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Act of War. The Whole Truth. David Baldacci. Clean Kill. Tier One Wild. Hazardous Duty. Executive Power. Act of Treason. Memorial Day. The Janson Directive. Robert Ludlum. Robert Ludlum's The Hades Factor. The Scorpio Illusion. The Icarus Agenda. The Matarese Circle. The Robert Ludlum Value Collection. Robert Ludlum's The Paris Option.
ROBERT LUDLUM'S THE CASSANDRA COMPACT A COVERT-ONE NOVEL BOOK TWO
The Sigma Protocol. The Osterman Weekend. The Bancroft Strategy. The Parsifal Mosaic. The Road to Omaha. The Aquitaine Progression. Robert Ludlum's The Altman Code. Robert Ludlum's The Moscow Vector. The Road to Gandolfo. Robert Ludlum's The Lazarus Vendetta. The Ambler Warning.
The Cassandra Compact (Covert-One, No. 2)
The Matarese Countdown. The Cry of the Halidon. The Scarlatti Inheritance. Robert Ludlum's The Cassandra Compact. The Gemini Contenders. Last Rights. Philip Shelby. The Holcroft Covenant.
The Rhinemann Exchange. The Tristan Betrayal. The Apocalypse Watch. The Prometheus Deception. The Chancellor Manuscript. The Matlock Paper. How to write a great review. The review must be at least 50 characters long. The title should be at least 4 characters long.
Your display name should be at least 2 characters long. At Kobo, we try to ensure that published reviews do not contain rude or profane language, spoilers, or any of our reviewer's personal information. You submitted the following rating and review. We'll publish them on our site once we've reviewed them. Continue shopping. He looked at the man's left hand and saw no ring.
A widower? He tried to remember if a young woman had been interred recently. It was gentle for such a big man, and soft, as if he'd thrown the salutation like a ventriloquist. If you're fixin' to visit, I got an umbrella I can let you have. The caretaker reached around the corner into a stand made from an old watering can. He gripped the handle of the umbrella and stepped toward the man, taking in his visitor's high-planed face and startling navy blue eyes.
I'm the caretaker. If you tell me who you're visiting, I can save you wandering around in this mess. Doesn't ring a bell. Let me look it up. Won't take but a minute. I can find my way. Jon Smith. I know where to find her. Thank you. He raised his arm, about to call after him, but the man was already walking away, his strides long and smooth, like a soldier's, until he disappeared into the gray sheets of rain.
The caretaker stared after him.
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Something cold and sharp danced along his spine, made him shudder. Stepping back into the gatehouse, he closed the door and bolted it firmly. From his desk, he removed the visitors' ledger, opened it to today's date, and carefully entered both the man's name and the time he had arrived. Then, on impulse, he turned to the back of the ledger, where the interred were listed in alphabetical order.
Sophia Russell. Here she is: row 17, plot Put into the ground Among the three mourners who'd signed the register was Jon Smith, M. So why didn't you bring flowers? Smith was grateful for the rain as he walked along the road that wended its way through Ivy Hill. It was like a shroud, strung across memories that still had the power to cut and burn, memories that had been his omnipresent companions this past year, whispering to him in the night, mocking his tears, forcing him to relive that terrible moment over and over again. He is watching Sophia, his love, his wife-to-be, writhing under the oxygen tent, gasping for breath.
He stands, only inches away, yet powerless to help her. His screams at the medical staff echo off the walls and return to mock him. They don't know what's wrong with her.
They, too, are powerless. Her spine, bent like a bow, arches to an impossible angle; sweat pours off her as if to rid her body of the toxin. Her face is bright with fever. For an instant she is frozen like that. Then she collapses. Blood pours out of her nose and throat. From deep within comes the death rattle, followed by a gentle sigh, as her soul, free at last, escapes its tortured confines Smith shivered and looked around quickly. He didn't realize that he had stopped walking. The rain continued to drum on the umbrella, but it seemed to fall in slow motion.
He thought he could hear every drop as it spattered off the nylon. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, like an abandoned, forgotten statue, or what finally made him take a step. He didn't know how he came to be on the path that led to her grave or how he found himself standing in front of it. I thought that if I came here, I would have to admit that I've lost you forever.
I couldn't do that You never saw the faces of the men who were involved; God spared you that. But I want you to know that they have paid for their crimes. But it did not. For months I have been asking myself how I might earn that serenity; in the end, the answer was always the same. It was the wedding ring he had intended to slip on the finger of the woman who would have become his wife. Smith crouched and pushed the ring into the soft earth at the base of the headstone. I will always love you. Your heart is still the light of my life.
But it is time for me to move on. I don't know where I'll go or how I'll get there. But I must go. Then he heard the soft footfall behind him and turned f0around fast. The woman holding the black umbrella was in her mid-thirties, tall, with brilliant red hair pulled back in a ponytail. A spray of freckles dotted her nose and high cheekbones.
Her eyes, green like reef waters, widened when she saw Smith.
Jon Smith? My God, it's been I didn't know that anyone would be here. I didn't mean to intrude.
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I did what I came to do. She drew him under the shelter of a massive oak and looked at him keenly. The lines and creases on his face were deeper than she remembered, and there was a host of new ones. She could only imagine the kind of year Jon Smith had endured. After college, their paths had diverged. Sophia had gone to complete her Ph. After receiving her master's in biochemistry, Megan had accepted a position at the National Institutes of Health. But after only a three-year tenure she had switched to the medical research division of the World Health Organization.
Sophia had received postcards from all over the world and had pasted them in a scrapbook as a way to keep track of her globe-trotting friend. Now, without warning, Megan was back. Now I'm first alternate on the next space mission. I guess none of us knows what we can expect. It wasn't the whole truth but close enough.
He changed the subject.
enter Might give us a chance to catch up. But I have to go back to Houston tonight.