She heard his voice again, whispering to her in the howl of wind outside her broken window. Katherine, I should have killed you years ago . . . the night I killed your mother.
Katherine shivered, feeling no doubt. That was him. She had never forgotten the look of fiendish violence in his eyes. Nor had she ever forgotten the sound of her brother's single gunshot, which had killed this man, propelling him off a high ledge into the frozen river below, where he plummeted through the ice and never resurfaced. Investigators had searched for weeks, never finding his body, and finally decided it had been washed away by the current out to the Chesapeake Bay.
They were wrong, she now knew. He is still alive.
And he's back.
Katherine felt angst-ridden as the memories flooded back. It was almost exactly ten years ago. Christmas Day. Katherine, Peter, and their mother--her entire family--were gathered at their sprawling stone mansion in Potomac, nestled on a two-hundred-acre wooded estate with its own river running through it. As was tradition, their mother worked diligently in the kitchen, rejoicing in the holiday custom of cooking for her two children. Even at seventy-five years of age, Isabel Solomon was an exuberant cook, and tonight the mouthwatering smells of roast venison, parsnip gravy, and garlic mashed potatoes wafted through the house. While Mother prepared the feast, Katherine and her brother relaxed in the conservatory, discussing Katherine's latest fascination--a new field called Noetic Science. An unlikely fusion of modern particle physics and ancient mysticism, Noetics had absolutely captivated Katherine's imagination.
Physics meets philosophy.
Katherine told Peter about some of the experiments she was dreaming up, and she could see in his eyes that he was intrigued. Katherine felt particularly pleased to give her brother something positive to think about this Christmas, since the holiday had also become a painful reminder of a terrible tragedy.
Peter's son, Zachary.
Katherine's nephew's twenty-first birthday had been his last. The family had been through a nightmare, and it seemed that her brother was only now finally learning how to laugh again.
Zachary had been a late bloomer, frail and awkward, a rebellious and angry teenager. Despite his deeply loving and privileged upbringing, the boy seemed determined to detach himself from the Solomon "establishment." He was kicked out of prep school, partied hard with the "celebrati," and shunned his parents' exhaustive attempts to provide him firm and loving guidance.
He broke Peter's heart.
Shortly before Zachary's eighteenth birthday, Katherine had sat down with her mother and brother and listened to them debating whether or not to withhold Zachary's inheritance until he was more mature. The Solomon inheritance--a centuries-old tradition in the family--bequeathed a staggeringly generous piece of the Solomon wealth to every Solomon child on his or her eighteenth birthday. The Solomons believed that an inheritance was more helpful at the beginning of someone's life than at the end. Moreover, placing large pieces of the Solomon fortune in the hands of eager young descendants had been the key to growing the family's dynastic wealth.
In this case, however, Katherine's mother argued that it was dangerous to give Peter's troubled son such a large sum of money. Peter disagreed.
"The Solomon inheritance," her brother had said, "is a family tradition that should not be broken. This money may well force Zachary to be more responsible."
Sadly, her brother had been wrong.
The moment Zachary received the money, he broke from the family, disappearing from the house without taking any of his belongings. He surfaced a few months later in the tabloids: TRUST FUND PLAYBOY LIVING EUROPEAN HIGH LIFE.
The tabloids took joy in documenting Zachary's spoiled life of debauchery. The photos of wild parties on yachts and drunken disco stupors were hard for the Solomons to take, but the photos of their wayward teen turned from tragic to frightening when the papers reported Zachary had been caught carrying cocaine across a border in Eastern Europe: SOLOMON MILLIONAIRE IN TURKISH PRISON.
The prison, they learned, was called Soganlik--a brutal F-class detention center located in the Kartal district outside of Istanbul. Peter Solomon, fearing for his son's safety, flew to Turkey to retrieve him. Katherine's distraught brother returned empty-handed, having been forbidden even to visit with Zachary. The only promising news was that Solomon's influential contacts at the U.S. State Department were working on getting him extradited as quickly as possible.
Two days later, however, Peter received a horrifying international phone call. The next morning, headlines blared: SOLOMON HEIR MURDERED IN PRISON.
The prison photos were horrific, and the media callously aired them all, even long after the Solomons' private burial ceremony. Peter's wife never forgave him for failing to free Zachary, and their marriage came to an end six months later. Peter had been alone ever since.
It was years later that Katherine, Peter, and their mother, Isabel, were gathered quietly for Christmas. The pain was still a presence in their family, but mercifully it was fading with each passing year. The pleasant rattle of pots and pans now echoed from the kitchen as their mother prepared the traditional feast. Out in the conservatory, Peter and Katherine were enjoying a baked Brie and relaxed holiday conversation.
Then came an utterly unexpected sound.
"Hello, Solomons," an airy voice said behind them.
Startled, Katherine and her brother spun to see an enormous muscular figure stepping into the conservatory. He wore a black ski mask that covered all of his face except his eyes, which shone with feral ferocity.
Peter was on his feet in an instant. "Who are you?! How did you get in here?!"
"I knew your little boy, Zachary, in prison. He told me where this key was hidden." The stranger held up an old key and grinned like a beast. "Right before I bludgeoned him to death."
Peter's mouth fell open.
A pistol appeared, aimed directly at Peter's chest. "Sit."
Peter fell back into his chair. As the man moved into the room, Katherine was frozen in place. Behind his mask, the man's eyes were wild like those of a rabid animal.
"Hey!" Peter yelled, as if trying to warn their mother in the kitchen. "Whoever you are, take what you want, and get out!"
The man leveled his gun at Peter's chest. "And what is it you think I want?"
"Just tell me how much," Solomon said. "We don't have money in the house, but I can--"
The monster laughed. "Do not insult me. I have not come for money. I have come tonight for Zachary's other birthright." He grinned. "He told me about the pyramid."
Pyramid? Katherine thought in bewildered terror. What pyramid?
Her brother was defiant. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't play dumb with me! Zachary told me what you keep in your study vault. I want it. Now."
"Whatever Zachary told you, he was confused," Peter said. "I don't know what you're talking about!"
"No?" The intruder turned and aimed the gun at Katherine's face. "How about now?"
Peter's eyes filled with terror. "You must believe me! I don't know what it is you want!"
"Lie to me one more time," he said, still aiming at Katherine, "and I swear I will take her from you." He smiled. "And from what Zachary said, your little sister is more precious to you than all your--"
"What's going on?!" Katherine's mother shouted, marching into the room with Peter's Browning Citori shotgun--which she aimed directly at the man's chest. The intruder spun toward her, and the feisty seventy-five-year-old woman wasted no time. She fired a deafening blast of pellets. The intruder staggered backward, firing his handgun wildly in all directions, shattering windows as he fell and crashed through the glass doorway, dropping the pistol as he fell.