The Secret Crown (2010)
PENGUIN BOOKS
The Secret Crown
Chris Kuzneski is the international bestselling author of
The Prophecy
,
The Lost Throne
,
Sword of God
,
Sign of the Cross
and
The Plantation
. His thrillers have been published in over twenty languages and are sold in more than forty countries. Chris grew up in Pennsylvania and currently lives on the Gulf Coast of Florida. To learn more about Chris, please visit his website:
www.chriskuzneski.com
.
CHRIS KUZNESKI
PENGUIN BOOKS
PENGUIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London
WC2R 0RL
, England
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
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Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London
WC2R 0RL
, England
First published 2010
Copyright (c) Chris Kuzneski, Inc. 2010
All rights reserved
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
ISBN
: 978-0-14-194624-5
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Epilogue
Author’s Note
AcknowledgementsPrologue
13 June 1886
Lake Starnberg
Berg, Bavaria
For years he had been paid to protect the king. Now he had orders to kill him.
And it needed to be done today.
Without witnesses. Without wounds. Before he could slip away.
Tracking his target from the nearby trees, he watched Ludwig as he left the castle grounds and strolled along the shoreline. The king wore an overcoat and carried an umbrella, protection from the threatening skies that had blanketed the region for much of the day. Normally the sun wouldn’t set until quarter past nine, but the approaching storm made dusk come early.
A storm that would wash away any signs of foul play.
The assassin checked his watch and noted the time. Ten minutes to seven. Dinner would be served at eight and not a moment before. If his target was late, an alarm would be sounded and a search party formed. That much was certain. This was a turbulent time in Bavaria, and Ludwig was the central figure in the drama, somehow loved and hated at the same time.
Some viewed him as a hero, a brilliant visionary who could do no wrong. Others saw him as a madman, a paranoid schizophrenic who had bankrupted the royal family with his flights of fancy. The assassin realized the truth was probably somewhere in between, though he couldn’t care less about politics. He was there to do a job, and he would do it without mercy.
‘Go to the boathouse,’ he whispered to his partner. ‘Signal me if we’re alone.’
His partner nodded, then crept through the woods without making a sound. They had positioned themselves along the north-eastern shore of Lake Starnberg, the fourth largest lake in the German Empire. Created by Ice Age glaciers, it extended fourteen miles from north to south and two miles from east to west. This time of year, the water was too cold for swimming, effectively trapping Ludwig along the coast with no means of escape.
Without a boat, the lake offered no sanctuary.
Without a miracle, Ludwig would be dead before dark.
The assassin smiled, confident in his ability to finish the job. In recent days Ludwig had been followed by a team of guards whose sole task was to protect him not only from his enemies but also himself. But this night was different. Bribes had been paid and arrangements had been made that would guarantee his isolation. As expected, the lone obstacle would be Ludwig’s psychiatrist, a man of advanced years who watched over his patient. The assassin would strike him first, then he would turn his attention to Ludwig, the fabled Swan King.
The assassin glanced at the boathouse, waiting for his partner’s signal. The instant he saw it, he slipped behind his two targets, effectively cutting them off from the safety of the castle grounds. He did so silently, careful not to give away his position until he was close enough to strike. In a matter of seconds he had cut the distance to twenty feet.
Then fifteen.
Then ten.
As he narrowed the gap to five feet, his focus shifted to the makeshift weapon he held in his hand. Plucked from the nearby shore, the stone was brown and jagged and stained with mud.
A moment later, it was covered in blood.
The doctor fell at once, unconscious before he even hit the ground, his skull shattered by the blow, his ribs fractured from the fall. Yet neither injury proved fatal. Minutes would pass before the doctor took his final breath; his lifeless body dragged into the depths of the cold lake where he would eventually drown - punishment for the role he had played in the charade.
In the meantime, the assassin had more important things to worry about. Before leaving the royal palace in Munich, he had been given an assignment unlike any other. Two tasks that he needed to complete before he returned home. Two tasks that would rescue his kingdom from financial ruin and ensure its future for decades to come. Two tasks that would not be easy.
Get Ludwig to talk, and then silence him for ever.
Present Day, Wednesday, 15 September
Bavarian Alps, Germany
(61 miles south-west of Munich)
Klaus Becker stood perfectly still, careful not to attract attention as he eyed his mark from his concealed perch in a nearby tree. Some less experienced gunmen would have used military-grade optics to guarantee a killshot from this range, but where was the challenge in that? To him, if his prey didn’t have a sporting chance, Becker wanted no part of the fight.
That was the code he lived by, the one his father had taught him.
