#Book Blitz #The Closed Tunnel by Anthony Harold #Science Fiction #Suspense @Xpresso Book Tours24/5/2024
The Closed Tunnel
Goodreads / Website / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo -- EXCERPT: Chapter 51. Messages to Die For Professor Ron Jefferson Bursting through the front door, Ron immediately bolted it from the inside and pushed against it with all his weight. He felt as if he was being pursued. It seemed to him that they would be here in a minute to take him to a distant underground grave and separate him from his son for years. With the frenzy of a mad scientist, he tore himself away from the door and dashed up the stairs. Desperately searching through a stack of papers on the desk, he sought that particular notebook. He distinctly remembered placing it on the edge of the desk . . . No, it must be in the top drawer . . . No, dammit, where is it? The thought that people from the Consortium might have already rifled through his papers and taken the precious notebook shot through his head. Oh, here it is, on the coffee table by the chair. I must keep a cool head. I’m still in control. In a flurry of movement, Jefferson swept the papers from the table, snatched up the notebook, frantically flipped through its filled pages, tore them out, and secreted them in a hidden pocket. Then, ripping out a blank sheet, he scribbled down crucial information in a hurried, nearly frantic script, struggling to maintain his composure. Time was of the essence, and he feared they might arrive at any moment. This made Ron cast anxious glances at the locked office door after every few lines. “They don’t even need a key, do they? They don’t even need a damn key . . .” he mumbled, startled by his deteriorating mental state. After filling both sides of the sheet, he hastily folded it several times and concealed it in a spot that strangers would overlook. Still, its intended recipient would undoubtedly uncover—inside the double bottom of the dracaena plant pot. They won’t find the letter. They just can’t. It must not fall into the wrong hands. Jefferson paced the room for a minute, uncertain what to hold onto. Then his eyes landed on a picture of his son on the table. The boy was smiling, hugging their favorite dog. “Rover . . .” Jefferson whispered. He opened the adjacent break room and found a golden retriever sleeping peacefully in the middle of a large bed. The dog perked up and bounded toward his master, then jumped with his front paws on his chest. As Ron stroked Rover’s back, a new plan crystallized in his mind. He decided not to take the priceless notes with him but to hide them in the house, just as he had hidden his letter, in an even more secure location. Here, in the favorite soundproof room of his ever-barking dog. “Soundproof . . .” That word triggered a chain of thoughts. He retrieved his cell phone from his pocket, muttering, “I still have some time.” His eyes gleamed with frenzied determination. A knock on the door made him wince. “Professor Jefferson, do you require assistance with your packing? Your capsule departs in an hour. We must hurry.” Ron locked Rover inside the break room so he wouldn’t witness his beloved master leaving. With three heavy steps, Jefferson reached his office door, slowed down . . . and opened it, fully aware that he would never be back to his cozy house again. 
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