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Allon catches the attention of Switzerland 's secretive power structure, whichintends to stymie any further investigation into Rolfe's murder and the theft of his suspiciously acquired art collection. The so-called Council of R�tli contracts with a shadowy hit man, known only as the Englishman, to eliminate Allon and anyone else who threatens to expose Switzerland 's past. The action unfolds in tightly focused scenes played out across a spectrum of European capitals and more pastoral settings. As a historical framework, the secrets of the Bahnhofstrasse are well-trod territory, yet Silva's sophisticated treatment polished prose, an edgy mood, convincing research gives his plot a crisp, almost urgent quality. Agent, Esther Newberg of ICM. 100,000 first printing; $100,000 national advertising campaign.
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Daniel Silva
The English Assassin
To Phyllis Grann, finally,
and as always, for my wife, Jamie,
and my children, Lily and Nicholas.
gnome (nōm) n. Folklore any of a race of small, misshapen, dwarflike beings, supposed to dwell in the earth and guard its treasures
WEBSTER’S NEW WORLD DICTIONARY
“Suppressing the past is a tradition in Switzerland.”
JEANZIEGLER
THE SWISS, THE GOLD,AND THE DEAD
Prologue
SWITZERLAND
1975
M ARGUERITE R OLFE was digging in her garden because of the secrets she’d found hidden in her husband’s study. It was late to be working in the garden, well past midnight by now. The spring thaw had left the earth soft and moist, and her spade split the soil with little effort, allowing her to progress with minimal noise. For this she was grateful. Her husband and daughter were asleep in the villa, and she didn’t want to wake them.
Why couldn’t it have been something simple, like love letters from another woman? There would have been a good row, Marguerite would have confessed her own affair. Lovers would have been relinquished, and soon their home would return to normal. But she hadn’t found love letters-she’d found something much worse.
For a moment she blamed herself. If she hadn’t been searching his study, she never would have found the photographs. She could have spent the rest of her life in blissful oblivion, believing her husband was the man he appeared to be. But now she knew. Her husband was a monster, his life a lie-a complete and meticulously maintained lie. Therefore she too was a lie.
Marguerite Rolfe concentrated on her work, making slow and steady progress. After an hour it was done.
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