ISBN 1-58851-013-1


Daytona Raceways:   Steven Conrad is in the middle of a Superbike Race. His engine fails and he crashes.  He wakes up from his coma two weeks later and his body is bruised, filthy, covered with blood, (not his), holding a military grenade with the pin pulled.  He discharges himself from the hospital but he’s having gore visions from unknown, dangerous places.  He physically finds himself in various trouble-spots around the world – almost simultaneously. His presence there leaves a mark and the world is on his trail.  He teleports in the deep space in search for answers and the truth is revealed to him by the wisdom of his Indian Chief friend in Yukon.  Mary Campbell from Newsweek Magazine is the one who traces him down first and falls for him in the process.  Sacrificing limbs he saves his fiancé and their baby’s life.  They move up in Yukon with their newborn prodigy.

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       There was a merry atmosphere radiating from the fully filled stands of Daytona speedways Motor-Racing track.  The excitement was humming  in the hot sunshine, thousands of miles away from Steven Conrad's home town, the rainy Vancouver, British Columbia, CANADA. 

        The sweaty spectators reading through their race programs made loud comments about the recently finished qualifying race.  "Man-oh-man . . . What a battle," addressed a fat, bald  fellow to his friend sitting besides him, with a  large soft drink in  hand, smoking.  "This's gonna be fun to watch, Stanley. Number 8 is crazy."   

         "I've seen him racing before.  In Shannonville, Ontario.    He's a crazy Canuck.  Good racer, but man, is he ever pushing his luck."  

        "It looks like he doesn't give a hoot about his life," said the fat man turning toward the upper row, and looking toward his second friend.  "Joddy, remember when he passed Blake Peterson in the goddam hairpin?  On the outside line?!"

         "He has to ride his wheels off to beat Blake.  Na!   He's never gonna make it with that cracked frame.  Wobbly as hell.  He's gonna crash for sure, unless he gives up now."  

        "I think he's faster then Blake; new bike and all," said  Stanley in an expert voice after carefully listening to his friends' comments.  "He might even win this race."   

        "You nuts or something?" Joddy said grinning under his straw hat.  "How 'bout a bet.  A case of beer.  The tall ones," he said tapping  Stanley's shoulder.                  

        "You're on, Joddy.  The tall ones's its gonna be," he agreed smiling smugly.

          Every now and again, the high-revving engines screeching under the tuners' hands filled the stands with a feverish anticipation.  After a few more minutes of baking sunshine, the announcer finally announced the soon starting race. 


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