Sidney Sheldon
BIGLEY, CHIEF of Manhattan detectives, was reading the file Secretary General Renaud had sent when Earl Greenburg and Robert Praegitzer entered his office.
    “You wanted to see us, Chief?”
    “Yes. Sit down.”
    They each took a chair.
    Chief Bigley held up the paper. “This is a NOTICE that Interpol sent this morning.” He started reading. “Six years ago, a Japanese scientist named Akira Iso committed suicide, hanging himself in his hotel room in Tokyo. Mr. Iso was in perfect health, had just received a promotion, and was reported to be in high spirits.”
    “Japan? What does that have to do with—?”
    “Let me go on. Three years ago, Madeleine Smith, a thirty-two-year-old Swiss scientist, turned on the gas in her Zurich apartment and committed suicide. She was pregnant and about to marry the father of her baby. Friends said they’d never seen her happier.” He looked up at the two detectives. “In the past three days: a Berliner named Sonja Verbrugge drowned herself in her bathtub. The same night Mark Harris, an American, did a swan dive off the observation deck of the Eiffel Tower. A day later, a Canadian named Gary Reynolds crashed his Cessna into a mountain near Denver.”
    Greenburg and Praegitzer were listening, more and more puzzled.
    “And yesterday, you two found the body of Richard Stevens on the bank of the East River.”
    Earl Greenburg was looking at him, perplexed. “What do all these cases have to do with us?”
    Chief Bigley said quietly, “They’re all the same case.”
    Greenburg was staring at him. “ What? Let me see if I have this right. A Japanese six years ago, a Swiss three years ago, and in the past few days a German, a Canadian, and two Americans.” He was silent for a moment. “What connects these cases?”
    Chief Bigley handed Greenburg the NOTICE from Interpol. As Greenburg read it, his eyes widened. He looked up and said slowly, “Interpol believes that a think tank, Kingsley International Group, is behind these murders? That’s ridiculous.”
    Praegitzer said, “Chief, we’re talking about the biggest think tank in the world.”
    “All those people were murdered, and each one had a connection with KIG. The company is owned and run by Tanner Kingsley. He’s the president and CEO of Kingsley International Group, chairman of the Presidential Science Committee, head of the National Advanced Planning Institute, and on the Defense Policy Board at the Pentagon. I think you and Greenburg had better have a talk with Mr. Kingsley.”
    Earl Greenburg swallowed. “Right.”
    “And Earl…”
    “Yes.”
    “Walk softly and carry a small stick.”
     
    F IVE MINUTES LATER , Earl Greenburg was talking to Tanner Kingsley’s secretary. When he had finished, he turned to Praegitzer.“We have an appointment Tuesday at ten A.M . Right now Mr. Kingsley is appearing at a congressional committee hearing in Washington.”
     
    A T THE HEARING before the Senate Select Committee on the Environment, in Washington, D.C., a panel of six Senate committee members and three dozen spectators and reporters were listening attentively to the testimony of Tanner Kingsley.
    Tanner Kingsley was in his forties, tall and handsome, with steely blue eyes that blazed with intelligence. He had a Roman nose, a strong chin, and a profile that could have graced a coin.
    The committee head, senior senator Pauline Mary Van Luven, was an imposing figure with an almost aggressive self-confidence. She looked at Tanner and said crisply, “You may continue, Mr. Kingsley.”
    Tanner nodded. “Thank you, Senator.” He turned to the other members of the committee, and when he spoke, his voice was impassioned. “While some of our politicians in the government are still quibbling about the consequences of global warming and the greenhouse effect, the hole in the ozone layer is rapidly growing. Because of that, half the world is suffering droughts and the other half floods. In the Ross Sea, an iceberg the size of

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