“Sandy had grabbed his hand when they had taken off that morning from Logan Airport and still hadn’t let go. Carl figured it was part affection and part nerves, or maybe he was the one who didn’t want to let go. Sandy pushed her head in close and spoke over the roar of the engines, ‘I hate flying, Carl. Lucky you weren’t on the flight from London. I would have crushed your hand by the time we got to Boston.’ He squeezed her hand in reply and gave her a nuzzle but his thoughts were elsewhere. H...e no longer believed in coincidences. How could he? A murdered presidential aide, an MI6 contact, a dead British general, a list of names of Kennedy Administration officials, all dead, all within official custody. And what was that warning Merl had given him last month? Carl tried to tease the memory to life. ‘You know, even ten years later, some people still enjoy killin’.’ A hell of a story, Merl had offered. So, what was he doing in this jet, heading south and away from this story?MoreLessRead More Read Less
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