If you enjoyed BENEATH, please check out my new books from Thomas Dunne Books/St. Martin's Press. They are my newest, best and most exciting books to date. Exclusive samples are available on the following pages. Keep in mind that these samples are uncorrected proofs, so please forgive any typos.

Thanks for reading!

-- Jeremy Robinson

Don't miss this exclusive, uncorrected, sample of PULSE, the first book in Robinson's Chess Team series:

Prologue.

Nazca Peru 454 B.C.

Hundreds of feet pounded the dry soil, filling the air with the ominous sound of soldiers on the march. But these were not soldiers. They were followers, worshipers of the man whose strange ship had landed on the lush Peruvian shore only a week before, the man who now led them on a trek away from their fertile homeland and across the arid, lifeless Nazca plains.

He marched without cease, without pause for food, water or rest. With each merciless day their numbers dwindled. The women and children turned back first as hunger and responsibility to their kin overruled their desire to worship the visiting deity. The men who continued following the silent stranger fought against their parched throats and scorched feet, determined to see where the giant would lead. One by one, the weakest men fell to the hard packed, roiling hot sand and died slowly under the blistering gaze of the sun.

When the man finally stopped in the shade of a tall hill he turned and cast a cool gaze at the remaining twenty three men-all that remained of the one hundred thirty-seven who'd begun the journey alongside them. They were the strongest and bravest of the tribe, surely worthy of whatever honors the man-god would bestow.

Without a word the giant man removed the lion skin that covered his head and back, pulling the intact beast's head up and away from his own. His sweat dampened, curly black hair clung to his forehead, but the man paid it no heed. Nor did he wipe away the beads of sweat rolling into his dark brown eyes and into the heavily scabbed gashes running across his chest, back and legs.

When the giant first arrived on the sandy shore of their village, his resistance to the deep wounds coupled with his tall, 6'5" height-towering more than a foot above the tallest man in the tribe-had convinced the native Nazcans of his god-hood. The mysterious lion skin that covered his head and back told them he had journeyed from the land of the gods. The club he carried, stained dark with old blood showed him to be a warrior worthy of respect and awe. But the blood soaked, woven sack he carried, which wriggled and twisted in his hands and filled the air with a strong copper flavor, revealed he guarded the remains of some ancient evil. At first glance, the size of the object held within the sack made many think he had killed a large boar, but the copious amount of blood constantly dripping from the still moving body within convinced them otherwise. Nothing mortal could survive so much blood loss.

The giant man knelt and plunged a finger into the hard earth. The small stones and sand that made up the surface of the plains slid away as he outlined a pattern with his finger. After finishing, the man stood again, met the eyes of the men still standing and waved his hands out over the flat plain at the base of the hill. He then pointed to the central aspect of his drawing, then to a large stone, fifty feet away. The side facing away from the hill looked flat and stood more than ten feet tall and just as wide, but the back side curved out like a boulder. It stood on its edge where the flat side met the rounded, balanced precariously. To the men it looked like a gnarled, giant melon that had been halved and discarded eons ago by some ancient god.

The men understood. The strange stone would be the central head of the unearthly creature the man-god had drawn. As the sun set, the men worked in the cooling air. As night came, they labored under torch and moonlight and fought against the frigid, desert air, desperate for food and water, but craving to please the man-god. By morning the oversized reproduction of the giant's drawing was complete. From top to bottom it measured five hundred feet; from side to side, three hundred feet. The light brown lines of the drawing stood in stark contrast to the dark pebbly skin of the plains, making the massive illustration truly magnificent.

The men staggered under the fresh blazing sun as it sapped the rest of their strength and sucked the remaining moisture from their bodies. With each drop of blood from their raw hands, their lives ebbed further away. Each man knew his life would end in the desert, but they fought the urge to flee, believing that the man-god would reward them for their faithful service. They staggered as a group, dazed and bewildered, towards the head of their drawing where the giant waited.

He stood next to a deep pit he had dug in front of the large stone, where the two lines from either side of the drawing converged. The men stopped on the opposite side of the pit and waited. The giant raised the sack over the pit, allowing the still oozing blood to drip down into the sand below, where it dried instantly and turned to ash. The men murmured about the strange magic that turned blood to ash, but all remained rooted in place, as much from exhaustion as a desire to see what might happen next. As the man freed the sack from his grasp, it fell into the pit, landing atop the ashen drop of blood.

Upon striking the hot, dry earth, the sack began to writhe, violently at first, but then more slowly. As the wet blood on the outside of the sack turned white and dry, it stopped moving altogether.

The men waited breathlessly for what might happen next. When the man-god raised his hand and pointed, fear and horror gripped their exhausted bodies. Had they known their fate, not a single one of them would have followed the giant or helped carve his design. Their eyes filled with fear and desperation, but as the giant's grip tightened on his club, they knew flight would serve no purpose. Not one of them would make it outside the borders of their drawing without meeting a blunt end.

The man pointed again, stabbing his finger into the pit. This time the men obeyed, crawling down into the pit. With quivering legs and shaking hands, the men waited to see what would happen next.

The man drank from a wineskin that hung at his hip. The last few drops of the black liquid within dribbled onto his tongue. He swallowed and turned to them again, his body appearing stronger than ever, but his face revealing something more-remorse. The look of regret lasted only an instant as resolve returned to the man-god's eyes.

For the first time since arriving, the giant spoke. His voice shook the sand at the edge of the pit. They didn't understand a word of the man's speech, but found the tone of his voice, the strength of his frame and the energy of his gesticulations to be inspiring. Confidence returned to the men and several even smiled, as the man-god raised his club to the sky and shouted. They cheered with him, raising their bloodied fists and shouting at the sun.

But their shouts of victory turned to screams as a large object suddenly blotted out the sun above them. Before their tired minds could make sense of the massive object, it descended and crashed with a thunderous boom, after which only the sound of a single pair of sandaled feet could be heard, crunching across the plains, headed east, towards the coast.

1.

Peru 2006 Todd Maddox stepped out of the Eurocopter EC 155 and ducked instinctively as the rotor blades continued chopping the air above him. The copter ride had been smooth and the flight from LAX in Los Angeles to Peru's PucallpaRoldenAirport uneventful. But discomfort struck him hard as he exited the copter's air-conditioned interior and entered the humid jungle air of eastern Peru's Amazon rain forest.

His sunflower yellow shirt became like sticky, wet paper mache, gluing itself to his body. His styled hair, held in place by a thick film of pricey Elnett hairspray, dissolved into a heavy goo that oozed over his forehead. Out of his dry, Los Angeles element, Maddox grunted and cursed under his breath as he held tight to his briefcase and jogged toward the glass double doors that seemed so out of place in the thick green jungle.

Doubt filled his mind as he neared the doors. Was this worth it? Could he stand all this heat and humidity? The pay would no doubt be amazing and the company, Manifold, was renowned in the world of genetics. But the job description...well, there hadn't been one. Simply a five year contract and ten thousand dollars for an interview, take it or leave it. He hoped to learn more during this one and only interview, but if the work they wanted him for was anything less than groundbreaking he'd be on the next flight back to sunny, dry Los Angeles. His job there with CreGen paid well and made headlines occasionally, but the chance to work for Manifold was too good to not, at least, consider. Of course, when he agreed to an interview he had no idea it would take place in the Peruvian rain forest.

The double doors swung open and Maddox ran through like he was escaping a torrential downpour; given the amount of moisture clinging to his dress shirt, beige slacks and now slick hair, it wasn't much of a stretch.

Inside the hallway, cool, dry air blasted from air conditioning vents along the ceiling. Maddox's forehead stiffened as the hairspray dried again, several inches lower than it had first been applied.

"Humidity does a job on each and every one of you metrosexuals the boss brings down here," said a deep voice.

He looked at the man who had opened the door. He hadn't been spoken to with such disrespect since high school. He glared at the man through his Oakley black-rimmed eyeglasses. The man was tall, and given the bulges beneath his form fitting black shirt, was not a scientist. He filled his voice with as much disgust as he could muster and said, "Excuse me?"

"I'm just screwing with you, man." The stranger slapped him on the shoulder-which hurt-and laughed. He extended his hand. "Oliver Reinhart. Head of Gen-Y security here at Manifold Gamma."

"You're in charge of this facility?" he asked, wondering if he'd have to put up with this goon long term if he took the job.

Reinhart rubbed a hand over the back of his buzz cut skull, letting the short hairs tickle his hand. "I oversee security at all the facilities, Alpha through Epsilon. I go where the boss goes."

"Ridley?"

"That's the guy."

Maddox blinked. Richard Ridley reached legendary status when he formed Manifold ten years previous using a three billion dollar inheritance. At first no one took his company seriously, but then he began acquiring the best minds in the field, some straight out of MIT, Harvard and Berkeley. The company soon flourished, making rapid advancements in the fields of genetics and biopharmaceuticals. "Richard Ridley is here?"

"You're a quick one," he said with a smirk. "I can see why he hired you."

"He hasn't hired me."

Reinhart stepped past him and started down the stark white hallway. "He has. You just don't know it yet. C'mon, follow me."

Maddox looked at the burley man's face. A scar ran down his cheek, but other than that, the cleanly shaven face looked, more than anything, young. No more than thirty. Figuring the young Reinhart got his kicks by pretending to be head of security and jerking recruits around by dangling Ridley in front of them, he said, "You look a little young to be head of security. What are you, thirty?"

Reinhart answered the questions quickly. "Twenty-five. We're called Gen-Y for a reason. You won't find anyone over twenty-eight in my crew."

"Doesn't the lack of experience-"

Reinhart paused. He fixed his eyes on Maddox's. "Killers are born, not made."

As though on cue, two more security guards rounded the corner and walked past them, eyeing him and nodding their heads at Reinhart, like friends in a club. Both looked barely old enough to shave, though their bulk and cold eyes said confirmed Reinhart's statement. He'd entered a den of vipers.

Still, it seemed irresponsible to hire such young people for security. Then again, eighteen-year-olds were common on any battlefield. Given Reinhart's buzz cut and military posture, he'd probably seen some time in Iraq or Afghanistan before landing the job here. There weren't many military people his age that hadn't. He decided to drop the subject and fell in step behind Reinhart, following him through a maze of hallways.

Reinhart stopped next to a door and opened it. He motioned to the door and grinned. "After you."

Maddox sighed and walked through. The room on the other side stopped him in his tracks. The white marble floor reflected the numerous shades of blue and green from the jungle canopy and sky, which glowed bright above the fifty foot long, arched all-glass ceiling. Incan statues lined the ruby red walls and a long oriental rug ran down the center of the room. The rug led to an enormous receptionist desk that looked more appropriate for a high profile Hollywood literary agency than a genetics company. A serious looking redhead behind the desk looked over her glasses at him and smiled briefly.

"Tell her who you are and she'll take it from there," Reinhart said.

Unable to take his eyes off the expansive reception hall, Maddox heard the door whisper shut. Reinhart had left. Though young, the man's presence concerned him. What would happen if he turned Ridley down? He pushed the question from his mind and focused on Reinhart's explanation of his job. If he really was Ridley's personal guard, he couldn't be here all the time...or could he? No one really knew where Ridley spent his time. Reinhart said 'Manifold Alpha through Epsilon,' which meant there were at least five Manifold locations. Maybe more.

His approach to the receptionist desk was watched by the blood red eyes of twelve Incan statues which lined either side of the room. Their twisted and angry expressions did little to calm his nerves. He paused in front of the desk as the redhead held an open palm up to him. She held a phone against her ear, listening. "You can go in," she said, after putting the phone down. She reached under the desktop and pushed a button. A door to the right of the reception desk slid open silently. He tightened his grip on the briefcase and headed for the door, unsure of what to expect on the other side.

The office was sparsely decorated with more Incan art. Masks hung on walls and statues in the corners. Large, green plants made the whole scene look like some ceremonial cave. He realized some of the plants must be mint, as the room smelled strongly of fresh peppermint, the kind his mother had grown in their greenhouse.

At the center of the room sat two black sofas, facing each other. Between them, a short, hand carved coffee table held two glass tea cups, a steaming clay tea pot and a manila folder. Richard Ridley himself sat on the sofa facing the door.

He had seen photos of Ridley in articles and promotional materials from conferences, but he looked taller and more confident in person, though the light gleamed just as brightly off his bald head.

Ridley motioned for him to sit on the other couch without standing up or offering a hand. He sat down and placed his briefcase next to the chair. Ridley poured two glasses of tea, drizzled honey into both cups, then handed one to him. A waft of peppermint filled his nose, opening his eyes and causing him to sit up straighter. He took a sip and swallowed. The liquid seemed to invigorate his mind as the peppermint was absorbed into his bloodstream.

"Fresh cut peppermint tea," Ridley said, taking a sip, and then placing his glass on the coffee table. His gravely voice was impossible to ignore or mistake. Maddox had heard it before and expecting it, was able to keep his mind from wondering how a man with such a sinister sounding voice could be so successful. "Amazing what a simple brew can do for the body. It doesn't hold a candle to what you've been involved in, though it probably tastes better."

Maddox smiled, trying not to look nervous.

"I've been following your work, quite closely. Your breakthroughs with the Wnt pathway and limb regeneration in embryonic chickens."

Maddox's eyes widened.

Ridley grinned. "Why don't explain it to me."

Maddox grew excited. He never expected to be in a position to explain something to the Richard Ridley. "As you know...may know...the Wnt pathway is a network of proteins, which, in essence, tells a growing fetus where, how and when to grow limbs. But it becomes dormant after birth. Mother Nature's kill switch so to speak, preventing uncontrolled additions, like another finger growing on the hand when you get a cut. What we tried to do was reactivate the pathway in adults so that when a finger is cut off, the active Wnt proteins tell the cells to grow new ligaments, bones and muscles, not just layer of new skin."

Ridley cleared his throat. "But...and correct me if I'm wrong, the Wnt pathway, while a brilliant attempt is a rather embarrassing dead end."

Maddox hunched as his ego deflated. Ridley knew more than he was letting on.

"But..." Ridley waggled a finger at him. "...you're already pursuing a different path, aren't you?"

A lot more than he was letting on.

Maddox remained silent, knowing that any verification of his current work would be a breach of contract with CreGen and would lead to his firing and probably legal action against him. Just being here, instead of vacationing in the Caribbean where he was supposed to be, would be enough to get him fired.

"You don't need to say anything. I know it puts you in a...situation. So I'll say it for you. You've managed to regenerate limbs on rats-tails, legs, even ears."

Maddox's eyes widened. "How do you know that? We haven't published-"

Ridley held up his hand, silencing him. "Please. Let me finish. You've also partially regenerated limbs on pigs and sheep, though with less success. But the creme de la creme is what you, and you alone, have managed to do with...humans."

"Now wait a minute," he said, sitting up straight. "The work on sheep and pigs is highly classified. There is no way you could-"

Ridley raised his hands. "And yet, I do. Corporate espionage is a wonderful thing. Don't think your bosses at CreGen haven't sent spies in our direction. If not for Mr. Reinhart and Gen-Y, you'd probably be privy to Manifold's secrets as well." He leaned forward. "I notice you didn't mention the human experimentation."

"That's because there isn't any," Maddox said, looking at the floor.

Ridley smiled, put his glass down and picked up the folder on the table top. He opened it and began reading. "Boy. Fifteen years old. Admitted to MassGeneralHospital because he sliced off the tip of his left index finger while...trying to dissect a frog in his basement. The year was 1986." He looked up. "Sound familiar?"

"How did you get access to my medical history?"

"If I can bypass security at CreGen, do you really think HIPAA stands a chance?" He closed the file, returned it to the table top and then, like a striking snake, grabbed hold of Maddox's left hand. He held it up, inspecting the perfect left index finger. "You regenerated your finger tip. Not on the clock, mind you. On your own."

Maddox yanked his hand away and sat back, crossing his arms.

"No need to get upset. I admire your tenacity, even if it is inspired by vanity." He removed a folded piece of paper from his pant pocket and slowly unfolded it. "Tell me how and I'll show you what's on this piece of paper."

"What could be on that piece of paper that would make me tell you something like that?"

"Your future," he said. "Aren't you interested?"

Maddox held out for five seconds and then said, "Pig bladder extract. It...helps construct the microscopic scaffolding for incoming human cells and emits chemical signals that stimulate the regrowth process."

"That's...unusual." Ridley said, then smiled.

"Pigs extracts are used in diabetes treatments, producing islet cells that help reverse the disease in humans when transplanted."

"So you figured they could also help regrow limbs."

Maddox shrugged. "At the time. Beyond that it's another dead end. The process doesn't work."

Ridley nodded. "Then your research has stagnated?

He didn't answer the question. He couldn't answer the question. It was too embarrassing to admit failure on something he'd spent his life on. Besides, He could see that Ridley knew the answer.

"As a young man, before all this," he said, waving his arms at the room around them, "I was obsessed with maps. I would chart land routes from one point to another, say Beijing to Paris, over and over until it appeared I had exhausted all the possibilities. But then I tried something different, like your pig bladder, I turned the map upside down and new possibilities emerged. But this technique ultimately ended in frustration as I once again ran out of possibilities. Using my father's resources I turned to a final resource that is both hard to come by and often quite expensive-the ancient past. I purchased ancient maps from dealers around the world, legal and black market. Trade routes were revealed. Secret passages. Tunnels dug and forgotten. Each map revealed more. In this way I came to learn that the ancient past is one of the best ways to uncovers secrets in the modern world. It is a belief I hold to this day and a lesson you will soon learn...if you're interested."

"I...don't know if I can."

Ridley laughed like it was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. "You regenerated your fingertip. You have ambition beyond the scope of CreGen, who, may I remind you, takes credit for your discoveries. But you're stuck, just like we are. You can regenerate a finger tip. So what? Kids under the age of eleven sometimes regenerate severed finger tips. You merely extended the age limit on fingertip regeneration."

"By twenty-two years!"

Ridley smiled. "Impressive, I know. But it's not the golden goose, is it? Full limb regeneration. Organ regeneration. Spine, brain, memory regeneration. Those are the real prizes."

Excitement overtook Maddox's concerns. He could see that Ridley just might give him the keys to the kingdom, but he had a few requirements. "I want credit."

"Done," he replied, handing Maddox the slip of paper he'd just finished unfolding. "My offer. Accept it and I will reveal the past that will take us to the future."

As Maddox read over the few lines of text, his eyes widened with each word. He was offering him more than the key to the kingdom; this was the key to the universe! Unlimited research funding, a salary that would make him a multimillionaire and some of the best names in the business would be at his disposal.