Kane and Abel/Sons of Fortune Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  KANE & ABEL

  PART ONE - 1906-1923

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  PART TWO - 1923-1928

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  PART THREE - 1928–1932

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  PART FOUR - 1932-1941

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  PART FIVE - 1941-1952

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  PART SIX - 1952-1963

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  PART SEVEN - 1963–1967

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  SONS OF FORTUNE

  BOOK ONE - GENESIS

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  BOOK TWO - EXODUS

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  BOOK THREE - CHRONICLES

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  BOOK FOUR - ACTS

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  BOOK FIVE - JUDGES

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  BOOK SIX - REVELATION

  49

  50

  51

  52

  53

  BOOK SEVEN - NUMBERS

  54

  ALSO BY JEFFREY ARCHER

  PRAISE FOR JEFFREY ARCHER

  Copyright Page

  TO MICHAEL AND JANE

  PART ONE

  1906-1923

  CHAPTER ONE

  April 18, 1906

  Slonim, Poland

  She only stopped screaming when she died. It was then that he started to scream.

  The young boy who was hunting rabbits in the forest was not sure whether it was the woman’s last cry or the child’s first that alerted his youthful ears. He turned suddenly, sensing the possible danger, his eyes searching for an animal that was so obviously in pain. He had never known any animal to scream in quite that way before. He edged toward the noise cautiously; the scream had now turned to a whine, but it still did not sound like any animal he knew. He hoped it would be small enough to kill; at least that would make a change from rabbit for dinner.

  The young hunter moved stealthily toward the river, where the strange noise came from, running from tree to tree, feeling the protection of the bark against his shoulder blades, something to touch. Never stay in the open, his father had taught him. When he reached the edge of the forest, he had a clear line of vision all the way down the valley to the river, and even then it took him some time to realize that the strange cry emanated from no ordinary animal. He continued to creep toward the whining, but he was out in the open on his own now. Then suddenly he saw the woman, with her dress above her waist, her bare legs splayed wide apart. He had never seen a woman like that before. He ran quickly to her side and stared down at her belly, quite freightened to touch. There, lying between the woman’s legs, was the body of a small, damp, pink animal, attached only by something that looked like rope. The young hunter dropped his freshly skinned rabbits and collapsed on his knees beside the little creature.

  He gazed for a long, stunned moment and then turned his eyes toward the woman, immediately regretting the decision. She was already blue with cold; her tired twenty-three-year-old face looked middle-aged to the boy; he did not need to be told that she was dead. He picked up the slippery little body—had you asked him why, and no one ever did, he would have told you that the tiny fingernails clawing the crumpled face had worried him—and then he became aware that mother and child were inseparable because of the slimy rope.

  He had watched the birth of a lamb a few days earlier and he tried to remember. Yes, that’s what the shepherd had done, but dare he, with a child? The whining had stopped and he sensed that a decision was now urgent. He unsheathed his knife, the one he had skinned the rabbits with, wiped it on his sleeve and, hesitating only for a moment, cut the rope close to the child’s body. Blood flowed freely from the severed ends. Then what had the shepherd done when the lamb was born? He had tied a knot to stop the blood. Of course, of course. He pulled some long grass out of the earth beside him and hastily tied a crude knot in the cord. Then he took the child in his arms. He rose slowly from his knees, leaving behind him three dead rabbits and a dead woman who had given birth to this child. Before finally turning his back on the mother, he put her legs together and pulled her dress down over her knees. It seemed to be the right thing to do.

  “Holy God,” he said aloud, the first thing he always said when he had done something very good or very bad. He wasn’t yet sure which this was.

  The young hunter then ran toward the cottage where he knew his mother would be cooking supper, waiting only for his rabbits; all else would be prepared. She would be wondering how many he might have caught today; with a family of eight to feed, she needed at least three. Sometimes he managed a duck, a goose or even a pheasant that had strayed from the Baron’s estate, on which his father worked. Tonight he had caught a different animal, and when he reached the cottage the young hunter dared not let go of his prize even with one hand, so he kicked at the door with his bare foot until his mother opened it. Silently, he held out his offering to her. She made no immediate move to take the creature from him but stood, one hand on her breast, gazing at the wretched sight.

  “Holy God,” she said, and crossed herself. The boy stared up at his mother’s face for some sign of pleasure or anger. Her eyes were now showing a tenderness the boy had never seen in them before. He knew then that the thing he had done must be good.

  “Is it a baby, Matka?”

  “It’s a little boy,” said his mother, nodding sorrowfully. “Where did you find him?”

  “Down by the river, Matka,” he said.

  “And the mother?”

  “Dead.”

  She crossed herself again.

  “Quickly, run and tell your father what has happened.