Blaine C. Readler
picture of the book       ISBN: 1933255188
    ISBN13: 9781933255187
    254 Pages - $14.95
    Published by DNA Press.
    Distributed through:
        Independent Publishers Group
        www.ipgbook.com, contact
    Also available via Baker&Taylor and Ingram

----- SDBAA award winner! -----

    Fasten your seatbelts, please.

Two friends acquire a miniature prototype spy robot and explore worlds too small for even a mouse. Desperate men have been scheming to steal it, though, and the boys find themselves caught between a rogue terrorist and an overzealous MI agent who will stop at nothing to get it back. In the course of the struggle, a murder is committed, and only the spy drone can gather the proof ... until the tables turn, and the two friends must use the tiny marvel to save their very lives as the hunters become the hunted.

Amidst the thrill of living vicariously through the eyes of a tiny drone, and the suspense of a cat-and-mouse spy hunt, Under the Radar is a tale of a boy's first steps towards manhood as he discovers the importance of friendship, and discerning right from wrong, while exploring the risks he's willing to take to achieve justice.


    The adventure begins.

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Buy the book now! Amazon
        "...one of those books that keeps readers on their toes. Once a chapter is completed, one can't wait to start the next. A page turner, if you will." --Robert Fulton, Pomerado Newspaper Group

        "...a lot of fun and definitely worthy of an addition to someone's summer reading list." --Corridor News

        "Speaking Untruths: Author, engineer, patent-holder and runner of a six-minute mile Blaine Readler is such a liar. To be fair, most authors of fiction are liars (it’s in their job description), but Readler does it with a sense of style and wit that will have you believing every word. His new book, Under The Radar: The Spy Drone Adventure, is filled with the best kinds of lies—the kind mixed in with truth, teen angst, government conspiracies, robots and justice." --San Diego City Beat


        Here's some shots of me in action at Borders Books in the Gaslamp district of San Diego.

I struggle to spell a name         I struggle to spell a name.

A $20 bribe is all it takes         A $20 bribe is all it takes.

I suspect people actually came to see the pretty publisher's rep         I suspect people actually came to see the pretty publisher's rep.

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San Deigo Book Awards '06 winner:
"Best Young Adult & Children's Fiction"


UtR certificate



UtR trophy


PROLOGUE

Thursday afternoon, Christmas Eve.


        The lab was dark, but the sounds of laughter and occasional loud shouts could be heard down the hall. Suddenly the door burst open, and banks of overhead fluorescent lights glared forth as four reveling engineers pushed in. They were all men between the ages of twenty-five and thirty. They were also all drunk. One, obviously a manager and leader of the small raiding party, crossed over to a bench at the back, carrying his wine glass high, as in tribute. He reached the bench where a small Plexiglas display box lay. A felt pad on top cradled something tiny. He turned and held up his glass for a toast.
        "To our tiny friend who's been both our slave-master and our reward!"
        The other three engineers raised their glasses as well and shouted drunken responses. The manager lifted his glass again. "He almost didn't make it for the Big Brass, but with just a wee little bit of help from us." Here the other engineers shouted some obscenities. "The little guy pulled through and accepted his... shall we say Endless Motivation!" The others spun in circles holding their glasses ever skyward.
        "Now," continued the manager, "let us all depart, slowly and carefully, to our humble homes, secure in the thought that once again we've pulled Stelltech's metaphorical butt from the fire." He paused a moment, then added, "And deem ourselves lucky that she is so kind to continue to let us work here." This was greeted with an outburst of even more enthusiastic obscenities. The manager swung on his heels and led the way to the door.
        But one of the younger engineers hung back a moment, studying the display blearily. A sign sat propped on the bench shelf above the plastic box. It read simply, TRAS, and under it hung a small banner with an explanation of the acronym: Tele-Robotic Actuated Servo. After a few moments of swaying back and forth, he came to a decision and put his glass down to rummage through a bench drawer. He pushed the contents this way and that and finally pulled out a black felt marker. He ceremoniously ripped away the hanging banner and stuffed it into a trash can nearby, then took the sign and, laying it on the bench next to the display, carefully, as carefully as his drunken hand would permit, wrote something. He then placed it again in its prominent place and staggered backward to admire his achievement. He'd added the letter H so that the sign now read TRASH. When he observed his handiwork he burst out laughing. He laughed so hard he nearly fell over. Then, grabbing his glass, he made for the lab door, calling after his co-workers.
        Some minutes after his exit, the automatic sensors detected no more human presence and shut off the lab's lights. The tiny display object sat unmoving in the near-darkness, oblivious to its own ignoble label.

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        Jared held the drone out, and Ahmed took a cautious step forward to finish Jack off. His instincts screamed to pick something up and hit Ahmed, but he held his position with the drone. Then, outlined by the bright cracks, Jared saw the figure of the woman outside the wall. She was holding one arm up and running it along the wall just behind Ahmed. Through the visor she would, of course, be seeing the same image. Through the drone, she would see herself, and know where to aim the gun. Ahmed took another step forward and a thunderous shot rang out. In the distance Jared heard the wail of a police car, and the next instant his father was there, gathering him into his arms.

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        First Jared had to get the drone down from the lampshade, which meant that he had to get it off its mini-swing. After many minutes of frustrating effort he realized that this was not possible. Its legs just didn't have enough articulation to work in such tight quarters. All he managed to do in his struggles was to lose more and more grip on the ball. In the end, he was hanging by just one claw. He wouldn't get tired, of course, and he could hang here forever, but he was going to be way too obvious when Stegorski eventually came out of the bathroom. He steeled himself and went into Scan mode. Among the reeling sweep of images he saw that he was hanging over the edge of the dresser. It was hard to tell by how much. He wasn't willing to make himself dizzy again to find out. He took a deep breath and simply let go.

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        Jared waited in the pitch-dark barrel. His legs got tired, and he wanted to sit down. There was just enough room for him to huddle with his knees against his chest, but the knowledge of the dead rat prevented that. Instead, he squatted down on his haunches and he waited.
        Just then he heard a sound. It was a scratching off towards the back doors. He pushed up the barrel lid and held the drone up to peer out. There, by the back door, he could see the silhouette of a man through the garage door windows. He had something in his hands and it looked like he was prying at the doorknob. Bang! The door swung out and the man walked in.
        "Jaaarrred!" Stegorski called.
        Jared could have cried. He couldn't believe it. How did this guy do it? Even if he could listen to Jared, how did Stegorski find him now? He'd been so careful to not take off the visor. He'd thought Stegorski a Neanderthal half-wit, but he was proving to have magical powers of tracking. He realized he'd now got himself into a much worse situation than before. Here, in this abandoned warehouse, hidden from view, Stegorski would be free to do to him whatever he wanted. He fought the urge to climb from the barrel and attempt to flee. That's exactly what Stegorski would want.

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        He remembered Stegorski's temper. Focus. "You used my mom's kitchen knife. You're a real bastard, Stegorski." He held up the drone to see. Stegorski was standing only twenty feet away.
        "A bastard?" Stegorski said, clearly getting angry. "A bastard? You don't know anything, you little prick. You have no idea what it takes to keep you and your families safe. We sacrifice everything for your security, and you thank us by treating us like bloodthirsty mercenaries."
        "You're a coward, Stegorski. You murdered Tony while he was lying helpless on the ground. You are a bloodthirsty mercenary."
        Stegorski threw the stick and it rattled noisily among the barrels. "Go to hell you little son-of-a-bitch!"
        The MI agent picked up another stick and started banging it against one barrel after another. "I'm going to kill you too, and it won't be with any kitchen knife this time! I'm going to use my bare hands!"
        Stegorski was two barrels away, then one, then he whacked Jared's with a deafening clang. He stopped. All was quiet. Calmly, Stegorski said, "Hello, Jared."

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