Part 1 (1/2)

SIDNEY SHELDON.

ARE YOU AFRAID.

OF THE DARK?.

FOR ATANAS AND VERA.

WITH LOVE.

My special thanks go to my a.s.sistant, Mary Langford, whose contribution was invaluable.

PROLOGUE.

Berlin, Germany.

Sona Verbrugge had no idea that this was going to be her last day on earth. She was pus.h.i.+ng her way through the sea of summer tourists overflowing the busy sidewalks of Unter den Linden. Don't panic, she told herself. You must keep calm.

The instant message on her computer from Franz had been terrifying. Run, Sonja! Go to the Artemisia Hotel. You will be safe there. Wait until you hear from- The message had ended suddenly. Why had Franz not finished it? What could be happening? The night before, she had heard her husband saying to someone on the telephone that Prima must be stopped at all costs. Who was Prima?

Frau Verbrugge was nearing Brandenburgische Stra.s.se, where the Artemisia was located, the hotel that catered to women only. I will wait for Franz there and he will explain to me what this is all about, she thought.

WHEN SONJA VERBRUGGE reached the next corner, the traffic light had turned to red, and as she stopped at the curb, someone in the crowd b.u.mped against her and she stumbled into the street. Verdammt touristen! A limousine that had been double-parked suddenly moved toward her, grazing her just hard enough to knock her down. People began to gather around her.

'Is she all right?'

'Ist ihr etwas pa.s.siert?'

'Peut-elle marcher?'

At that moment, a pa.s.sing ambulance stopped. Two attendants from the ambulance hurried over and took charge. 'We will take care of her.'

Sonja Verbrugge found herself being lifted into the ambulance. The door closed, and a moment later, the vehicle sped away.

She was strapped onto a gurney, trying to sit up. 'I am fine,' she protested. 'It was nothing. I-'

One of the attendants was leaning over her. 'It is all right, Frau Verbrugge. Just relax.'

She looked up at him, suddenly alarmed. 'How do you know my-?'

She felt the sharp sting of a hypodermic needle in her arm, and a moment later, she gave herself up to the waiting darkness.

Paris, France.

MARK HARRIS WAS alone on the observation deck of the Eiffel Tower, oblivious to the rain swirling around him. From time to time a streak of lightning shattered the raindrops into dazzling diamond waterfalls.

Across the Seine River stood the familiar Palais de Chaillot, and the Trocadero Gardens, but he was unaware of them. His mind was focused on Prima and the astonis.h.i.+ng news that was about to be released to the world.

The wind had begun to whip the rain into a frenzied maelstrom. Mark Harris s.h.i.+elded his wrist with his sleeve and looked at his watch. They were late. And why had they insisted on meeting here, at midnight? Even as he was wondering, he heard the tower elevator door open. Two men were moving toward him, fighting against the fierce wet wind.

As Mark Harris recognized them, he felt a sense of relief. 'You're late.'

'It's this d.a.m.n weather, Mark. Sorry.'

'Well, you're here. The meeting in Was.h.i.+ngton is all set, isn't it?'

'That's what we need to talk to you about. As a matter of fact, we had a long discussion this morning about the best way to handle this, and we decided-'

As they were speaking, the second man had moved behind Mark Harris, and two things happened almost simultaneously. A heavy, blunt instrument slammed into his skull, and an instant later he felt himself being lifted and tossed over the parapet into the cold driving rain, his body plunging toward the unforgiving sidewalk thirty-eight stories below.

Denver, Colorado.

Gary Reynolds had grown up in rugged Kelowna, Canada, near Vancouver, and had had his flight training there, so he was accustomed to flying over treacherous mountainous terrain. He was piloting a Cessna Citation II, keeping a wary eye on the snow-capped peaks surrounding him.

The plane was commissioned to carry a c.o.c.kpit crew of two, but today there was no co-pilot. Not this trip, Reynolds thought grimly.

He had filed a false flight plan for Kennedy airport. No one would think of looking for him in Denver. He would spend the night at his sister's home, and in the morning he would be on his way east, to meet the others. All the arrangements for eliminating Prima were complete, and- A voice on the radio interrupted his thoughts. 'Citation One One One Lima Foxtrot, this is the approach control tower at Denver International Airport. Come in, please.'

Gary Reynolds pressed the radio b.u.t.ton. 'This is Citation One One One Lima Foxtrot. I am requesting clearance to land.'

'One Lima Foxtrot, say your position.'

'One Lima Foxtrot. I am fifteen miles northeast of the Denver airport. Alt.i.tude fifteen thousand feet.'

He saw Pike's Peak looming up on the right side. The sky was bright blue, the weather clear. A good omen.

There was a brief silence. The voice from the tower came through again. 'One Lima Foxtrot, you are cleared to land at runway two-six. Repeat, runway two-six.'

'One Lima Foxtrot, roger.'

Without warning, Gary Reynolds felt the plane give a sudden, high bounce. Surprised, he looked out the c.o.c.kpit window. A strong wind had come up, and within seconds, the Cessna was caught in a violent turbulence that began to toss the plane around. He pulled back the wheel to try to gain alt.i.tude. It was useless. He was trapped in a raging vortex. The plane was completely out of control. He slammed down the radio b.u.t.ton.

'This is One Lima Foxtrot. I have an emergency.'

'One Lima Foxtrot, what is the nature of your emergency?'

Gary Reynolds was shouting into the microphone. 'I'm caught in a wind shear! Extreme turbulence! I'm in the middle of a G.o.dd.a.m.n hurricane!'

'One Lima Foxtrot, you are only four and a half minutes from the Denver airport and there is no sign of air turbulence on our screens.'

'I don't give a d.a.m.n what's on your screens! I'm telling you-' The pitch of his voice suddenly rose. 'Mayday! May-'

In the control tower, they watched in shock as the blip on the radar screen disappeared.

Manhattan, New York.