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The Scarlatti Inheritance - Softcover

Ludlum, Robert

 
9780553271461: The Scarlatti Inheritance
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0553271466 ISBN 13: 9780553271461
Verlag: Bantam Books, 1987

Inhaltsangabe

Her weapons: money and power. Her target: the most dangerous man in the world—her own son. Elizabeth Wyckham Scarlatti has a plan, a desperate, last-minute gamble designed to save the world from her son, Ulster, an incalculably cruel man who is working for the Third Reich under the name of Heinrich Kroeger. If Elizabeth cannot stop him, Ulster will give Hitler the most powerful instrument on earth.

Praise for Robert Ludlum and The Scarlatti Inheritance

“[Robert Ludlum] has that sense of drama and pace that only the best storytellers have.”—San Francisco Chronicle

“Gripping . . . Ludlum writes with imagination and convincing authority.”—Baltimore Sun

“Great, astonishing, the most spellbinding suspense in years!”—Minneapolis Star Tribune

“Drive and excitement from first page to last.”—Mario Puzo, author of The Godfather

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Robert Ludlum was the author of twenty-one novels, each a New York Times bestseller. There are more than 210 million of his books in print, and they have been translated into thirty-two languages. In addition to the Jason Bourne series—The Bourne Identity, The Bourne Supremacy, and The Bourne Ultimatum—he was the author of The Scarlatti Inheritance, The Chancellor Manuscript,and The Apocalypse Watch, among many others. Mr. Ludlum passed away in March 2001.

Aus dem Klappentext

Money and Power. Her target: The most dangerous man in the world--her son. Elizabeht Wyckman Scarlatti has a plan--a desperate, last-minute gamble--designed to save the world from her own son, Ulster, an incalculably dangerous man who is working under the name of Heinrich Kroeger: Unless she can stop him, he is about to give Hitler's Third Reich the most powerful triumph on earth.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter 1


October 10, 1944—Washington, D.C.

The brigadier general sat stiffly on the deacon's bench, preferring the hard surface of the pine to the soft leather of the armchairs. It was nine twenty in the morning and he had not slept well, no more than an hour.

As each half hour had been marked by the single chime of the small mantel clock, he had found himself, to his surprise, wanting the time to pass more swiftly. Because nine thirty had to come, he wanted to reckon with it.

At nine thirty he was to appear before the secretary of state, Cordell S. Hull.

As he sat in the secretary's outer office, facing the large black door with its gleaming brass hardware, he fingered the white folder, which he had taken out of his attaché case. When the time came for him to produce it, he did not want an awkward moment of silence while he opened the case to extract the folder. He wanted to be able to thrust it, if necessary, into the hands of the secretary of state with assurance.

On the other hand, Hull might not ask for it. He might demand only a verbal explanation and then proceed to use the authority of his office to term the spoken words unacceptable. If such was the case the brigadier could do no more than protest. Mildly, to be sure. The information in the folder did not constitute proof, only data that could or could not bolster the conjectures he had made.

The brigadier general look at his watch. It was nine twenty-four and he wondered if Hull's reputation for punctuality would apply to his appointment. He had reached his own office at seven thirty, approximately half an hour before his normal arrival time. Normal, that was, except for periods of crisis when he often stayed through the night awaiting the latest development of critical information. These past three days were not unlike those periods of crisis. In a different way.

His memorandum to the secretary, the memorandum that had resulted in his appointment this morning, might put him to the test. Ways could be found to place him out of communication, far from any center of influence. He might well be made to appear a total incompetent. But he knew he was right.

He bent the top of the folder back, just enough to reach the typed title page: "Canfield, Matthew. Major, United States Army Reserve. Department of Military Intelligence."

Canfield, Matthew. . . . Matthew Canfield. He was the proof.

A buzzer rang on the intercom on the desk of a middle-aged receptionist.

"Brigadier General Ellis?" She barely looked up from the paper.

"Right here."

"The secretary will see you now."

Ellis looked at his wristwatch. It was nine thirty-two.

He rose, walked toward the ominous black-enameled door, and opened it.

"You'll forgive me, General Ellis. I felt that the nature of your memorandum required the presence of a third party. May I introduce Undersecretary Brayduck?"

The brigadier was startled. He had not anticipated a third party; he had specifically requested that the audience be between the secretary and himself alone.

Undersecretary Brayduck stood about ten feet to the right of Hull's desk. He obviously was one of those White House-State Department university men so prevalent in the Roosevelt administration. Even his clothes—the light gray flannels and the wide herringbone jacket—were casually emphasized in the silent counterpoint to the creased uniform of the brigadier.

"Certainly, Mr. Secretary. . . . Mr. Brayduck." The brigadier nodded.

Cordell S. Hull sat behind the wide desk. His familiar features—the very light skin, almost white, the thinning white hair, the steel-rimmed pince-nez in front to his blue-green eyes—all seemed larger than life because they were an everyday image. The newspapers and the motion picture newsreels were rarely without photographs of him. Even the more inclusive election posters—ponderously asking, Do you want to change horses in the middle of the stream?—had his reassuring, intelligent face prominently displayed beneath Roosevelt's; sometimes more prominently than the unknown Harry Truman's.

Brayduck took a tobacco pouch out of his pocket and began stuffing his pipe. Hull arranged several papers on his desk and slowly opened a folder, identical to the one in the brigadier's hand, and looked down at it. Ellis recognized it. It was the confidential memorandum he had had hand-delivered to the secretary of state.

Brayduck lit his pipe and the odor of the tobacco caused Ellis to look at the man once again. That smell belonged to one of those strange mixtures considered so original by the university people but generally offensive to anyone else in the room. Brigadier Ellis would be relieved when the war was over. Roosevelt would then be out and so would the so-called intellectuals and their bad-smelling tobaccos.

The Brain Trust. Pinks, every one of them.

But first the war.

Hull looked up at the brigadier. "Needless to say, General, your memorandum is very disturbing."

"The information was disturbing to me, Mr. Secretary."

"No doubt. No doubt. . . . The question would appear to be, Is there any foundation for your conclusions? I mean, anything concrete?"

"I believe so, sir."

"How many others in Intelligence know about this, Ellis?" Brayduck interrupted and the absence of the word "General" was not lost on the brigadier.

"I've spoken to no one. I didn't think I'd be speaking to anyone but the secretary this morning, to be perfectly frank with you."

"Mr. Brayduck has my confidence, General Ellis. He's here at my request. . . . My orders, if you like."

"I understand."

Cordell Hull leaned back in his chair. "Without offense, I wonder if you do. . . . You send a classified memorandum, delivered under the highest priority to this office—to my own person, to be exact—and the substance of what you say is nothing short of incredible."

"A preposterous charge you admit you can't prove," interjected Brayduck, sucking on his pipe as he approached the desk.

"That's precisely why we're here." Hull had requested Brayduck's presence but he was not going to suffer undue interference, much less insolence.

Brayduck, however, was not to be put off. "Mr. Secretary, Army Intelligence is hardly without its inaccuracies. We've learned that at great cost. My only concern is to prevent another inaccuracy, a misinformed speculation, from becoming ammunition for this administration's political opponents. There's a election less than four weeks away!"

Hull shifted his large head no more than several inches. He did not look at Brayduck as he spoke. "You don't have to remind me of such pragmatic considerations. . . . However, I may have to remind you that we have other responsibilities. . . . Other than those to practical politics. Do I make myself clear?"

"Of course." Brayduck stopped in his tracks.

Hull continued. "As I understand your memorandum, General Ellis, you submit that an influential member of the German High Command is an American citizen operating under the assumed name—and a name well-known to us—of Heinrich Kroeger."

"I do, sir. Except that I qualified my statement by saying he might be."

"You also imply that Heinrich Kroeger is associated with, or connected to, a number of large corporations in this country. Industries involved with government contracts, armaments appropriations."

"Yes, Mr. Secretary. Except, again, I stated that he was, not necessarily...

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Verlag
Bantam Books
Erscheinungsdatum
1987
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0553271466
ISBN 13 
9780553271461
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
368
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
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