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Chapters (54)
  1. Title Page
  2. Table of Contents
  3. Prologue
  4. PART ONE
  5. Chapter One
  6. Chapter Two
  7. Chapter Three
  8. Chapter Four
  9. Chapter Five
  10. Chapter Six
  11. Chapter Seven
  12. Chapter Eight
  13. PART TWO
  14. Chapter Nine
  15. Chapter Ten
  16. Chapter Eleven
  17. Chapter Twelve
  18. Chapter Thirteen
  19. Chapter Fourteen
  20. Chapter Fifteen
  21. Chapter Sixteen
  22. Chapter Seventeen
  23. PART THREE
  24. Chapter Eighteen
  25. Chapter Nineteen
  26. Chapter Twenty
  27. Chapter Twenty-one
  28. Chapter Twenty-two
  29. Chapter Twenty-three
  30. Chapter Twenty-four
  31. Chapter Twenty-five
  32. Chapter Twenty-six
  33. Chapter Twenty-seven
  34. Chapter Twenty-eight
  35. Chapter Twenty-nine
  36. Chapter Thirty
  37. Chapter Thirty-one
  38. PART FOUR
  39. Chapter Thirty-two
  40. Chapter Thirty-three
  41. Chapter Thirty-four
  42. Chapter Thirty-five
  43. Chapter Thirty-six
  44. Chapter Thirty-seven
  45. Chapter Thirty-eight
  46. Chapter Thirty-nine
  47. Chapter Forty
  48. Chapter Forty-one
  49. Chapter Forty-two
  50. Chapter Forty-three
  51. Epilogue
  52. ALSO BY ROBERT LUDLUM
  53. Critical Praise for Robert Ludlum
  54. Copyright Page

“Oh, you’ll yearn for unconsciousness—but the drip also contains potent psychostimulants—a carefully titrated combination of dexmethylphenidate, atomoxetine, and adrafinil—which will keep you maximally alert, indefinitely. You won’t miss anything. It will be quite exquisite, the ultimate in-body experience. I know you think you’ve experienced agony beyond endurance, beyond comprehension. But I can increase it tenfold, a hundredfold, a thousandfold. What you have experienced so far is nothing at all, compared to what lies ahead. Assuming, of course, that you continue to stonewall.” Demarest’s hand hovered near the dial. “It’s really most important to me that I receive satisfactory answers to my questions.”

“Anything,” Fielding breathed, his cheeks wet with tears. “Anything.”

Demarest smiled as the black pools of his gaze bore down on the aging don. “Look into my eyes, Angus. Look into my eyes. And now you must confide in me utterly. What did you tell Paul Janson?”

Chapter Thirty-seven

Chapter Thirty-seven

“Lookit, I’ve got one person watching the entrance,” Jessica Kincaid told Janson as they rode together in the back of the commandeered yellow cab. “He thinks it’s a training exercise. But if she goes out, decides to head for one of their private planes in Teeterboro, we might lose her forever.” She wore a cotton-knit shirt adorned with the logo of the phone company Verizon.

“Did you do the tenant search?”

“Did the whole enchilada,” she said.

In fact, with a number of discreet telephone calls, she confirmed what observation had suggested, learning more than she needed to know. The inhabitants of the building included masters of finance capitalism, foundation directors, and old New York types who were better known for their philanthropy than for the origins of the wealth that made it possible. Flashier souls, eager to flaunt their newfound money, might opt for a penthouse in one of Donald Trump’s palaces, where every surface gleamed or glittered. At 1060 Fifth Avenue, the elevators still retained the brass accordion doors originally installed in the 1910s, as well as the darkened fir-wood paneling. The building’s co-op board rivaled the Myanmar junta in its inflexibility and authoritarianism; it could be counted upon to reject the applications of prospective residents who might turn out to be “flamboyant”—its favorite term of derogation. Ten sixty Fifth Avenue welcomed benefactors of the arts, but not artists. It welcomed patrons of the opera, but would never countenance an opera singer. Those who, in a civic-minded spirit, supported culture were honored; those who created culture were shunned.