1 Chapter 1

1: Turmoil in New York

It was a hot, sunny morning in June 1939. A large crowd had gathered in Battery Park to await the arrival of the Sea Dragon, the latest superfast flying boat designed by top British engineers. A little over twelve hours earlier the huge plane had lifted off from the murky waters of the River Thames, just a few hundred yards from the fog-shrouded Tower of London. It had crossed the Atlantic non-stop and was now fast approaching New York. There was a buzz of excitement—Sea Dragonwas the shape of things to come. The new design would revolutionize transatlantic air travel.

The park was packed to overflowing, everyone gazing expectantly upward into the clear blue sky. Many of those present were city workers from the financial district, taking an early lunch break. People jostled each other for the best views across the river.

Tiffany Hazard mingled with the crowd, keeping a sharp lookout for trouble. Pickpockets, bag snatchers, backside-gropers—you could expect all those things in a gathering this size. Not on Tiffany’s watch, though. A rich young heiress, she also happened to be one of New York’s top lesbian crime fighters.

Tiffany made an imposing figure: a powerful, six-foot-plus amazon, her immaculate skin tanned a deep bronze, her long, copper-bronze hair gleaming in the sunlight. She was dressed in a skin-tight, slightly translucent jumpsuit which clung to her phenomenal figure, accentuating the perfection of her full, round breasts and the athletic muscularity of her thighs and buttocks. The overall impression was dazzling; it was easy to see why the press called her the Bronze Goddess.

As she strode through the crowd, she attracted admiring glances from both men and women…and lustful glances too. That was hardly surprising, since—Tiffany being a shameless exhibitionist—her jumpsuit was open at the front all the way to her navel, displaying a generous quantity of firm, tanned flesh. From certain angles you could even sneak a peek at the shiny-smooth areolas of her braless breasts. Tiffany belonged to the “If you’ve got it, flaunt it” school of fashion…and she certainly had it.

“Extra! Extra! Mad scientist says Government stole his death ray!” The cry came from a newspaper vendor. Having observed the crowd gathered in the park, the youngster had clearly decided it made business sense to direct his sales effort in that direction.

The ploy worked, at least as far as Tiffany was concerned. She had a professional interest in mad scientists and death rays. She purchased a copy of the paper and glanced at the headline: Tesla accuses Government of stealing Death Ray.

“Tesla’s a textbook paranoid,” the newspaper vendor observed. “In his younger days he was a prolific inventor, but he lost the plot. This talk about a death ray—it’s sheer madness. He knows nothing about modern physics.”

Tiffany gave the vendor a second look. They weren’t the sort of words she expected to hear—certainly not in the cut-glass British accent with which they were spoken. With a start she realized it wasn’t a boy, as she’d thought, but a young woman—with short-cropped hair, almost a crew cut, and no make-up. On second look, though, she was really very attractive, her slim waist and feminine thighs accentuated by the tight shorts she was wearing. Her equally tight T-shirt showed every contour of her conical, braless breasts. At five-seven she was tall for girl, but still a good six inches shorter than Tiffany.

“Tesla knows nothing about modern physics?” Tiffany echoed. “And you do, I suppose?”

The girl returned her gaze solemnly. “Correct. I’m a grad student at Central College. Kimmerleigh Fox is the name, but you can call me Kimmy—everyone does.” She tapped her bag of newspapers. “Don’t let this fool you—it’s just an easy way to make some extra money. I’m a physics whiz. I understand all of Dr. Einstein’s work, which is more than Tesla does.”

Tiffany raised her eyebrows. “So you don’t believe he really built a death ray? I thought he demonstrated something like that to the military a couple of years ago.”

Kimmy waved her hand dismissively. “He may have put some phony gadget together to fool those idiots. But Tesla doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s no match for Einstein—or for me.”

There was a sudden buzz from the assembled crowd, as if the incoming plane had been spotted. They peered up into the sky expectantly, but there was nothing there. It was a false alarm.

There was a snort of disgust from a gray-haired old man a few feet from Tiffany and Kimmy. He was leaning heavily on a cane and wheezing. “The whole thing’s a hoax,” he grunted. “Probably no such thing as the Sea Dragon. You can’t trust those British bastards anymore.”

It wasn’t an uncommon sentiment. Americans weren’t naturally anti-British, but a bubbling undercurrent of such feeling had built up over the last few days. There had been a series of incidents which, in the eyes of many Americans, appeared to be audacious attacks by the British against U.S. targets.