Monday, June, 5:57 p.m.

Is this really happening? Is it possible this will actually turn out to be my big break? Tyrone Sawyer, the lanky 23-year-old with blue eyes that made the girls swoon whenever he played at a local gig, climbed the well-worn stairs, to the third floor of the converted warehouse in TriBeca. At the second floor landing, he stepped over an empty can of beer, several discarded milk cartons and a few pages from yesterday's Daily News. Not exactly the look he expected for a building that was to house his future. He'd expected the location to resemble those he'd seen on MTV and Hard Copy. It's a start, he reminded himself. Eventually, if all worked out, he'd have control over where he worked, but for now, this place would do. The aesthetics could wait. They were irrelevant. To have his music accepted was all that mattered.

The unexpected phone call from Philmont Music came out of the blue. True, Philmont wasn't a household name. Certainly not the caliber of the big names; certainly not an Arista or CBS Records or Motown. But this was his beginning.

Sol, his agent, constantly raved about his musical talent, the uniqueness of his beat, the melodious yet passionate sound of his voice. He was one of a kind, really special, Sol constantly reminded him. Yet month after month passed and still no interest from the only ones that counted. The music industry itself.

All he needed was patience, Sol would reiterate. An "in" would come. The rest would follow. But when? How patient could he be?

His demo was good. He knew that. He believed in his talents, and ability to both create and perform his music. Still, eight years of frustration was hard to take. Now suddenly, a well-known professional in the business was actually willing to gamble on him. It was simply too good to be true. Sol insisted the person had big bucks--that Tyrone's voice was exactly the unknown talent the company was looking for. A young man with a powerful sound that they could harness and would propel Philmont into the Big Leagues. This evening's audition, Sol believed, was a mere formality. A lucrative contract soon to be forthcoming.

The endless months of rejections from other studios--or worse yet, no responses at all--suddenly were meaningless. He was finally going to get his chance. That's all he wanted. He was confident his voice would accomplish the rest.

Tyrone grasped the cross dangling around his neck and silently thanked God for his beginnings.

He continued mounting the stairs, finally reaching the third floor. His eyes glanced at the peeling pink paint on the cracked walls and the four wooden doors that dotted the hallway. All was quiet. A dim light bulb, without a fixture, and a sliver of sunlight that sliced through the small stained window on the stairwell were the only sources of light in the otherwise dark hall.

Tyrone's thoughts wandered momentarily to the group. He couldn't wait to tell them.

Beads of perspiration formed on his forehead. This was it. The door to the studio was directly in front of him, the name Philmont Recording Company posted in clear view. He took a deep breath, then knocked. The was no answer. He knocked on the door again, this time harder.

"Tyrone, is that you?" a voice called out.

"Yes," the young man replied anxiously.

"Come on in. The door's unlocked. I've been waiting for you."

A tall, lanky figure with graying hair greeted him.

Tyrone scanned the large room, his jaw dropping in awe. He had never seen such a well-equipped facility, not even on MTV. High-Tech, floor-to-ceiling, state-of-the-art speakers in each corner of the room. In the circular area near the control room, Tyrone stared at the crisscrossing wires, a large drum set, and three electrical guitar units. Several headsets sat on top of a small rectangular table. Long, thin microphones hung from the ceiling. He also noticed two standing microphones stationed near the drum set.

Tyrone walked to the walls; posters of vocal groups everywhere. "Are these your clients?" he asked.

"Some of them. Soon you'll be up there with them," came the response. Tyrone moved toward the far corner of the room where a glass partition separated the musical compartment from the control room. He glanced through the clear windows at the various synchronizers and mixers.

"Impressive, isn't it?" the voice said.

"I'd say," Tyrone, his eyes bulging, replied.

"I'm sure Sol told you how much I loved your tape. We've been searching for a young male voice like yours for quite some time. Grab one of the electric guitars. Play one of your songs for me. Don't be nervous. You have nothing to worry about. We're already sold on your talent. It's just that I'd like to hear in person what we're going to be heavily investing in before I send Sol the contract."

Tyrone walked briskly to the center of the room and grabbed one of the guitars. He noticed the figure walking to the desk drawer and pulling out a small piece of metal.

Suddenly Tyrone felt a stinging sensation in his right leg. It felt like a mosquito bite. He reached down to scratch the sensitive area. He raised his trouser leg to see where he'd been bitten. He started feeling light-headed, dizzy. His heart began pounding in his chest. Sweat began pouring down his face.

He was feeling weak. Very weak. The guitar fell to the floor. Tyrone began to panic. He had never felt like this.

"What's the matter?" the figure, asked. "C'mon, I want to hear your music."

Tyrone's head began throbbing. He felt nauseated. Faint. He began to lose his balance; began staggering. He was feeling fainter, more light-headed. The room became darker. It was starting to spin, faster and faster. Then nothing.

The tall figure walked over to Tyrone, bent down to retrieve the small oval object lying next to the young man's still body, slipped it into his coat pocket and smiled.

Bruce recently conducted an interview with Mort and Millie Yvars, the main protagonists of Fatal Betrayal and the subsequent thrillers in this series.

Question: How did you two meet?
Millie: We were introduced by a friend while we both were working at New York University.
Mort was a psychiatry resident at the time and I was a social worker.

Question: Was it love at first sight?
Mort: It was for me.

Question: And you Millie?
Millie: Well...he was sort of cute but chubby and I always pictured myself with someone well...

Question: Better built?
Millie: That makes me sound so superficial but I guess so. However after an hour of talking he had me in stitches. From then on nothing else mattered.
Mort: You married me because I was funny?
Millie: Of course not. But your sense of humor was what initially attracted me to you and made me want to get to know you better.

Question: Why was it love at first sight for you?
Mort: I’ve always been rather shy especially with women but I immediately felt comfortable with Millie.

Question: Millie, how long did it take before you knew you wanted to marry Mort?
Millie: Not very long...a few months.
Mort: That’s not true. I had to keep proposing because you always had reasons why it wasn’t the right time. At one point I thought you had a commitment problem.

Question: Any regrets?
Millie: Not from my side.
Mort: Well Millie thinks I worry too much. She thinks I should have more self-confidence since I’m a psychiatrist. I love being married to Millie but I wish she would stop trying to fix my insecurities and let me be.

Question: Millie, what made you decide to change careers?
Millie: After Mort and I were married, I began helping him with his group therapy sessions. Mort, as you know, specializes in treating violent prone patients. He loves digging deep into their psyches. While that never turned me on, I was drawn to the legal consequences of these patients violent acts. I began reading about our legal system and was fascinated by how precise the law is. Law fits my personality better than social work did. I’m a perfectionist. I like things neat and orderly. Psychiatry is less precise. Mort gets an inner feeling about a patient and uses that insight to help his patient. I do better working with facts.
Mort: What Millie means is that she is more into reality than I am.

Question: Is that true?
Millie: Absolutely! We are a great team because of that. I’m frequently too logical and overly practical while Mort being almost the total opposite provides a good balance.

Question: Is there any other source of friction between the two of you?
Millie: I wouldn’t say friction but I wish Mort would stop eating so many donuts.
Mort: Believe it or not, she’s serious about that. She’s worried I’m too fat and will have a heart attack.

Question: Can you tell me something about your first adventure?
Mort: The sudden and mysterious death of one of our young male patients is rapidly followed by the equally baffling deaths of two other members of our same psychotherapy group, one of whom is United States Senator, Judd Webster of Colorado. Millie and I began wondering if these three unexpected deaths were linked together and it wasn’t long before we were off and running.

Question: Why the title Fatal Bertrayal?
Mort: Read the book, then you’ll know.

Question: Why don’t I save further questions for future interviews as we follow you both on your adventures.
Mort: Okay, we have a lot of adventures coming up so you’ll have many opportunities to ask us other questions.
Millie: And we’ll do our best to answer them for our readers.

Question: Good luck with your first suspense thriller.
Millie: Just make sure you let your readers know we’re being published by Twin Bridges Publishing Company in March. Tell your readers to go to their favorite bookstore or order Fatal Betrayal on-line. Hopefully we've whet their appetite in the meantime.
Mort: That’s my Millie. She’s our best PR agent.