by B. C. CHASE
PARADEISIA
THE
COMPLETE TRILOGY
PRAISE FOR PARADEISIA
"CHASE HAS MASTERED THE ART OF WRITING SUSPENSE." LA HOWELL
"COULDN'T PUT IT DOWN. ... KEEPS YOU WANTING MORE, MORE." -DEBRA HANSON
"A ROLLER COASTER RIDE" –GRADY HARP, VINE VOICE
“IF THE AUTHOR INTENDED TO WHET MY APPETITE, HE SURELY SUCCEEDED... LEFT MY MOUTH HANGING OPEN. FOUR OUT OF FOUR STARS.”
–ONLINEBOOKCLUB.ORG
"THIS SERIES IS KEEPING ME UP PAST MY BEDTIME…"
-KITTY MURPHY
"AN EDGE-OF-YOUR-SEAT PAGE TURNER! I COULD NOT PUT IT DOWN! WONDERFUL!"
-PAMELA LIVENGOOD
"REMINDED OF JURASSIC PARK." - J. RODGE
"INCREDIBLY WELL WRITTEN... RIVETING PLOT LINES, INTERESTING AND FULLY-FLESHED CHARACTERS. ORIGINAL, COMPELLING, AND LEAVES YOU WANTING MORE." -JOANNE G
"WONDERFULLY WRITTEN...INTERESTING CHARACTERS AND THRILLING STORYLINES."
-REBECCA S. MULLINS
"FAST PACED AND WELL WRITTEN." -M. HENNY
"AMAZING IN ITS USE OF FACTUAL INFORMATION COMBINED WITH SUSPENSEFUL TWISTS AND TURNS."
-D. ZEILER
"VERY EXCITING...EXCELLENT STORY TELLING AND MYSTERY!" -MICHAEL A. DAVIS
"KEPT ME ENTHRALLED...COULDN'T PUT IT DOWN AND THE END CAME WAY TOO FAST!" –LORNA
PARADEISIA
THE COMPLETE TRILOGY
BY B.C.CHASE
THE PARADEISIA TRILOGY:
ORIGIN OF PARADISE (PART ONE)
VIOLATION OF PARADISE (PART TWO)
FALL OF PARADISE (PART THREE)
B.C.CHASE is the internationally bestselling author of Paradeisia: Origin of Paradise, Paradeisia: Violation of Paradise, and Paradeisia: Fall of Paradise. His titles have consistently reached the number one slots of science fiction, thriller and medical bestseller lists. His mastery of combining hard science with edge-of-your-seat suspense has earned him a reputation as a writer of authority.
Copyright © 2016 B.C.CHASE
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Corporations, characters, organizations, or other entities in this novel are the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, are used fictitiously without any intent to describe their actual conduct.
In Memoriam
J.M.C.
PARADEISIA
ORIGIN
of
PARADISE
PRAISE FOR ORIGIN OF PARADISE
"CHASE HAS MASTERED THE ART OF WRITING SUSPENSE." LA HOWELL
"COULDN'T PUT IT DOWN. ... KEEPS YOU WANTING MORE, MORE." -DEBRA HANSON
"A ROLLER COASTER RIDE" –GRADY HARP, VINE VOICE
“IF THE AUTHOR INTENDED TO WHET MY APPETITE, HE SURELY SUCCEEDED... LEFT MY MOUTH HANGING OPEN. FOUR OUT OF FOUR STARS.”
–ONLINEBOOKCLUB.ORG
"THIS SERIES IS KEEPING ME UP PAST MY BEDTIME…"
-KITTY MURPHY
"AN EDGE-OF-YOUR-SEAT PAGE TURNER! I COULD NOT PUT IT DOWN! WONDERFUL!"
-PAMELA LIVENGOOD
"REMINDED OF JURASSIC PARK." - J. RODGE
"INCREDIBLY WELL WRITTEN... RIVETING PLOT LINES, INTERESTING AND FULLY-FLESHED CHARACTERS. ORIGINAL, COMPELLING, AND LEAVES YOU WANTING MORE." -JOANNE G
"WONDERFULLY WRITTEN...INTERESTING CHARACTERS AND THRILLING STORYLINES."
-REBECCA S. MULLINS
"FAST PACED AND WELL WRITTEN." -M. HENNY
"AMAZING IN ITS USE OF FACTUAL INFORMATION COMBINED WITH SUSPENSEFUL TWISTS AND TURNS."
-D. ZEILER
"VERY EXCITING...EXCELLENT STORY TELLING AND MYSTERY!" -MICHAEL A. DAVIS
"KEPT ME ENTHRALLED...COULDN'T PUT IT DOWN AND THE END CAME WAY TOO FAST!" –LORNA
ORIGIN OF PARADISE
PART ONE OF PARADEISIA BY B.C.CHASE
THE PARADEISIA TRILOGY:
ORIGIN OF PARADISE (PART ONE)
VIOLATION OF PARADISE (PART TWO)
FALL OF PARADISE (PART THREE)
B.C.CHASE is the internationally bestselling author of Paradeisia: Origin of Paradise, Paradeisia: Violation of Paradise, and Paradeisia: Fall of Paradise. His titles have consistently reached the number one slots of science fiction, thriller, women’s adventure, and medical bestseller lists. He is regularly found on Amazon’s top 100 author lists for science fiction and action and adventure. His mastery of combining hard science with edge-of-your-seat suspense has earned him a reputation as an author of authority.
Copyright © 2016 B.C.CHASE
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Corporations, characters, organizations, or other entities in this novel are the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, are used fictitiously without any intent to describe their actual conduct.
Kinkajous are not a domesticated species: they are wild animals and are suitable as pets perhaps only for a handful of extremely dedicated individuals. Please do not allow my story to encourage you to make a commitment to an animal with a twenty-five-year lifespan if you are not absolutely certain it is a commitment you can keep.
EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH THE AUTHOR
AND CHARACTER LIST ENCLOSED AT END.
In Memoriam
J.M.C.
4085 Woodbridge Street
Wesley Peterson woke up, his heart pounding. He was wet and his sheets were soaked from a cold sweat. A shatter on tile broke the dark stillness. He reached for her, but she wasn’t beside him. “Sienna!”
There was no reply, but there was panting and a whimper. The panting was heavy and strong. The whimper was his fourteen-weeks-pregnant wife.
His pulse was throbbing in his neck as he quickly drew his handgun from the nightstand drawer. A surge of adrenaline sent tremors through his hands as he tried to load it. He couldn’t get the magazine to slide into the well. He tried to force it until he realized a round was protruding from the top. He slipped it in with its brothers, jammed up the mag, and cocked the slide to chamber the bullet.
He tracked toward the partly open door of the bathroom, feeling the sickening sensation of sticky-wet carpet under his feet.
He was afraid his 9mm wasn’t sufficient.
He dashed his fingers inside the door frame to flip on the light and flung the door open, aiming inside. It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the blinding luminance, but what he saw made him stagger backwards.
His young wife was alone, spread-eagled on the floor in a pool of blood. He moved down to help her, but she pointed behind him and let loose a nothing-held-back, bloodcurdling scream.
ORIGIN
OF
PARADISE
International House of Bacon
The blonde stared dismally at the tip she had just received. Couples with small kids were the worst. The messiest and the smallest tippers. Her cell rang from her apron where she stood at the server's station. She wiped the sticky syrup off her hands and dashed around a corner. “Hi,” she answered.
“Aubrey, it's Maggie.”
“I'm at work—what's up?”
“You know the job I told you might open up eventually if you were really, really, really lucky?”
“Uh, yeah. You told me yesterday.”
“It's available! If you make it to La Guardia in an hour you'll get an interview!”
“An hour? I couldn't possibly make it that fast. I don't even have my resume ready.” That's what Aubrey said, but her heartbeat accelerated with hopeful anticipation.
“That's okay! I'll send a limo for you—don't worry!”
“A limo? I'm in my uniform. And besides, I couldn't wing an interview for that job. I don't even have any experience!”
“I'm sending a limo now. Just get in and I'll take care of everything else.”
Aubrey stepped forward from behind the corner and gazed at the floor of the busy restaurant. She had dreamed of leaving this world of bacon and pancakes for a long time; in fact, pretty much from the moment she arrived.
“Brie, you there?”
“Yeah, I'm—” Aubrey could see the black form of a limousine pulling up outside the frosted glass. “Maggie, the limo's already here.”
“Already?” Maggie voice sounded a little anxious, “Wow! The driverless ones are getting so fast! Hurry and get in or you might miss it.”
Uncertainly: “Maggie?”
“Hurry!”
“But Maggie . . .”
“Aubrey Vela, I'm older and I've lived way longer than you, so listen. Most people only get one chance to change their lives forever. This is your chance. Get in the car.”
She paused a moment, pondering her choice and trying to calm her nerves. Finally, she said “OK. I'll be there.”
Although her heartbeat was fluttering with excitement, her stomach was queasy as she slipped her phone back into her apron and walked slowly past the piles of plates . . . the screaming kids . . . the pots of coffee . . . and out the door.
La Guardia
When the limousine pulled up to the departures platform Aubrey spotted Maggie standing at the TransPacific Airlines kiosk, rubbing her own shoulders for warmth. Maggie ran up to the limo and opened the door for Aubrey exclaiming, “I'm so glad you made it in time!” As Aubrey emerged, Maggie clutched her around the waist and manhandled her into the busy airport—almost like a porter with a piece of luggage. When they were inside, Aubrey broke free and protested, “Now you didn't tell me why I had to come to the airport for the interview. Why so fast?”
“Yes, well, we have to leave just as soon as he's seen you. He's just taken on a new company from England and we're flying out right away.”
“So wait. You're telling me that if I'm going to accept this job, I have to fly out today, right away, without any warning at all?”
Maggie admitted, “Uh. I mean, yes. That would be a yes. I wish I could give you more time. But this is urgent.”
“Maggie! I don't have anything with me except what I'm wearing!” Aubrey's mind and emotions were in a whirlwind.
“I know, sweetie. I know. But we'll get you new things.”
When this didn't alleviate Aubrey's baffled expression, Maggie added, “Better things than you had before.”
Aubrey wasn't impressed. She drew a long breath and exhaled fast, trying to compose herself. “How long will we be gone?”
“I don't know.”
“Can you estimate?”
“I frankly have no idea. That's the name of the game here. But I know you'll love where we're going.”
“How do you know that?” skeptically.
“Because it sure as heck won't be the International House of Bacon. Now let's go.”
They rushed so quickly past the iris scanners and through the terminals that, before Aubrey knew it, they were outside again and at the steps of a screaming white jet the size of a commuter airliner. It read, “INTRAWORLD CAPITAL” on the side in black letters. The smell of jet fuel was strong despite the chill of the air.
Maggie was halfway up before Aubrey's protest came from below, “Maggie, I don't have a passport.”
“What?”
“I've never flown before,” Aubrey said sheepishly.
“Sweetie, I know you're naïve, but gosh, nobody needs a passport anymore! You got your USID card like all of us, right?”
“Yeah.”
“They scanned your irises. That's your passport. Now get up here!”
So Aubrey dashed up the steps and entered the cabin, greeted by a rush of cool air.
Jet
Inside, Aubrey hardly had time to take in the surroundings as she was whisked through the plane, and although she hadn't ever been in one before, she knew this didn't look like anything people usually flew in. There was a lounge with supple, leather wrap-around sofas and sleek-looking armchairs, a conference room where several men sat at a rich wooden table, and a hallway with wood paneled walls—one side lined with doors and the other side arching down and dotted with the small, round windows typical of airliners.
They stopped at a door in the hallway and Maggie quickly looked Aubrey over and batted some dirt off her skirt, saying, “You look good enough. You’re definitely pretty enough.”
“Uh, what if he asks me about my experience. I don’t have any at this kind of job.”
“He won’t.”
“What do you mean? Doesn’t he care?”
“He’s too busy to care.” Maggie knocked on the door. An immediate, baritone response came from inside, “Come in.”
Motioning for Aubrey to wait, Maggie stepped in and closed the door behind her. Aubrey heard her muffled voice, “Your new personal assistant is here, sir.”
The reply came in a rich, Anglican accent, “Show her in, Maggie.”
The door opened and Maggie's hand appeared around the door frame, making two quick motions to usher Aubrey along.
She stepped around the corner into what was a contemporary, but elegant office; there was a modern sofa against one wall and two chairs facing a glass desk. Behind this sat a strongly-featured man, breathtakingly handsome, but austere in expression, with eyes fixed on a screen that he held between both hands.
Aubrey stood there before the desk, waiting, but the man didn't even lift an eyebrow. She cast her eyes at Maggie, searching for some kind of guidance, but Maggie motioned for her to wait. And so she did . . . for at least two minutes.
Finally, the man raised his eyes and, as if he were surveying a new suit, fleetly looked Aubrey over. He then nodded to Maggie, “She'll do.”
Aubrey's jaw would have dropped, but Maggie didn't give it a chance to, pushing her straight back into the hallway. After the door was closed and they were a safe distance away, Aubrey protested, “She'll do? What kind of an interview was that?”
“We're departing soon; he doesn't have time to do a full interview. You're actually lucky,” Maggie laughed nervously.
“I don't know if I feel lucky or insulted!”
“Trust me, you're lucky. Now let me show you where you'll sit for the flight.”
Maggie led her back through the aircraft to an area directly behind the cockpit where there were three sections; one was a galley, one had bunk beds, and the last had rows of seating. In one of the seats was a sixty-year-old looking woman with bright red lipstick. She had big curls that were dyed golden and she held a long-stemmed glass of sparkling champagne in one hand. Maggie introduced her as “Lorraine, the stewardess.” She then directed Aubrey to sit in one of the seats and dropped a cell in her lap. “If this rings and it says, ‘Henry Potter,’ that means he needs you for something. Go find him and ask him what he wants—politely. I'll be back later.” Maggie left them alone.
Aubrey felt a tingle of excitement when the plane began to move. Despite the strange “interview,” she felt pride at having been granted the job. She had, after all, dropped everything to come here at a moment's notice. Few people would have had the nerve to do that, she surmised.
“So you're Henry's new personal assistant?” Lorraine asked, not bothering to hide her skepticism.
“Yes.”
Snickering: “Well good luck.”
“Thank you.” Aubrey said, her satisfactory feelings now giving way to dubiety. “Why would you say that?”
“Oh, no reason. It's just that his last personal assistant left this plane about two hours ago. And she had only been with him for five days.”
“Oh really?” Suddenly the pieces began to fall into place. The urgency, the limo, the lack of an interview . . . . Maggie had been on the hot seat for a new PA, pronto, and she'd capitalized on Aubrey's ignorance.
Lorraine chuckled hoarsely, and broke into a cough. When she recovered, she said, “Oh yeah, I've been on Henry's planes since the first time he had one, and I've never seen him keep a personal assistant longer than three months.”
“Oh . . . really.” Aubrey's disappointment was betrayed by her voice.
“Sorry kid, but Henry Potter is a first-class jerk, at least when it comes to his PA’s,” Lorraine said. “This new job of yours is going to be hell on earth.”
The engines fired loudly and the plane started to accelerate toward takeoff. Lorraine raised her glass jovially, “Champagne?”
The cell rang. It was Maggie, “Come down to the conference room as soon as we're in the air.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
Antarctica
Having not seen the titanium submersibles in over a month, Zhou Ming-Zhen, PhD, cringed at the sight of them now, lined up on a platform in the drilling station. They were identical: eleven feet tall, twenty-five inches wide, tubular, and topped with an acrylic glass bubble. Hidden inside the edge on the bottom of each was a propulsion fan. Two buoyancy bladders were inflated.