The Emperor's Tomb Part 64

Time to end the Sagan clan.

There were no more.

He'd been an only child.

He studied the gun, a pistol bought a few months before at an Orlando gun show. He sat on the sofa. Clouds of dust rose then settled. He recalled Abiram's lecture about the birds and the bees as he'd sat in the same spot. He'd been what-twelve? Thirty-three years ago, though somehow it seemed like last week. As usual, the explanations about s.e.x had been short, brutish, and efficient.

"Do you understand?" Abiram asked him. "It's important that you do."

"I don't like girls."

"You will. So don't forget what I said."

Women. Another failure. He'd had precious few relations.h.i.+ps as a young man, marrying the first girl who'd shown serious interest in him. There'd been a few since the divorce, and none past the downfall. Michele had taken a toll on him, in more ways than just financially.

"Maybe I'll get to see her soon, too," he muttered.

His ex-wife had died two years ago in a car crash.

Her funeral marked the last time he and his daughter had spoken, her rebuke still loud and clear.

Get out. She would not want you here.

And he'd left.

He stared again at the gun, his finger on the trigger. He steeled himself, grabbed a breath, and then nestled the barrel to his temple. He was left-handed, like nearly every Sagan. His uncle, a former professional baseball player, told him as a child that if he could learn to hurl a curveball he'd make a fortune in the major leagues. Left-handers were rare. But he'd failed at sports, too.

He felt the metal on his skin. Hard. Unbending.

Like Abiram.

And life.

He closed his eyes and tightened his finger on the trigger, imagining how his obituary would start. Tuesday, March 5th, former investigative journalist Tom Sagan took his own life at his parents' home in Mount Dora, Florida.

A little more pressure on the trigger and- Rap. Rap. Rap.

He opened his eyes.

A man stood outside the front window, close enough to the panes for Tom to see the face-older than himself, clean-cut, distinguished-and the right hand.

Which held a photograph pressed to the gla.s.s.

He focused on the image of a young woman, bound and gagged, lying down, arms and feet extended as if tied.

He knew the face.

His daughter.

Alle.

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BY STEVE BERRY.

NOVELS.

The Amber Room.

The Romanov Prophecy.

The Third Secret.

The Templar Legacy.

The Alexandria Link.

The Venetian Betrayal.

The Charlemagne Pursuit.

The Paris Vendetta.

The Emperor's Tomb.

The Jefferson Key.

E-BOOKS.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR.

Steve Berry is the New York Times bestselling author of The Paris Vendetta, The Charlemagne Pursuit, The Venetian Betrayal, The Alexandria Link, The Templar Legacy, The Third Secret, The Romanov Prophecy, The Amber Room, and the short story "The Balkan Escape." His books have been translated into thirty-seven languages and sold in fifty countries. He lives in the historic city of St. Augustine, Florida, and is at work on his next novel. He and his wife, Elizabeth, have founded History Matters, a nonprofit organization dedicated to preserving our heritage. To learn more about Steve Berry and the foundation, visit www.steveberry.org.

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