“Martin Litvak.”
Karl had stopped the video at this point and told both directors they could keep this copy because he had more of them. They asked what the fuck he wanted.
He asked for immunity for himself and the guaranteed safety of Dr. Nast and Silvana. They were to receive US citizenship as a show of good faith. In exchange, the tape would never get out and Martin Litvak had to be arrested. That night.
They asked about Tom, and he repeated what he’d already told them: Tom was dead. They said he’d have an answer in two hours.
When the men and women from the CIA walked into the ballroom, they didn’t look like they were there to arrest someone. Three of them went over to Marty’s table and stopped beside it. People turned and looked at what was going on. Marty smiled at them and then whispered something to one of the agents. The agent whispered something back, and Marty’s smile died.
Marty looked around, saw even more people looking at him, and waved the agents away.
None of them moved.
“I would like to thank our colleagues at the United Nations for making this program possible,” Lang said. “Hopefully with the passage of new legislation in the EU, we can enter even more markets, particularly those that do not happen to be in the good graces of the United States.”
Knowing laughter from the crowd.
One of the agents put his hand on Marty’s arm. Marty jerked it free. A woman two seats away gasped. Now everyone in the vicinity was staring.
“Excuse me,” Lang said from the podium. “If those causing the interruption would please cease doing so, I’m sure I speak for everyone when I say—”
As soon as Lang saw the agents, his voice choked off. He managed a smile and continued his speech, now in monotone.
But no one was listening. The eyes were on Marty. He looked naked somehow. Or at least the rest of the room seemed like it was looking at a naked man.
When the agents stood Marty up, the forces animating his face had quit. He looked straight ahead, staring at something only he could see.
Karl headed toward the lobby along with the rest of the dinner guests.
That was when he saw Tom.
The expression on his face suggested he’d been watching Karl for a while. He was smiling. Not like in the photograph, not like when he was a kid next to his brother. But it was a good smile, the kind you see on another person, and even though you have no idea what that person is thinking, it makes you smile too.
Dr. Nast had performed a series of operations on him, removing tissue where he could. Tom would never be like he was before, but there was a chance he’d live a normal life.
He was arm-in-arm with Silvana. Even though they were fifty feet away, somehow the distance was impossible to cross, and Karl felt like he was looking into an old photograph in the attic. The two of them were young and beautiful—and normal.
Tom looked so normal Karl could feel it in his chest.
He was just a twenty-two-year-old with a girl on his arm.
And then—just like that—he was gone, carried away forever by the tide of tuxedos and ball gowns.
Acknowledgments
First of all, I’d like to thank my wife, Lindsay. I don’t know how to put this delicately, but the amount of crap she put herself through so I could finish this book was pretty substantial. It was also, now that I think about it, a kind of love. She’s a first reader, a co-conspirator, and for some reason she had this conviction, based on little initial validation from the outside world, that I was a good writer.
Zee, thank you.
I’d also like to thank my parents for their love and support, as well as my sisters and my brother. My sister Courtney not only gave feedback on the book but also liked it enough to attempt several times to acquire a 10 percent ownership interest in it (at lowball, vulture rates).
I’d also like to thank Renni Browne, Shannon Roberts, and John Marlow, who edited the book before it sold. Their edits helped me land an agent. I also received valuable feedback from first readers Toby Carlisle, Jama Young, David Hardy, Joe Cantwell, Jon Blake, and Sarah Hardoby.
I’d like to thank Emily Giglierano, Josh Kendall, Wes Miller, Reagan Arthur, and Ruth Tross for both purchasing the book and believing in it. Copyeditors Betsy Uhrig and Sue Betz did incredibly valuable work enhancing the readability of the text and finding errors. Thank you also to Pamela Brown, Maggie Southard, Sabrina Callahan, and the rest of the marketing/publicity team at Mulholland.
This book wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for the work of Tony Gilroy, Raymond Chandler, and Stephen King. I owe a debt of gratitude to them.
Finally I’d like to thank my agent, Stacia Decker. I saved her for last for a reason. I pitched this book to every agent in the business, in some cases six or seven times. She was the only agent who wanted to represent me. And after she helped me streamline the story, we got multiple offers and ultimately wound up selling the book in a matter of days. It was a dream come true.
About the Author
Scott Reardon is a graduate of Georgetown University and Northwestern Law. He currently runs an investment management firm in Los Angeles. The Prometheus Man is his first novel.
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