Stain
by
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Prologue
March 2004
Cynthia Riddle, Maintenance Manager, rode her bicycle the short block to the tennis club and found a Pacific Gas and Electric van in the parking lot. Odd. She just got off the phone with P.G. and E. The call came from here? They needed a key. Something about an electrical problem with the pool pump had triggered a warning at their plant.
A long strand of chestnut hair, colored by Clairol, whipped across her eyes. The solitary gust chilled her. She stood for a moment, one hand on the handlebars, the other smoothed her hair. Something was wrong.
“Hello? Hello!”
No one answered. The van looked empty. Red blotches popped out on her cheeks. Anger replaced fear. She unlocked the gate and shoved the heavy door open wide enough to push her bike inside. Two men and a woman stood there, too close. They invaded her personal space.
“What’s going…?”
“Cynthia Riddle?”
They grabbed her bike and flashed badges and gave orders and hustled her into the deserted clubhouse. Confusion seized Cynthia, then panic. By the time she screamed they were inside. They forced her into a chair. Their words pelted her like hailstones. She heard her own voice, her
She remembered one of the men stayed outside. In case someone came to play tennis? To swim laps? Keys? These people had keys. Why had they called her? Questions. They had lots of questions. Nothing made sense. They mentioned her grown children, her son in
Cynthia felt her heart contract, squeezed to the size of a walnut. She couldn’t breathe. She grew faint. A cup of water appeared in her hand. She sipped but couldn’t swallow. She concentrated. The questions didn’t make sense. The water spilled in her lap. The woman took over from the man. She talked instead of asking questions. Her voice sounded calm, heavy. It weighed on Cynthia and made her feel helpless. Trapped.
“Why me?” Did she say those words aloud? They didn’t answer. It didn’t matter. She knew why. It was so unfair. Such a small, senseless thing. What any decent person would do.
Her ordeal lasted twenty-seven minutes, but she had no sense of time. Cynthia walked her bike home. She still trembled when she went into her house. Her husband Jason saw her disconnected, anguished look. He held her and talked to her and told her it wasn’t her fault. It took weeks for her nightmares to diminish. There was no one they could call.
They had told her to act normal, as if nothing happened. After a while she found she could. She swept the incident into an unexamined corner of her mind and left it there to rot.
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About the Book
The President and his advisors decide dissent has gone too far. A secret plan moves forward. Within three days, Homeland Security and the FBI round up 173 citizens.
Agents pluck Madison and Evert Druid from the Kona check-in line at Oakland International, fly them to
The media report the shocking arrests, but disasters take over the headlines. Even a favorable Supreme Court ruling doesn’t help.
The Druids’ deaths propel this frightening, yet hopeful story.
About the Author
Linda Lanterman understands political power. She held both appointed and elected office in
As a teacher she became a master storyteller who made history and government come alive with her eye for motive, unintended consequences and her belief in knowledge as the best foundation for power.
Lanterman has written five novels, The Writing Lesson, Not Nice, Release Me, Transition in Green and Stain. She is one of the Sierra Writers. She divides her time between