The Matarese Countdown A Novel [Paperback]

USThe huge, glistening white yacht, its length over a hundred fifty feet from bow to stern, slowly maneuvered its way into the marina at Estepona, the northern point of Spain's opulent Costa del Sol, a retirement haven for the wealthy of the world.

The gaunt old man in the luxurious master stateroom sat in a velvet-covered chair, attended to by his personal valet of nearly three decades.  The aged owner of the ship was being groomed by his servant and friend for the most important conference of his long life, a life that spanned over ninety years, the precise age kept secret, for much of that life was spent in the cutthroat arenas of men much younger.  Why give those avaricious turks the advantage of his rumored senility, which in reality amounted to several generations of superior experience?  Three cosmetic operations on his features might have left his face partially masklike, but that was merely superficial, a misleading image to confuse the opportunists who would usurp his financial empire, given half a chance.

An empire that meant nothing any longer.  It was a paper colossus worth over seven billion American dollars, seven thousand times a million, built on the manipulations of a long-forgotten entity.  It began with a vision of revenge and turned ever more violently satanic, further corrupted by underlings who had no vision beyond themselves.

"How do I look, Antoine?"

"Splendid,monsieur," replied the valet, applying a mild aftershave lotion and removing a lap cloth to reveal formal clothes complete with a striped cravat.

"This isn't too much, is it?" asked the elegant employer, gesturing at his finery.

"Not at all.  You are thechairman,sir, and they must understand that.  You can brook no opposition."

"Oh, my old friend, there'll be no opposition.  I plan to instruct my varilãl