Title: Chasing Hindy
Author: Darin Gibby
Publisher: Koehler Books
Pages: 284
Genre: Thriller
ADDY’S DREAM AS
a patent attorney is to help bring a ground breaking energy technology to the
world. Addy’s hopes soar when she is wooed by Quinn, an entrepreneur, to join
his company that has purportedly invented a car that can run on water using an
innovative catalyst. After resigning her partnership to join Quinn, Addy
discovers things aren’t as they seem. The patent office suppresses the
company’s patent applications and her life is threatened by unknown assailants
if she doesn’t resign.
When she is arrested for stealing US
technology from the patent office she realizes Quinn has used her. Now, Addy must
find a way to clear her name while salvaging her dream of propelling this
technology to the world, all while powerful forces attempt to stop her.
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ADDY FELT LIKE jumping
out of her car and doing a quick
happy
dance in the middle of stalled traffic. Her excitement at becoming the
newest—and youngest—partner at
the intellectual property law firm of Wyckoff
& Schechter was nearly
overwhelming.
She grinned at the shadow on the hood of Hindy, her treasured retrofitted cherry red Shelby Mustang. The shadow was created by a barrel-sized, hydrogen-filled balloon that floated above the Mustang’s roof. Gawkers pointed
and laughed as the Shelby eased down El Camino
pulling the tethered balloon
as if in a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. The balloon—which
on one side sported her law firm’s logo, and on the other
Hindy in giant
cursive script—was just an advertising gimmick to show her
passion for alternative energies. It was only strapped to the
roof on calm, sunny days when she was travelling at slow speeds using routes that avoided overpasses. The retrofitted Mustang was
really powered by four electric
motors using electricity
produced by solar panels and a conventional fuel cell.
At first,
the Wyckoff partners
questioned Addy’s prudence
in strapping a floating
balloon to the roof of any vehicle,
but they’d
come to admire the effectiveness of her marketing
innovations. They even lifted their champagne glasses at the end of her mentor’s welcome speech acknowledging that her Shelby was
responsible for bringing
in increasing numbers of the “green”
companies sprouting like weeds all over the Silicon Valley— inventive, entrepreneurial companies in need of legal advice and
support for their patents.
While the
traffic inched
forward, Addy
chuckled with
excitement. “Hindy, ol’ pal,” she said, patting the dashboard,
“you and I are going places now! Next time some overzealous
cops accuse you of being a traffic hazard, I’ll stare them down
and
inform them they’re messing with the partner of a highly prestigious
law firm.”
Traffic momentarily
loosened and
Addy eased
Hindy forward, careful not to snap the lines tethering
the egg-shaped balloon. Addy sang along with Zissy Spaeth, pop rock’s newest and
most flashy star, as Zissy belted out her latest hit, Light
in Your Eyes, over the radio.
In the corner of her eye she noticed a blaze of neon orange.
Her heart stopped.
In the car next to her someone was pointing a bazooka-sized gizmo at her balloon. She blinked, trying to clear her vision.
A flare shot out,
aimed straight
at her
floating ball of
hydrogen.
Even in the late afternoon
sunlight, it was impossible to miss the explosion. The dirigible burst
into a giant fireball, then slowly deflated and floated down toward the Shelby’s crimson
hood.
Addy stomped
on her
brakes, hoping
the balloon’s
momentum would shoot the flaming
mass forward. The fireball,
safely secured by its fluorescent yellow nylon tethers, crashed
down onto the windshield, blocking
Addy’s view. She screeched
to a halt, slammed her shoulder into the door, flung it open,
and darted out, catching the heel of her pump on the doorjamb,
which sent her sprawling headlong onto the pavement.
She heard tires squeal and at least a half dozen blaring
horns. Stinging pain shot up from her elbow and knees. Thank goodness traffic had been just inching along.
Ignoring the pain, she bolted forward, arms raised, ready
to yank the still-burning fabric off the windshield. Before she got close enough to grab it, the sweltering
heat from the flames
scorched her cheeks, and she shielded her eyes with her forearm.
Just when she reached the hood, a breeze lifted the infernal blob and propelled it directly at her, the nylon cords now seared through.
She braced herself
for the fireball when she felt arms wrap
around her chest and yank her back, barely in time to avoid
the searing molten mass of goo about to descend on her head,
threatening to fry her face and melt
her hair.
“Are you crazy? What are you thinking?”
a deep voice
bellowed in her ear,
still holding her tight.
Together they watched
what was left of the blimp float like
a falling leaf onto the grassy shoulder,
just like the Hindenburg
did almost eighty years ago.
“Someone clearly
doesn’t like you, short stuff,”
her rescuer said, now standing
next to her stroking his goatee, his face hidden behind dark sunglasses
and a low-riding Dodgers cap. “More
like out to get you. That was some kind of flare the driver shot at your blimp. I tried to spot his license plate, but it was covered up. Snapped a picture with my phone,
though,” the man said
fishing it from his pocket.
“You can kind of see a tattoo on
his forearm. The police will love
this.”
Before she could thank him, someone cried out, “Call a fire
truck! The grass!”
Brush fires in California were no joking matter. Addy could
smell the smoldering grasses.
A strong breeze fanned the flames,
pushing the fire toward a row of
redwood trees.
Then she heard a whiny voice coming from the milling
crowd of stranded passengers who’d gathered to find out what
was holding up their homeward
commute. “I’ve seen that blimp before. I knew it was trouble,” the whiner complained.
“Yeah, but at least she’s part of the solution,” said someone
else. “Her car doesn’t use gasoline. Look at what you’re driving,” he said, sneering at the whiny woman’s
crossover SUV.
Addy’s knees buckled,
her head spinning. She plopped down onto the pavement and hugged her bare legs. This couldn’t
be happening.
Why would someone
try to destroy her car?
About the Author
In addition to a thriving career as a novelist, author Darin Gibby is also one of the country’s premiere patent attorneys and a partner at the prestigious firm of Kilpatrick Townsend (www.kilpatricktownsend.com). With over twenty years of experience in obtaining patents on hundreds of inventions from the latest drug delivery systems to life-saving cardiac equipment, he has built IP portfolios for numerous Fortune 500 companies. In addition to securing patents, Gibby helps clients enforce and license their patents around the world, and he has monetized patents on a range of products.
Darin’s first book, Why Has America Stopped Inventing?, explored the critical issue of America’s broken patent system. His second book, The Vintage Club, tells the story of a group of the world’s wealthiest men who are chasing a legend about a wine that can make you live forever. His third book, Gil, is about a high school coach who discovers that he can pitch with deadly speed and is given an offer to play with the Rockies during a player’s strike. Gil soon discovers, however, that his unexpected gift is the result of a rare disease, and continuing to pitch may hasten his own death.
With a Bachelor of Science degree in mechanical engineering and a Master of Business Administration degree, he is highly regarded in Denver’s legal and business community as a patent strategist, business manager, and community leader. He is also a sought-after speaker on IP issues at businesses, colleges and technology forums, where he demonstrates the value of patents using simple lessons from working on products such as Crocs shoes, Izzo golf straps and Trek bicycles.
An avid traveler and accomplished triathlete, Darin also enjoys back country fly-fishing trips and skiing in the Rocky Mountains. He lives in Denver with his wife, Robin, and their four children.
His latest book is the thriller, Chasing Hindy.
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