Captive Souls

By Melinda Young

Some secrets are better left buried.

Unable to recall the shootout that killed her mentor and left her deeply traumatized, FBI Agent Kathryn Masters languishes in a desk job. She is lured out of her self-imposed exile by Winston Blake, a dropout from her class at the FBI Academy whose surprise best-selling novel will be a one-shot wonder if he can’t find a sequel. He’s stumbled across an odd story involving mystifying silver spheres found on an uninhabited Hawaiian island – and then stolen by a mysterious researcher. When the geologist who found the spheres is murdered, Win insists Kathryn help him investigate. Her chance for redemption uncovers a covert organization delving into the science of the mythical lost continent of Lemuria – older than Atlantis, a land of enigmas and dark secrets. The spheres unearthed by the researchers are more than they bargained for, and Kathryn and Win must fight for their lives as Lemuria’s terrible secrets unleash madness and murder.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melinda Young
• Release date: Mar 4, 2018
• ISBN: 9781680230642

Melinda Young

Melinda Young is proud to be a third-generation journalist. She has won awards for her fiction and her public radio writing. Before returning to her native Wisconsin, she lived in Hawai‘i for nearly 25 years. Every January she hopes her exile from Polynesia will be over soon.

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Prologue

The Hawaiian Island of Kaho‘olawe

November 26, 1994

The island’s simple landscape was painted in broad strokes of color – a clear, razor blue sky, sparse tufts of scrubby green vegetation, and the clinging, rust-orange of raw, open desert. To the west, an arc of bright turquoise that stretched to infinity marked the end of the land. To the east, above the arid, treeless rise strewn with dry volcanic rocks, on the island of Maui waterfalls flowed down lush hillsides to the turquoise ocean. This arid, empty island was not big, but the four figures moving through it were a very small part of this endless world of color and light.

Judy Johnson stepped without concern over the bomb. The unexploded ordnance had rolled twenty-five feet down the newly-exposed slope after the weekend’s storm and had come to rest across the middle of the dirt road. Now little more than a rusted frame, it had become a mere traffic hazard.

Mr. Takahara, sniffed Dr. Steadman Finn, who had been a royal pain in the okole long before the little expedition left Honolulu. He took the moment to wipe the sweat off his face as he announced in lilting, native Virginian tones, One of the conditions of our unescorted visit here was if anything dangerous intruded on the safe zone, we would contact Lt. Brown immediately. I consider a five hundred-pound bomb sufficient to trigger that set of instructions.

Judy watched Kyle Takahara reset his baseball cap and tug his utilitarian ponytail. Her acerbic friend had been suffering through the visiting professor’s condescension from the moment he invited himself and his assistant along on their storm damage survey. By now Kyle must have had dozens of barbs ready to puncture the old windbag. However, as a lowly teaching assistant, he had been forced to represent the University of Hawai‘i with all the aloha he could scratch together. Dr. Finn, this bomb has no guts. There is nothing to blow up. It can only hurt you if you trip over it. Besides, we just got here. If we radio Lt. Brown, he’s probably going to pull us out. After everything we went through to get here, you wanna go back already?

Dr. Finn did not like being put in his place, especially by a mere student. Grumbling, he turned to Timothy Hargreaves, his freckled, red-headed assistant who was deferential in a way only a research assistant on a year-to-year scholarship can be to his advisor. As if he were consulting with him, he said to his student, Well, I suppose if there is no real danger…. Tim, take some photos. Tim scurried to the rusted hulk and took a few shots before they moved on.

The motley band of geologists made its way down the muddy path through the desert terrain of exposed basalt and oxidized red dirt. Judy had been on Kaho‘olawe at least ten times over the years, but she never got used to the silence – no people, no animals, no birds, just the sound of the wind hurrying over the sad and beaten landscape. Thanks to two centuries of human mismanagement, naked soil was everywhere, with some places in the fragile terrain worn down to bare rock. The abuse had paved the way for the fresh mudslides and hillside collapses triggered by the recent tropical storm. More ominous, however, were the parallel rows of stakes on the either side of their path. Topped with wind-whipped remnants of red plastic tape, they were all that stood between the group and five decades of military target practice and tons of the best exploded shrapnel and undetonated bombs the U.S. Navy could buy. Other visitors had wandered too close to the edge and died. They had no intention of doing the same.

The group followed the curve of the road around a rise and stopped. The open basin where the three small Navy buildings had once stood now housed only shattered timber, broken glass, and twisted metal.

The visiting professor laughed nervously. Who’s the Hawaiian god in charge of hurricanes? Remind me to sacrifice one of my students to him. He offered a theatrical glance at Tim. Not you, of course.

Tim didn’t respond as he looked past the island’s small summit to the ten thousand-foot volcanic mountain in the distance. This sure is a strange place.

Judy asked, What do you mean?

I don’t understand how Maui’s only ten miles away and it got off with almost no damage.

She answered, It was a compact storm that formed right over the island.

Kyle took off his baseball cap and smoothed back his hair. Storms do that – they pick an island and paint a big, fat bull’s-eye on it. As he reset his cap he added, speaking mostly to Judy, "At least it wasn’t Kaua‘i. Again."

She gave him a friendly wink.

Dr. Finn couldn’t resist. The topography here lends itself to that.

Judy and Kyle shuddered as the professor from six thousand miles away started his windup for another lecture about the turf they’d grown up on. You see –

Hey, Tim called quietly, what’s that?

The others turned to see him staring up at the eroded hillside back at the crest of the road. The red soil of the undercut hill resembled a gaping wound. Tim stepped closer, looking at something the others couldn’t see.

Judy said, Don’t get too close to that. The soil’s saturated. It could collapse.

I’ll be okay. But what is that thing?

Judy followed his gaze up the side of the hill’s wound. Embedded in the red dirt about four feet below the top of the hill was small, metallic object, round and gray. From this distance, it looked about the size of a tennis ball.

Tim walked toward the prize, then scrambled in the muddy scree at the bottom of the eroded slope. I think I can just about reach it....

Kyle shouted, Tim, stop! Let’s see if we can get a better look from the top.

Tim paused, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the mysterious object. What is it?

Judy pulled out small binoculars and trained them on the object. Its cool, dull shine, surrounded by the ruddy crumble of dirt, mesmerized her. Without realizing it, she began to sway. When the binoculars drifted away from the object, she caught herself and shook her head to clear her thoughts.

It looks embedded, Kyle said. It looks like it’s been there for a long -- He stopped when Tim started up the crumbling wall of raw, red dirt. Tim! Stop!

Judy shouted her own warning, but the young graduate student paid them no heed. He tried to push himself up, but the loose soil below his feet refused to cooperate.

Even Dr. Finn became alarmed. Tim! Get down from there!

Tim did not listen.

Duty overcame danger as Kyle tossed his camera to Judy and launched up the road to tackle Tim out of harm’s way.

It was in vain. Before Kyle reached him, Tim pushed too far and the saturated slope gave way, swallowing Tim whole.

With cries of panic, the others fell upon the flow of rocks and debris, scooping dirt and pulling away rocks with their bare hands.

Half an hour later they had unearthed enough of the young man to know it was too late. Judy cried, Kyle cursed, and Dr. Finn placed a shaking hand on the freed shoulder of his lifeless student. Tim, he muttered, I’m so very sorry. What did I get you into?

Kyle reported the incident over the shortwave radio as Dr. Finn draped his jacket across Tim’s face. As Judy turned away from the dread finality of the disaster, something in the dirt caught her eye. Smooth, a cool silver-gray, about the size of a baseball. Kyle.

He joined her and glared at the object. He muttered, I sure hope this was worth dying for. Finding a refuge in the routines of science, they took photos of it, laying a pen next to it for a size comparison, and she noted the time and location in her notebook.

Dr. Finn joined them, and they puzzled over the sphere. Its shiny, yet not reflective, surface seemed to draw them in deeper and deeper. Finally Kyle shook himself out of its hypnotic pull and said, Well, it’s not a Hawaiian artifact, that’s for sure.

Using a pen, Kyle pushed away the mud around the sphere to pry it loose. He lost patience and pulled it out of the soft soil. After a moment of hesitation, the others leaned in closer as Kyle turned it around in his hands: nearly round, not quite a perfect sphere. He jiggled it. Weird. It looks like it should be heavy, but it’s not.

Judy held out her hand for Kyle to give it to her. Feather light, almost as if it might be hollow, but it didn’t feel hollow. …Warm. I wonder if this is a solar something.

Dr. Finn frowned. A solar what?

I don’t know. She looked at the mudflow. I wonder if there are any others in there.

Suddenly on his knees, Dr. Finn scraped by hand through the mud.

Kyle took the sphere from Judy. What’re you going to do with it?

Oh, she said playfully, is it mine?

Finders keepers if the Navy doesn’t claim it. She tried to snatch her new treasure back from him and giggled when he pulled it out of reach.

Aha! Dr. Finn held up an oblong sphere in triumph. Judy snapped a photo to save the moment for posterity. Dr. Finn deposited the muddy object in his camera bag and went back to his digging.

Ten feet behind them, dead no more than thirty minutes, Tim Hargreaves was forgotten.

Kyle frowned at the sphere in his hand. This is getting warm.

I told you.

No, like hot.

Judy said with alarm, Look at your hands.

His palms and fingers were pink, and a small blister sprouted in his right palm. Judy held out her hands, and they too showed signs of burns.

He set his backpack on the ground to pull open the string-cinched top. He lowered the sphere into the bag’s dark interior. What the— In the shadows, the sphere glowed. He gasped and dropped it. It floated to the bottom of the bag. They stared at it. Jesus, what is that thing?

Chapter One

Georgetown, Washington, D.C.

May 30, 1995

Kathryn awoke with a gasp. The night lights in the bedroom and hallway illuminated the pre-dawn room, but their glow offered no comfort.

The dream had been the same. Kathryn had entered the Falcon Brothers’ Imports warehouse with the rest of the team, ready to shut down the office and confiscate all the files and computers. No one anticipated problems, but everyone stayed professional and alert. As they approached the office door, Doc turned to her and said, Keep on your toes. There’s something wrong here. Something’s not—

Gunfire erupted everywhere. The stench of explosions, the thunder of air turning to fire. Doc disappeared, as he always did, and before the first deafening echoes could bounce back on her the room filled with groans and cries as Kathryn’s shoulders jerked and Agent Mike Abruzzio’s eyes ripped into her: Are you all right? She looked around at the dead and dying, the injured and the stunned. As she always did, she looked down to see what was left of Doc lying in a sticky pool at her feet. Friends and colleagues lay strewn across the floor. By the office door were the remains of the Falcon brothers and their surprise arsenal. A horrendous battle had taken place, with lives lost and more left in ruins. Enraged, Agent Abruzzio shook her again. Agent Masters, are you all right? She looked down at the splatters of blood on her clothes, even though she had no wounds. How…why? How long has she been standing there? What happened?

The dream was the same, but each repetition was different. This time Kathryn had said to Agent Abruzzio, Tell me what happened. Tell me what happened. I need to know. You know what happened. Tell me! He glared at her, betrayal and disgust pouring from his eyes. Why won’t you tell me? she begged. What did I do? I didn’t kill him. I didn’t do it. Tell me what I did! No answer. No reply. Only groans and last breaths and the gaping hole in time.

The dream left her shaking and damp. She rolled out of bed without looking at the clock or turning on the light. The night lights showed the way to the stairs down to the kitchen. There would be no more sleep tonight.

***

FBI Special Agent Kathryn Masters yawned as she looked at the computer screen. Her immaculate desk was decorated with a few trinkets and printed quotes from books and a favorite saying from her college rowing coach.

On the other hand, despite her impeccable suit and reddish-brown hair tucked into a soft French braid, she was a mess. Her early cups of coffee had worn off, but another so soon would leave her shaking.

Her steaming coffee mug appeared by her keyboard. Half caff, Agent Grant Chow said as he sat at his desk next to her. Real cream, too.

Bless you. She took a sip.

How long have you been up?

3:02 a.m.

You can’t keep going like this, he said in a low voice.

Just you watch me.

No, really. You look bad.

She appreciated his brotherly ministrations, despite what she was about to say. Grant, it continues to amaze me that you’re not married.

You still look bad.

A deep voice behind her said, Dishing out the compliments again?

Their supervisor, Jake Severin, appeared beside her desk. At forty-five, he had the right balance of friendliness, gravitas and knowledge to be a respected and well-liked boss. He’s right. You have looked better. Maybe you should start going back to the therapist.

Kathryn didn’t want to tell him the therapy wasn’t working. She liked Jake. He had made her welcome in the office when she arrived three months ago, and, unlike a lot of other women in the agency, she had been fully integrated into the team. She felt grateful to have him as her boss. But Jake’s respect had to be earned, and she knew in the short time she’d been here that she hadn’t yet achieved his complete trust. She didn’t want to admit to her doubts about the therapy, but she also didn’t want to admit that she’d given up. I will. After I get back.

Are you packed yet?

I’ve got my bag out.

Jake headed for the office door. "If I were sailing to Bermuda, I would have been packed three months ago."

You’d have the wrinkled clothes to prove it, she called after him as he headed out into the hall.

Grant shushed her. Careful. Poppenjanz cruises those halls.

She smirked at the name of the petty Department of Justice bureaucrat whose purpose in life was ruining people he didn’t like. Rumor had it she had been on Poppenjanz’s list ever since she had inadvertently squelched one of his pet projects. During a casual hallway discussion with several members of the overseeing committee, she had suggested a more efficient alternative and, when they chose her option over his, with ill-advised generosity one of them gave credit where it was due. She should be afraid of Poppenjanz; it was probably dangerous that she wasn’t.

In truth, she had no enthusiasm for her trip. Sailing with Grandpa Greene had always been a treat, and she loved Bermuda, but ever since the incident he had been suggesting she resign and return home to Connecticut. She had tried to explain that sometimes you get hit by rogue waves on shore, too, but the puckish old gentleman would not be dissuaded.

Then again, maybe three weeks on the Raven’s Wing would be good for her. Nothing could clear your mind like salt air and the satisfaction of keeping the grand old schooner a tight four degrees off the wind.

Cary Davis, the freckle-faced rookie in the office, appeared by Kathryn’s desk, more flustered than usual. You got a call from the front. You’ve got a visitor. Cary stood at an odd angle, trying to keep from facing her or Grant.

She tried to determine what Cary was doing, but all she could only discern his discomfort. The visitor’s name?

Cary flushed pink. I…didn’t get it.

Grant cast a critical eye on the rookie. Grant might not be a cruel person, but he took great delight in teasing the new kid. This only made the youngster more mistake-prone. You can use my phone, he offered. To complete the task you should have done during the first call.

When Grant turned to look at his computer monitor, Cary focused a pleading gaze on Kathryn as he turned slightly and pulled aside his tie to reveal a fresh coffee stain down the middle of his shirt. Sooner or later Grant would see it and have a field day with the kid’s latest gaffe.

She opened her top desk drawer. Grant, can I borrow your phonebook?

Sure. As Grant turned away to pull the book from his desk, Kathryn produced a bobby pin from her desk drawer and signaled for Cary to lean forward. She fastened the bobby pin as a makeshift tie clip to hold the tie over the stain. The rookie gave her a silent thank you and left as Grant produced the phonebook. Is he going to call the front?

She took the book. No. I need the exercise.

Shifting the phonebook from hand to hand as she made her way to the front of the building, Kathryn thought about returning to the therapist. He had been highly recommended to her family by some friends who believed in that kind of thing. Of course, none of her people had ever been to a psychiatrist. However, they accepted it as a job requirement that she see one after what she’d been through. Kathryn assumed the doctor was a Freudian, because he kept probing her feelings about Doc. She had gotten tired of explaining to him that Doc had been her mentor, and she loved him like an uncle, but that was it. Maybe she needed to give therapy another try. What a horrible thought.

She passed the desk of her favorite computer technician near one of the interrogation rooms. She held out Grant’s phonebook. Angie, can you hold onto this for a minute?

No problem, Kathryn, she said as she took the book. Hey, thanks for the gift card for that restaurant. We had a great time. But why didn’t you save it for dinner with Roger?

I never know when he’s going to be in town, so I wanted someone to enjoy it before the card expired.

"Doug was very impressed, Angie said, a twinkle in her eye. Especially when he saw those prices! With an eager smile the young technician asked, How come you aren’t home packing?"

The thought of packing made Kathryn queasy. You know me, I live to work.

She accepted Angie’s excited well wishes and moved on as she finally admitted to herself that she was not looking forward to being stuck on her grandfather’s ship for the better part of three weeks.

She loved her grandfather, but she really wished she could talk with Nana Greene. In her conventional family, only her late grandmother – Fern Katharine Hart Bennett Greene, author, artist, the second woman to fly solo across the Atlantic – Fern the Magnificent to family and friends – could coax her namesake granddaughter beyond her self-imposed boundaries. With her long gone, Kathryn had around her only no-nonsense Yankee encouragement to tough it out or well-meaning advice to cut and run.

How could she get out of this trip? She wasn’t one to believe in divine intervention, but if the universe offered her some, she’d take it.

With a nod to the guards, she walked past the security desk into the public entrance of the building. She went to the reception desk and asked the young Indian woman at the post, I have a visitor?

She gestured to the chairs along the side wall, but, before the young woman could speak, Kathryn saw her divine messenger stand up. Six foot two of gorgeous, blond, Nordic perfection beamed. Hi, Katie.

For a moment, she stared at this most unexpected friend from better days, then gathered herself. Hi.

Winston Blake, the great conundrum of her class at the FBI Academy, beamed. It’s good to see you again.

She glanced at her watch. Well, it’s only been five years.

I guess I’m a little late.

She caught herself staring again in puzzlement. Blake the Flake. The most out-of-water fish she’d met in her life. What on earth are you doing here? Well, first, how are you? And then, what are you doing here?

In a comfortable Minnesota inflection, he said, I’m fine. I met a woman today who needs to talk with someone about a police matter that involves interstate and federal jurisdictions. And since she went to Brown, too, I thought you might be interested.

Okay, his excellent recall skills were still intact, at least regarding her alma mater. Come on back.

She got him through security and started down a corridor through an open area of cubicles. Win Blake, Winsome Losesome Blake – intelligent, witty, crackerjack interviewer, an English major in an academy full of law enforcement people, accountants, and legal specialists. And yet everyone expressed surprise when he dropped out just before graduation. By the way, I don’t use ‘Katie’ anymore.

Even with old friends?

Even with family.

He nodded.

She continued her quick examination as they walked. Casual shirt, jeans, sneakers. In town on vacation, probably. Impossible to tell what he did for a living. He was his usual, comfortable self as he looked around at the office activity. Although…maybe she saw something unsettled in his eyes. Perhaps she would plumb that later. Seeing his interest in the office reminded her of the general lament that the FBI had lost something special when he left. Sorry you’re not part of this? she asked.

Sort of.

They passed through the open area and headed down a narrow hallway. So, she asked, what have you been doing?

He seemed a little surprised. You haven’t heard anything?

No. Should I have?

Well, I thought maybe somebody would have mentioned me. I’ve kept in touch with a lot of folks. Greg and Dana, especially.

Kathryn didn’t like the implication. Greg had been his roommate at the Academy, Dana hers. They’d been the Four Musketeers from Day Two. Dana in particular knew as much as she did about what happened. She wondered how much Dana had shared with Win.

As they passed Angie’s desk, another tech was going over some notes with her. Angie caught Kathryn’s attention. Hey, do you want the phone book back?

Kathryn had forgotten about her MacGuffin. She took it, then noticed Angie’s glassy stare at Win. He did have that effect on some women, didn’t he? Angie Bach, this is Win Blake. Academy classmate.

Angie opened her mouth to say hello, but nothing came out.

Win said, Nice to meet you.

Kathryn started to introduce him to the other tech, but he beat her to the punch. He stuck out his hand: Todd Martinelli, resident A/V geek.

Win shook his hand. Always happy to meet another techie.

The young man grinned as Kathryn wondered about what Win’s tech might be. As she gestured for them to leave, Todd chimed, Hey, Kathryn, let me know if you change your mind about borrowing my camcorder for your trip.

She promised, and the two continued on their way.

***

Following Kathryn through the office, Win still couldn’t believe he was actually doing this. When he met Judy at the conference and she started telling her strange tale about mysterious spheres, introducing her to Kathryn had seemed logical, innocent, and maybe even gentlemanly. But now, being with Kathryn again, and seeing everything that Dana had warned him about resting so heavily on her shoulders, he couldn’t hide from the bitter truth of his own selfish opportunism.

Okay, maybe that was laying it on a bit thick. But from her open-mouthed stare to her stiff posture, she wasn’t happy to see him. So much for hoping he might be a fond memory. In fact, he might be a poke-in-the-ribs reminder that sometimes people crash and burn and don’t get it back together again.

Actually, considering what both Greg and Dana had said about what she went through, she looked good. Tired, beaten down, but still Kathryn. One of the very first things he’d learned about her was sleep tended to be her vulnerable area. She would stay up late studying, or she would fret and ruminate all night as if her work weren’t immaculate, and it took its toll. He saw that, and more.

But he knew she would see through his casual façade, as she almost always did. When she would finally corner him to extricate the truth about why he had called on her, all he had to do was stick to the fact that she might be able to help Judy, and then maybe slip in a question or two about her brother, and if he had passed the bar, and if he knew someone who worked with publishing contracts, and if that person represented authors…and if maybe she or her brother could put in a good word with someone who might be able to save his career.

She startled him out of his reverie with a lighthearted question: So, still have the near-death wish?

He could only manage a stumbling, What?

With a side glance and a smile that bordered on a smirk, she said, I remember one night you said you wanted to have a ‘transcendent spiritual experience,’ and you figured the only way you’d get that would be through a near-death experience. Ever get your NDE?

He remembered that night all too well, and why would he think she wouldn’t? The conversation had taken place after a very long day and one too many beers. When the others laughed at his unguarded statement, he realized he should keep that part of his life to himself.

He deflected his chagrin with, Did you notice that when I switched back to my regular brand of beer, I never said things like that again? She chuckled, and he hoped that would be the end of that.

After passing several office areas of grouped desks, Kathryn led the way to another cluster. She indicated a guest chair and sat at the next desk. She handed the phonebook she’d been carrying to the man sitting next to her. Win noticed the man, who had an agent’s badge and sardonic demeanor, regarding him with great interest.

After another long moment of assessment, the man said to him, Grant Chow.

Win stood just long enough to reach over Kathryn’s desk and shake his hand. Win Blake.

So, Grant said to Win, you’re the stranger.

He nodded. That’s what they call me. At least ‘round these parts.

Grant’s scrutinizing gaze continued. Cal.

Win blinked, frowned, and hoped for some assistance.

In a theatrical whisper, without looking up from her phone messages, she leaned towards him and explained, He went to Berkeley.

Ah. Win saw Grant waiting for his reply, which he knew it would not be met with enthusiasm. Larry U.

It was Grant’s turn to frown. What’s it known for?

Trivia.

Grant’s frown continued.

What to know how many tribbles Mr. Spock calculated were in the grain storage compartments on Space Station K7?

After a moment’s thought, Grant replied, Maybe after work. And a couple of beers.

I’m buying.

You’re on. They shook hands to seal the deal.

Kathryn put down her phone messages and retrieved her notepad from her desk without looking at either man. He was in my class at the Academy, he’s not in the Bureau, and I haven’t seen him in five years. She regarded her coworker. Anything else you’d like to know? Hometown? Astrological sign? Blood type?

Grant said, I’ll make a list.

She nodded as she slipped a pen into her notebook’s metal spiral.

He smirked and went back to work.

Kathryn got a phone call, and Win did a quick survey of her desk while she talked. He recognized photos of family, noted several snapshots probably of friends with their families, and a troubling photo of a good-looking man in some sort of military flight suit. He had to assume she had a boyfriend. Again. Of course. Bad timing was his special skill with her. At least she didn’t have a ring on her finger. Perhaps he could learn more later. He scouted the rest of her desk. Around the books and folders were small notes with encouraging quotes from a dozen authors…including two very familiar lines.

Kathryn finished the phone call and, as she jotted a few notes from her call, she said to Win, Let’s go to an office so you can tell me about what brought you here.

Okay.

She continued her notes. So, what are you doing now?

Her question caught him short for a moment as he tried to hide his smile. I’ve been writing. Among other things.

Have you published anything?

I have.

I’d love to read some of your work.

He was having a hard time keeping his smile under wraps. I think you have.

She frowned and looked at him. She glanced at the quotes on her desk.

Before she could sort through them, Win said, Well, never mind. Can Judy join us now so you can get the story from the source?

Sure.

Thanks. He called Judy on his cell phone and told her to come into the building and ask for Kathryn at the front desk.

Kathryn looked at her quotes while he made his call. When he finished, she asked, Did you edit that poetry book?

No. She scanned her notes for a moment longer, then gave up. Who is this person I’ll be meeting?

A geologist I met at a conference today.

Her gaze was appropriately dubious. You were at a geology conference? He nodded. Why?

He admitted, I have to write a sequel, and I don’t have any ideas.

Ah, between a rock and a hard place, are you? He acknowledged her joke with half a smirk. She glanced at one of the quotes on her desk. ‘Getting stuck is only a problem if you stay stuck.’

He could not keep the smile off his face. You really liked that book.

Loved it. She qualified with a shrug, "For a modern book. Great characters, well-written. Stupid name, though.