confidant and sounding board.
My fellow bloggers on The Kill Zone: Kathryn Lilley, Joe Moore, Clare Langley-Hawthorne, John Ramsey Miller and John T. Gilstrap, for always inspiring stimulating dialogue and tolerating my occasionally rambling,
late posts. And my fellow Norcal Sisters in Crime and MWA groups have been invaluable resources.
Everyone at MIRA Books has been incredibly supportive, especially my editor, Lara Hyde, a tireless advocate who is a pleasure to work with (I realize that the same cannot always be said for me, and for that I’m sorry). At MIRA I also owe a huge debt to Valerie Gray, Margaret Marbury and Emily Ohanjanians. I’m grateful to the best sales team in North America: Don Lucey, Tracey Langmuir, Heather Foy and everyone else who works so hard to promote my books.
An agent is said to be a writer’s best friend, and with the Philip G. Spitzer Agency that’s more than just an expression. Lukas Ortiz has been a great friend and an amazing agent, and I’m guessing he’s one of the few willing to answer his phone at 2:00 a.m. in Frankfurt when a pressing question arises. Luc Hunt has been an amazing source of advice and alternate titles, and a reliable set of eyes on each revision. Joel Gotler was kind enough to provide an education on the entire book-to-film process, and convinced me to make Madison a bit older than I’d originally intended.
I’ve been fortunate to have a slew of booksellers and librarians champion my books. I can’t thank you enough for the support. This can be a difficult industry to navigate, and all of you made it so much easier.
The Egans (Joe, Uta, Caroline and Rick) always make Seattle one of the best stops on my tour. I highly recommend them for any and all book launch party needs, the spread they lay out is to die for. My Wesleyan partners in crime: Dave Fribush, Colin Dangel, Ty Jagerson and Dave Kane provided the perfect names for the “commando-boys” (in exchange, I’m expecting free drinks for life).
Last but never least, thanks to my family for their unconditional love and support, and almost saintlike patience for working weekends, constant complaining and general grumpiness. I really couldn’t have done it without you.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-4249-8
THE GATEKEEPER
Copyright © 2009 by Michelle Gagnon.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, MIRA Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
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.
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