The Chopin Manuscript—part one of The Watchlist—was the first ever audio serial thriller. It won the Audiobook of the Year and was an unqualified best-seller.

It was a unique collaboration among fifteen distinguished international thriller writers who came together with a single goal. To help establish ITW as a viable, valuable, important organization for its authors.

Jeffery Deaver conceived the characters and the setting and put the plot in motion with the first chapter. From there the story was turned over to fourteen authors who each wrote a chapter that propelled the story along. Along the way the plot took twists and turns as each author lent his or her own imprint on the tale. Characters were added as the action moved around the world—and the stakes got higher and higher. The book wrapped with Deaver writing the final two chapters, bringing The Chopin Manuscript to its explosive conclusion.

And then two years later everyone did it again (with a few new authors coming on board and a few who had prior commitments stepping out) with The Copper Bracelet.

Once again Deaver started it, a host of brilliant writers kept the story spinning and twisting and turning, and then Deaver finished it.

What you’re holding in your hands is above all proof of how generous and talented the writers are who make up ITW. All of whom I want to thank for being part of a marvelous project that I hope you, dear reader, find as entertaining, breathtaking, thrilling, and un-put-down-able as I do.

M. J. Rose
July 2009

PART I - The Chopin Manuscript

PART I

The Chopin Manuscript

1 - JEFFERY DEAVER

1

JEFFERY DEAVER

The piano tuner ran through ascending chords, enjoying the resistance of the heavy ivory keys. His balding head was bent forward, his eyes closed as he listened. The notes rose to the darkened ceiling of the recital hall near Warsaw’s Old Market Square, then dissipated like smoke.

Satisfied with his work, the tuner replaced the temperament strips and his well-worn extension-tuning lever in their velvet case and indulged himself by playing a few minutes of Mozart, A Little Night Music, an ebullient piece that was one of his favorites.

Just as he concluded, the crisp sound of clapping palms echoed behind him and he spun around. Twenty feet away stood a man nodding and smiling. Stocky, with a flop of brown hair, broad of face. Southern Slavic, the tuner thought. He’d traveled in Yugoslavia many years ago.

“Lovely. Ah, my. So beautiful. Do you speak English?” the man asked with a thick accent.

“I do.”

“Are you a performer here? You must be. You are so talented.”

“Me? No, I simply tune pianos. But a tuner must know his way about the keyboard too . . . Can I help you, sir? The recital hall is closed.”

“Still, such a passion for music. I could hear it. Have you never desired to perform?”