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27/06/1967
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The Void of BloodThe rain in Manhattan didn't wash things clean; it only made the grime shine. Julian Sterling lay in a private suite at the Mount Sinai Hospital, surrounded by the most expensive medical equipment money could buy. He was a man who had spent forty years treating people as assets, and now, he was the only asset left to liquidate. His sons, Adrian and Leo, were the perfect products of his...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 0 Просмотры 0 предпросмотрВойдите, чтобы отмечать, делиться и комментировать!
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Who Am IACT I: THE AWAKENING (Beginning) David Cohen woke up in a bed that was far too comfortable for a twenty-five-year-old head chef at a Manhattan restaurant. The sheets were Egyptian cotton, impossibly soft. The mattress held his weight like a cloud. The room beyond the bed was filled with art—originals, not prints, by artists whose names David recognized from gallery windows he had walked past...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 0 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The Empire's EchoAct I: The Shadow Cabinet Eastern Europe, 1912. The Great Empire was a dying beast, its breath smelling of old blood and bureaucracy. Kaufman was a man who lived in the gaps between laws, a political ghost who saw the collapse coming long before the generals did. He found Andrei in a provincial village, a young man with a voice that could move mountains and a heart full of naive rage. "The old...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 4 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The night the fire fell from the sky, the wheat fields of Lancashire burned for three days and three nights, and the children of the parish workhouse learned, in the most terrible fashion imaginable, that the world as they had known it was ended.Arthur Pendelton stood on the roof of the workhouse with his bare hands pressed against the cold slate tiles, watching the streaks of orange light carve through the November darkness. They came silently—a thousand falling stars, perhaps, if a thousand falling stars had been bright enough to cast shadows on the ground. When the first one struck the wheat field half a mile east, the sound arrived...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 5 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The Final Dividend(Style C: Tragic Romance) The world was screaming. The Great Collapse had begun—not as a sudden crash, but as a slow, agonizing fade. The global financial system, a house of cards built on a century of lies, was finally folding. Julian stood at the center of the storm. As the only man who still possessed the "System," he was the only person on Earth who still had access to real value. He could...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 5 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The Seventh HandThomas Leland sat in a parked Opel Rekord on Kochstrasse, watching the grey slab of the Berlin Wall bisect the morning. On his side, the American sector. On the other side, nothing that he could see but the tops of buildings with windows bricked shut, and a watchtower where a man with binoculars was probably watching him back. It was November 1962. The Cuban business had just about calmed down...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 5 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The Vertigo of Infinite AccessIn the beginning there was index.html. Julian Cross, age thirty-four, founder and CEO of PortalScope Inc., typed the final line at 3:47 AM on a Tuesday in February 1999, in a rented office above a dry cleaner on Emerson Street in Palo Alto, and watched the cursor blink. The office smelled of burnt coffee, toner, and the particular sourness of unwashed shirts. The dry cleaner downstairs released...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 4 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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THE MIRROR IN THE BASEMENTACT I: THE WINDOWLESS ROOM Lord Alistair Finch-Worthingham inherited Blackwood Park on a Tuesday in November, which seemed appropriate: Tuesdays were the kind of days on which serious things happened—inheritances, deaths, the slow realization that one's life has been a performance for an audience that stopped watching years ago. The house was exactly as one might expect a country house named...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 4 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The Last Sunday CallNina had been folding a fitted sheet when the phone rang. It was Sunday, the only morning she could pretend the world was not a machine designed to grind people into dust. The fitted sheet, a faded blue thing from the discount bin at work, refused to become a rectangle. She had been wresting with it for ten minutes, the elastic corners snapping back at her hands like small insults, and the...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 3 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The-Last-ShoeThe Last Shoe Act I The warehouse at the rear of Winslow and Sons possessed a darkness that no gaslight could thoroughly penetrate. Edwin Crawford knew this darkness well, having spent three years of his twenty-six years mapping its contours by feel and memory. He had come down to retrieve ledgers from a corner stack of crates, but the lantern in his hand caught upon something that arrested him...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 4 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The Devil's BriefingThe envelope was yellow, which in the government world meant confidential but not classified. The kind of envelope that sat in the in-box of someone who had died before they got to it. Frank Decker had been cleaning out Richard Moss's desk for three days, sorting through the personal effects of his former boss—the man who had been his mentor, his protector, and, in the last six months before...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 6 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The Swamp StationThe water in the Atchafalaya basin doesn't so much flow as think, slowly, like a mind that's been turned inside out and can't figure out which way is up. Wilbur Durand knew this, because he'd spent the first twenty-four years of his life floating through it in his grandfather's skiff, which was less a boat than a philosophical statement about the relationship between wood and water, with the...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 5 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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