The Prodigal Daughter Read online

  Outstanding Praise for Jeffrey Archer and his Novels

  “A master at mixing power, politics, and profit into fiction.”

  —Entertainment Weekly

  “Archer is a master entertainer.”

  —Time

  “Archer plots with skill, and keeps you turning the pages.”

  —The Boston Globe

  “Cunning plots, silken style…Archer plays a cat-and-mouse game with the reader.”

  —The New York Times

  “A storyteller in the class of Alexandre Dumas…unsurpassed skill…making the reader wonder intensely what will happen next.”

  —The Washington Post

  “Archer is one of the most captivating storytellers writing today. His novels are dramatic, fast moving, totally entertaining—and almost impossible to put down.”

  —Pittsburgh Press

  The Prodigal Daughter

  “Chalk up another smash hit for Jeffrey Archer…an exceptional storyteller.”

  —John Barkham Reviews

  “Fast-moving and compelling.”

  —Library Journal

  Kane & Abel

  “A smashing good read!”

  —The Des Moines Register

  “I defy anyone not to enjoy this book, which is one of the best novels I have ever read.”

  —Otto Preminger

  “A sprawling blockbuster!”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Grips the reader from the first page to the last. A smash hit.”

  —John Barkham Reviews

  “Archer is a master entertainer.”

  —Time

  As the Crow Flies

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  —New York Daily News

  “Archer…has an extraordinary talent for turning notoriety into gold, and telling fast-moving stories.”

  —The Philadelphia Inquirer

  “An endearing story.”

  —The Wall Street Journal

  “Archer plots with skill, and keeps you turning the pages.”

  —The Boston Globe

  “Top flight…Mr. Archer tells a story to keep you turning those pages.”

  —The Washington Post

  “Great fun!”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  TO: TOM & LEONA

  Contents

  Prologue

  The Past: 1934–1968

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The Present: 1968–1982

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  The Future: 1982–1995

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Preview

  Prologue

  “President of the United States,” she replied.

  “I can think of more rewarding ways of bankrupting myself,” said her father as he removed the half-moon spectacles from the end of his nose and peered at his daughter over the top of his newspaper.

  “Don’t be frivolous, Papa. President Roosevelt proved to us that there can be no greater calling than public service.”

  “The only thing Roosevelt proved…,” began her father. Then he stopped and pretended to return to his paper, realizing that his daughter would consider the remark flippant.

  The girl continued as if only too aware of what was going through her father’s mind. “I realize it would be pointless for me to pursue such an ambition without your support. My sex will be enough of a liability without adding the disadvantage of a Polish background.”

  The newspaper barrier between father and daughter was abruptly removed. “Don’t ever speak disloyally of the Poles,” he said. “History has proved us to be an honorable race who never go back on our word. My father was a baron—”

  “Yes, I know. So was my grandfather, but he’s not around now to help me become President.”

  “More’s the pity,” he said, sighing, “as he would undoubtedly have made a great leader of our people.”

  “Then why shouldn’t his granddaughter?”

  “No reason at all,” he said as he stared into the steel gray eyes of his only child.

  “Well then Papa, will you help me? I can’t hope to succeed without your financial backing.”

  Her father hesitated before replying, placing the glasses back on his nose and slowly folding his copy of the Chicago Tribune.

  “I’ll make a deal with you, my dear—after all, that’s what politics is about. If the result of the New Hampshire primary turns out to be satisfactory, I’ll back you to the hilt. If not, you must drop the whole idea.”

  “What’s your definition of satisfactory?” came back the immediate reply.

  Again the man hesitated, weighing his words. “If you win the primary or capture over thirty percent of the vote, I’ll go all the way to the convention floor with you, even if it means I end up destitute.”

  The girl relaxed for the first time during the conversation. “Thank you, Papa. I couldn’t have asked for more.”

  “No, you certainly couldn’t,” he replied. “Now, can I get back to figuring out just how the Cubs could possibly have lost the seventh game of the series to the Tigers?”

  “They were undoubtedly the weaker team, as the nine-three score indicates.”

  “Young lady, you may imagine you know a thing or two about politics, but I can assure you you know absolutely nothing about baseball,” the man said as his wife entered the room. He turned his heavy frame toward her. “Our daughter wants to run for President of the United States. What do you think about that?”

  The girl looked up at her, eagerly waiting for a reply.

  “I’ll tell you what I think,” said the mother. “I think it’s well past her bedtime and I blame you for keeping her up so late.”

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right, Zaphia.” He sighed. “Off you go to bed, little one.”

  She came to her father’s side, kissed him on the cheek and whispered, “Thank you, Papa.”

  The man’s eyes followed his eleven-year-old daughter as she left the room, and he noticed that the fingers of her right hand were clenched, making a small, tight fist, something she always did when she was angry or determined. He suspected she was both on this occasion, but he realized that it would be pointless to try to explain to his wife that their only child was no ordinary mortal. He had long ago abandoned any attempt to involve his wife in his own ambitions and was at least thankful that she was incapable of dampening their daughter’s.

  He returned to the Chicago Cubs and their loss of the series and had to admit that his daughter’s judgment might even be right on that subject.

  Florentyna Rosnovski never referred to the conversation again for twenty-two years, but when she did, she assumed that