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“I’m not sure it should be anytime soon,” Frank said candidly.

“But if he finds out on the TV, newspaper, telephone?”

Frank shook his head. “We’ve got that covered.”

“Won’t he wonder why she’s not here with him at the hospital?”

“I’ll tell him I made her stay away.”

“But he’ll want to talk to her, at least by phone.” She paused. “I never got your name.”

He hesitated. “Frank.”

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“First or last name?”

“Just Frank.”

“Okay, Just Frank, they’re engaged to be married. He’s not going to buy for one second that he can’t talk to her or see her.”

“I didn’t say it was a perfect plan, okay!” Frank suddenly exploded. “He asked me to call her when he thought he was dying. And I told him I would even though I already knew she was dead.” He jumped up and started pacing around the small room, hands shoved deep in his pockets, his gaze on his shoes.

“Can I see him? You said if I told you the truth I could see him.”

Frank stopped pacing. Without looking at Katie he gave a curt nod to his men.

As they were escorting her out Frank called after her, “Tell him.”

She turned back. “What?”

“You were right. Tell him about Anna.”

Katie looked stunned. “Me? I… I can’t. I…”

“You said he saved your life. That you’re his friend. So start acting like it.”

A terrified Katie started to say something else, but Frank slammed the door in her face. A moment later she was walking toward Shaw’s room.

And it felt like she was traveling the last, lonely mile to her own execution.

CHAPTER 45

WITH THE AID OF A RED-EYE FLIGHT on board his private jumbo jet Nicolas Creel had exchanged Los Angeles for Italy and was playing captain today aboard his massive ship, Shiloh. The giga-yacht was far longer than a football field with a beam of over seventy feet and boasted nine floors of opulence. Creel’s master suite alone measured five thousand square feet, or far larger than the average house. It could carry up to thirty guests in extreme luxury since it also housed an indoor pool, cinema, disco, gym, wine cellar, basketball court, every water toy imaginable, two helipads, several hot tubs, and its very own private submarine with a capacity of forty passengers. The sub exited the ship via the bottom of the hull, so Creel could come and go in privacy. The Shiloh also carried a crew of several dozen superbly trained professionals whose only goal was to serve with pleasure.

The Shiloh was also a very safe ship with state-of-the-art security, motion sensors, and even a special missile-detection system. And while he was parked here in Italian waters, the Italian government, ever mindful of Creel’s prestige and his humanitarian and political connections in their country, provided a couple of police boats to stand guard.

Despite its gigantic size, it being far larger than many naval vessels, the Shiloh could still manage a top speed of twenty-five knots, allowing it to easily outrun any storm.

All in all, Creel had considered it a bargain at a mere $300 million. Of all his residences around the world, he loved the Shiloh the best. As a youngster he’d had a secret passion for the sea and a desire, never fulfilled, to join the merchant marine and see the world as a sailor.

In keeping with his nautical surroundings, today he had on a dark blue double-breasted jacket, cream-colored slacks, and a white seaman’s cap. He watched as the chopper headed toward the ship, covering the still waters below at just over a hundred knots. The aircraft slowed, hovered, hit its pad mark, and the blades wound down. Dick Pender stepped off, shrouded in a wide-brimmed hat, large sunglasses, and a long leather coat. He carried a slim briefcase that flapped against his leg from the prop wash.

Creel met him on the aft deck and escorted him down wide polished teak stairs to a large walnut burl-paneled room amidships. Outside the large porthole windows the coastline of Italy was visible across the dark brooding plain of the Mediterranean.

“Is the missus with you?” Pender asked as he removed his hat and coat and threw them over a chair.

“No. The crew enjoys her nude sunbathing habit a little too much. She’s in Switzerland at some spa rejuvenating herself. From what exactly I was never clear about.”


Tags: David Baldacci A. Shaw Thriller