Red Cicada, page 1
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Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.
American Fork, Utah
Copyright © 2022 by Gregg Luke
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are either products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously.
First Printing: May 2022
ISBN 978-1-52441-866-3
To my brother, C. Lemar Luke Jr.—
my exemplar, my technical advisor, and one of my best friends ever
Praise for Gregg Luke
“An edge-of-your-seat suspense-filled ride!”
—InD’tale Magazine
“Gregg Luke presents a delightful mystery full of twists and turns that compel a reader to turn to the next page, with Red Cicada. Superbly written . . . Gregg Luke slowly builds tension as Lana’s past is revealed in its shocking truth in a satisfying climax. Readers will enjoy moments of flirtation between Lana and Lance, which will bond them into the story. An excellent book.” —Readers’ Favorite five-star review
“Fans of government conspiracies, medical thrillers, witty banter, and heart-pounding suspense will love Red Cicada.”
—Jennifer Moore, The Blue Orchid Society series
“I can always depend on Gregg Luke to tell a well-written story with a fascinating premise and white-knuckle suspense. Red Cicada was no exception. This novel grabbed my interest quickly and held on for the entire story. Fans of suspense will not want to miss this intriguing, absorbing read.”
—A. L. Sowards, award-winning author of Before the Fortress Falls
and the Duchy of Athens series
“When you pick up Red Cicada by Gregg Luke, you are in for a wild ride full of intrigue, suspense, and one surprise after another. The protagonist, Lana Baker, learns that everything she thought she knew about the person closest to her was wrong. And the hero, Lieutenant Lance Kipling, helps her wade through the dangerous waters of espionage to keep her alive. Together they uncover a deadly secret from Lana’s past that could have global repercussions. So buckle up and fasten your seat belts. You’re in for a great ride reading this book.”
—Kathi Oram Peterson, Whitney Award–winning author of
A Stranger Watches
“With twists and turns around every corner and surprises galore, Gregg Luke’s Red Cicada is a definite page turner. A must read.”
—Ronda Gibb Hinrichsen, author of A Revolution of Hearts
“You know that kind of book you can’t put down in order to fix dinner? You stand there stirring the gravy with one hand while holding the book with the other, or ‘just one more chapter’ takes you to 2:17 a.m. and the final page? Yeah, Gregg Luke’s Red Cicada is that kind of book. Mystery/suspense readers will love this one! The characters are easy to love or despise. The action is exciting. It packs a strong emotional punch, and there are elements that easily alert the reader’s attention to possibilities that might be linked to today’s problems and headlines. A low-key romance is an added bonus.”
—Meridian Magazine
“Luke’s suspense novels unravel like a medieval tapestry, mesmerizing with their accurate attention to medical and scientific research. He keeps you guessing until the very end.”
—Paige Edwards, 2021 Readers’ Favorite Book Award Finalist for
Danger on the Loch
Acknowledgments
I have a great group of beta readers whose contributions are priceless when it comes to primary editing, content review, and plot-hole discovery. I feel comfortable relying on them again and again whenever I finish a new manuscript. They are Melissa Duce, Erika Luke, and Lemar Luke. I would also like to thank my amazing editor, Kami Hancock, who performs miracles equal to the precision of a surgeon when applying her skills to my writing.
Ofttimes, I will also enlist the help of experts in a particular field for technical advice. In this novel, the following experience was all the expert advice I needed:
Not long ago, I had my knees scanned to see if I qualified for knee-replacement surgery. After the MRI was taken, the technician asked me when I had had my previous knee surgery. I hadn’t. Ever. She asked if I’d been in an accident that banged up my left knee. I hadn’t. Ever.
“Are you certain?” she asked in a disbelieving tone. “Because you have a piece of metal just below your kneecap,” she said, pointing to a bright mark on the image.
I gawked. Sure enough, there was a spot about the size of an eraser tip just below my left kneecap. I wracked my brain trying to remember when that could have happened. When the radiologist entered, he identified it as a shadow that sometimes occurs because of the positioning of the patella. There was no foreign piece of metal in my knee.
But . . . what if there were? What if, unbeknownst to me, some ne’er-do-well had implanted it in my leg—or, better yet, my skull—for sinister reasons?
And that, dear reader, is how the mind of an author works.
Chapter 1
Fort Collins, Colorado, July 2011
Pulsing bright lights zigzagged across Lana Baker’s field of vision. She shut her eyes, but that didn’t stop the intense auras. She groaned. Not again!
The afternoon was overcast, so no sun glare made it to her section of the office floor. Her cubical was adequately lit, but not to any extreme. Her computer screen was set to low illumination. She’d even made sure she didn’t have any office implements with highly reflective surfaces, knowing such glinting flares often triggered her migraines.
Narrowing her eyes, she reached for her top drawer. Inside was a bottle of Excedrin. She popped three into her mouth and washed them down with Dr Pepper. Continuing to squint, she switched off her desk lamp and forced herself to ignore the warning signs. If she ignored them, they might go away. But within two minutes of the first flashes, Lana felt the all-too-familiar pressure form in her forehead and creep down to her temples, where it pooled and throbbed. Massaging the sides of her head, she silently begged, Not now. Please, not again.
Ignoring her plea, harsh zigzags sparked a second time, like horizontal lightning strikes. She squeezed her eyes shut and grimaced at the rapidly building pressure and prayed the headache would at least not fully manifest until she finished her shift. If she could make it home, she’d be okay. But when Lana reopened her eyes, clear, jagged lines formed crenellated edges in her vision, as if she were looking through the notched parapet of a fractured glass castle.
Nothing she did was going to stop the impending misery.
Lana’s coworker Camry Ellis stopped at the entrance of Lana’s cubical. “Hey, bestie, you okay? Your face is all scrunched like you’re in pain.”
“I’m fine,” Lana lied feebly.
“Headache again?”
She resisted nodding. It would tip the pain over the edge. “Yeah.”
“Then, go home.”
“I can’t,” she said. “I’ve already had two sick days this month and it’s only the seventeenth. HR has me on slacker alert as it is.”
“But you look miserable,” her friend argued.
“I’ll be okay. I took some Excedrin. They’ll kick in in a minute.”
Camry gave her a skeptical look. “If they don’t kick in soon, I’m calling HR myself and telling them I’m taking you to the hospital. Look at your hands—they’re shaking. HR can’t say you’re a slacker if you go to the hospital.”
Lana was touched. “Thanks, Cams. But I’ll be fine. I’m used to this.”
“How can you be used to a migraine? That’s not a good thing. I read online that regular migraines can be a sign of meningitis or a brain tumor. You get your migraines way too often.”
“If it were either of those, I’d already be dead. I’ve had these since childhood.”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
Lana grimaced against another jolt of pain. She took a stuttered breath and said, “Okay. I promise I’ll get it checked out tomorrow.”
“You’d better. I don’t take no for an answer.”
“So I’ve learned,” Lana said with a forced smile.
Camry patted the edge of the cubical and walked away.
As Lana turned back to her computer, a brutal wave of nausea rushed up her throat. She stood to run to the restroom, but lightning again flashed behind her eyes, accompanied by a disorienting whoosh in her ears. She staggered and collapsed. White-hot spikes strobed throughout her head. She twitched on the floor. Her stomach emptied violently through her throat. The floor tipped back and forth like a Tilt-A-Whirl before all went black.
* * *
Lana awoke to orchestrated busyness around her. The overhead lights were blinding. Painful, glaring brilliance penetrated her lids. She reflexively squeezed her eyes tighter, but it did little good. Caustic bile coated her mouth; each swallow burned intensely. She inhaled deeply, and a strong disinfectant odor assaulted her sinuses. She heard urgent
Panic clenched Lana’s throat as she realized she was in a hospital. No!
“Lana? Lana Baker, can you hear me?” It was a female voice, insistent but caring. A hand pressed gently against her shoulder.
“Yeah,” Lana croaked, keeping her eyes closed.
“You passed out at work. You’re in Poudre Valley Hospital. Are you in any pain?”
“Headache. Migraine.”
“Okay. That’s what your friend said. You vomited and passed out at work. Your friend said you were seizing too. Are you on any medicines for your headaches and seizures?”
“Just Excedrin. I’ve never had seizures.”
“Are you allergic to any medications?”
“No.”
“Okay, good deal. We’ve got you cleaned up and are prepping you for a CT scan now.”
Lana’s breathing faltered. “No,” she whimpered, wishing she could have screamed it. “No scans.”
A second female voice joined in. “Hi, Lana. I’m Dr. Amelia Perkes. A CT is a routine exam for someone with seizures. It’s perfectly safe, I promise.”
“No,” Lana insisted, feeling her strength wane. “No X-rays.”
“No X-rays? Do you have a pacemaker or thyroid disease?”
“No.”
“Are you pregnant?”
“No.”
“Are you currently on any prescription medication or recreational drugs?”
“No. Never.”
“Do you have any stents or piercings, any pins or bone screws or extra-sensitive skin?”
“No, none of that. Just . . . please don’t.”
There was a pause before the doctor continued. “Who is your primary care provider?”
“I don’t have one. But I don’t want X-rays either,” she repeated.
“No X-rays, yes, okay. Can you give me a reason I can note in your chart?”
Lana didn’t know how to answer that question. She didn’t have a specific physical reason not to get an X-ray; it was just a warning her dad had given long ago. He’d said X-rays were a common medical tool, but they could be dangerous for her. “If you break a bone, X-rays are fine. Just don’t ever X-ray your head,” he’d told her.
As far back as Lana could remember, she’d never been to a doctor—except maybe when she was an infant. While she was growing up, her father had taken care of any acute medical needs, which weren’t many.
“Lana?” Dr. Perkes prompted.
“My father told me never to get a head X-ray. I think it has something to do with my migraines.”
“I see. Do you know what triggers your migraines?”
“Bright lights. Chocolate sometimes. But not always. Sometimes they just come randomly.”
“Do you always pass out from them?”
“No.” She swallowed hard, fearing where this line of questioning was headed. “This was the first time.”
The doctor paused briefly before saying, “Lana, here’s the thing: If I had a medical history to work from, I’d consider a different approach. But we can’t seem to find any medical information on you. That’s why we need tests—to establish a foundation before I can begin to assess how to treat you. In your particular instance, passing out from a headache and subsequent seizures can indicate a serious brain disorder, and a basic CT scan is the best diagnostic tool we have to address it. It’s quick and painless and very safe, I assure you.”
Lana opened her eyes a slit and looked at the doctor’s ID badge. Brightly colored, it listed the doctor’s name and position and the name of the hospital. The badge swung gently from a clip securing it to the doctor’s lab coat. The motion caused another wave of nausea to assault Lana, cramping her stomach muscles involuntarily. She turned her head and vomited onto the gurney and ED floor. She sucked in a few panicked gulps of bile-tinged air before her stomach convulsed again. Serrated blades of pain slashed through her skull. Every sound threatened to burst her eardrums. The urge to vomit was unstoppable. The entire room seemed to pulse.
“Take deep breaths, Lana,” Dr. Perkes urged.
She was trying! But she couldn’t stop retching. Even with her stomach empty, her abdominal muscles seized with crippling spasticity. The pain in her head was unrelenting. She felt her whole body spasm and cramp, spasm and cramp in violent repetition.
“She’s seizing again,” the doctor announced. “Push two milligrams of diazepam and fifty milligrams of promethazine, stat.”
Hot tears streamed down Lana’s cheeks.
“Just try to stay calm, Lana. I’m gonna give you something to relax your muscles and stop your vomiting.”
“Please—help—me,” she begged between gasps.
“We’re going to help you, Lana. Just focus on breathing slowly. Deep and slow. And . . . there you go. The meds are on their way.”
A warm prickling rushed into Lana’s arm, followed by a tingling sensation of lightness. It quickly filled her head.
“You should begin to relax in a few seconds. Just listen to my voice and try to stay calm. Let the meds do their work. I’ll keep talking you down until you drift off.”
Lana’s body continued to convulse, but it was a distant, hollow thing. Soon, the cramps dwindled. The pain lessened. Then darkness enveloped her.
Chapter 2
Lana plummeted through heavy mist; moisture streaked across her face, stinging her eyes and whipping her hair. Then, breaking through the mist, she found herself high in the air, plummeting toward a large city. Lifeless gray buildings covered the ground, offering no promise of a soft landing. Rotating her arms wildly, Lana screamed until she tasted blood. Rooftops raced toward her. Radio towers atop the buildings threatened to impale her. Before she could draw a breath, she slammed into an asphalt terrace with bone-snapping force.
* * *
Lana jolted awake. Her bed shook as if she’d impacted with it. She instantly felt hands firmly grip her shoulders. Someone was calling her name, pleading. Camry’s voice.
“Lana. Lana, wake up. It’s just a bad dream. You’re safe, I promise.”
Trembling uncontrollably, Lana opened her eyes. Camry was leaning in, her face contorted with worry and fright. She released Lana’s shoulders and tenderly blotted her damp forehead with a tissue.
“Shh. There now, Miss Blue Eyes. See? Everything is okay.”
Lana swallowed hard. Her throat seared with caustic pain. “Was I screaming again?”
“Like a banshee,” Camry said with a sympathetic smile.
“Oh. Sorry.”
Camry’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean ‘again’?”
“Nothing,” Lana said, looking past her friend. “I’m still in the hospital?”
“Obviously.”
Lana tried to sit up, but her head felt like it weighed a ton. Her entire body ached. “What happened?”
“You don’t remember? Wow. Um, okay. You started seizing, so they gave you a sedative or something. It knocked you out cold. In fact, this is the first you’ve been fully awake in a day and a half. Snored completely through Wednesday, Sleeping Beauty. I should have found a handsome prince to kiss you awake yesterday.”
Lana cringed. “No thanks. Can I have some water, please?”
Camry handed her a plastic mug with a flexible straw.
She took a sip and cringed even more. “My throat is on fire.”
“I don’t doubt it. You were making enough noise to wake the dead clear in the next county.”
Lana abruptly remembered that the attending doctor had insisted on running a scan of some kind. “Did they take X-rays?”
“They did something,” Camry said, then huffed. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d had brain surgery?”
What? She must not have heard her friend correctly. Lana frowned and tried again to sit up. Camry pressed the remote on the bed to raise her into an upright position and stuffed a pillow behind her neck.
“Did you say brain surgery?”
“Yeah. When they wheeled you back here, the doc asked me if I knew anything about the plate in your skull. Obviously, I didn’t have a clue. Why didn’t you tell me?”
