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  The senior partner then turned to what looked to Virginia like the last page of the will.

  “And finally,” he said, “I leave the five-hundred-acre estate that lies west of the Carley Falls, and includes the Glen Fenwick Distillery—” he couldn’t resist pausing to cough—“to my only grandson, the Hon. Frederick Archibald Iain Bruce Fenwick.” An audible gasp went up in the room, but Ferguson ignored it. “And I ask my eldest son, Archibald, to be responsible for the running of the distillery until Frederick acquires the age of twenty-five.”

  The tenth earl looked just as surprised as everyone else in the room, as his father had never mentioned his plans for the distillery. But if that was what the old man wanted, he would make sure his wishes were carried out in keeping with the family motto, “Without fear or favor.”

  Virginia was about to storm out of the room, but it was clear that Mr. Ferguson hadn’t finished. A few murmurings could be heard as he refilled his glass with water before returning to his task.

  “And last and certainly least,” he said, which created the silence he had intended, “I come to my only daughter, Virginia. To her I bequeath one bottle of Maker’s Mark whisky, in the hope that it will teach her a lesson, although I have my doubts.”

  * * *

  Karin’s stepfather opened the front door and welcomed her with an unusually warm smile.

  “I have some good news to share with you,” he said as she stepped into the house, “but it will have to wait until later.”

  Could it just be possible, thought Karin, that this nightmare was finally coming to an end? Then she saw a copy of the Times lying on the kitchen table, open at the obituaries page. She stared at the familiar photograph of Baroness Forbes-Watson and wondered if it was just a coincidence, or if he had left it open simply to provoke her.

  Over coffee, they talked of nothing consequential, but Karin could hardly miss the three suitcases standing by the door, which appeared to herald imminent departure. Even so, she became more anxious by the minute, as Pengelly remained far too relaxed and friendly for her liking. What was the old army expression, “demobhappy”?

  “Time for us to talk about more serious matters,” he said, placing a finger to his lips. He went out to the hallway and removed his heavy overcoat from a peg by the door. Karin thought about making a run for it, but if she did, and all he was going to tell her was that he was returning to Moscow, her cover would be blown. He helped her on with her coat and accompanied her outside.

  Karin was taken by surprise when he gripped her arm firmly and almost marched her down the deserted street. Usually she linked her arm in his so that any passing stranger would assume they were father and daughter out for a walk, but not today. She decided that if they came across anyone, even the old colonel, she would stop and talk to him, because she knew Pengelly wouldn’t dare risk their cover being blown if there was a witness present.

  Pengelly continued his jovial banter. This was so out of character Karin became even more apprehensive, her eyes darting warily in every direction, but no one appeared to be taking a constitutional on that bleak, gray day.

  Once they reached the edge of the woods, Pengelly looked around, as he always did, to see if anyone was following them. If there was, they would retrace their steps and head back to the cottage. But not this afternoon.

  Although it was barely four o’clock, the light was already beginning to fade and it was becoming darker by the minute. He gripped her arm more firmly as they stepped off the road and onto the path that led into the woods. His voice changed to match the cold night air.

  “I know you’ll be pleased to hear, Karin”—he never called her Karin—“that I’ve been promoted and will soon be returning to Moscow.”

  “Congratulations, comrade. Well deserved.”

  He didn’t loosen his grip. “So this will be our last meeting,” he continued. Could she possibly hope that … “But Marshal Koshevoi has entrusted me with one final assignment.” Pengelly didn’t elaborate, almost as if he wanted her to take her time thinking about it. As they walked deeper into the woods, it was becoming so dark that Karin could hardly see a yard in front of her. Pengelly, however, seemed to know exactly where he was going, as if every pace had been rehearsed.

  “The head of countersurveillance,” he said calmly, “has finally uncovered the traitor in our ranks, the person who has for years been betraying the motherland. I have been chosen to carry out the appropriate retribution.”

  His firm grip finally relaxed and he released her. Her first instinct was to run, but he had chosen the spot well. A clump of trees behind her, to her right the disused tin mine, to her left a narrow path she could barely make out in the darkness, and towering above her, Pengelly, who couldn’t have looked calmer or more alert.

  He slowly removed a pistol from the pocket of his overcoat, and held it menacingly by his side. Was he hoping she would make a run for it, so it would take more than a single bullet to kill her? But she remained rooted to the spot.

  “You’re a traitor,” said Pengelly, “who has done more damage to our cause than any agent in the past. So you must die a traitor’s death.” He glanced in the direction of the mine shaft. “I’ll be back in Moscow long before they discover your body, if they ever do.”

  He raised the gun slowly until it was level with Karin’s eyes. Her last thought before he pulled the trigger was of Giles.

  The sound of a single shot echoed through the woods, and a flock of starlings flew high into the air as her body slumped to the ground.

  For further details visit JeffreyArcherBooks.com.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  JEFFREY ARCHER was educated at Oxford University. He has served five years in Britain’s House of Commons and twenty-two in the House of Lords. All of his novels and short story collections—including Mightier Than the Sword, Be Careful What You Wish For, Best Kept Secret, The Sins of the Father, and Only Time Will Tell—have been international bestselling books. Archer is married with two sons and lives in London and Cambridge.

  www.JeffreyArcher.com

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  @Jeffrey_Archer.

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  ALSO BY JEFFREY ARCHER

  THE CLIFTON CHRONICLES

  Only Time Will Tell

  The Sins of the Father

  Best Kept Secret

  Be Careful What You Wish For

  Mightier Than the Sword

  NOVELS

  Not a Penny More, Not a Penny Less

  Shall We Tell the President?

  Kane & Abel

  The Prodigal Daughter

  First Among Equals

  A Matter of Honor

  As the Crow Flies

  Honor Among Thieves

  The Fourth Estate

  The Eleventh Commandment

  Sons of Fortune

  False Impression

  The Gospel According to Judas

  (with the assistance of Professor Francis J. Moloney)

  A Prisoner of Birth

  Paths of Glory

  SHORT STORIES

  A Quiver Full of Arrows

  A Twist in the Tale

  Twelve Red Herrings

  The Collected Short Stories

  To Cut a Long Story Short

  Cat O’ Nine Tails

  And Thereby Hangs a Tale

  PLAYS

  Beyond Reasonable Doubt

  Exclusive

  The Accused

  PRISON DIARIES

  Volume One—Belmarsh: Hell

  Volume Two—Wayland: Purgatory

  Volume Three—North Sea Camp: Heaven

  SCREENPLAYS

  Mallory: Walking Off the Map

  False Impression

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