THE MAN WHO WATCHED JULIAN
I. I first met Julian Cross in a room at the United Nations building in Geneva, and I knew within thirty seconds that he was a fraud. He stood at the podium in his rumpled suit—a man of forty wearing a tie that had seen better decades, hair thinning at the crown, eyes that darted around the room like a man searching for an exit. He spoke for twenty minutes about "cosmic sociology" and...
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