War hero and infamous ladies’ man General MacKenzie Hawkins is a living legend. His life story has even been sold to Hollywood. But now he stands accused of defacing a historic monument in China’s Forbidden City. Under house arrest in Peking with a case against him pending in Washington, this looks like the end of Mac’s illustrious career. But he has a plan of his own: kidnap the Pope. What’s the ransom? Just one American dollar— for every Catholic in the world . Add to the mix a slew of shady “investors,” Mac’s four persuasive, well-endowed ex-wives, and a young lawyer and fellow soldier who wants nothing more than to return to private life, and readers have in their hands one relentlessly irreverent page-turner.   Praise for Robert Ludlum   “Don’t ever begin a [Robert] Ludlum novel if you have to go to work the next day.” — Chicago Sun-Times   “Ludlum stuffs more surprises into his novels than any other six-pack of thriller writers combined.” — The New York Times Praise for Robert Ludlum   “Don’t ever begin a [Robert] Ludlum novel if you have to go to work the next day.” — Chicago Sun-Times   “Ludlum stuffs more surprises into his novels than any other six-pack of thriller writers combined.” — The New York Times Robert Ludlum was the author of twenty-one novels, each a New York Times bestseller. There are more than 210 million of his books in print, and they have been translated into thirty-two languages. In addition to the Jason Bourne series— The Bourne Identity, The Bourne Supremacy, and The Bourne Ultimatum —he was the author of The Scarlatti Inheritance, The Chancellor Manuscript, and The Apocalypse Watch, among many others. Mr. Ludlum passed away in March 2001. Chapter One "That son of a bitch!" Brigadier General Arnold Symington brought the paperweight down on the thick layer of glass on his Pentagon desk. The glass shattered; fragments shot through the air in all directions. "He couldn't!" "He did, sir," replied the frightened lieutenant, shielding his eyes from the office shrapnel. "The Chinese are very upset. The premier himself dictated the complaint to the diplomatic mission. They're running editorials in the Red Star and broadcasting them over Radio Peking." "How the hell can they?" Symington removed a piece of glass from is little finger. "What the hell are they saying? 'We interrupt this program to announce that the American military representative, General MacKenzie Hawkins, shot the balls off a ten-foot jade statue in Son Tai Square'?—Bullshit! Peking wouldn't allow that; it's too goddamned undignified." "They're phrasing it a bit differently, sir. They say he destroyed an historic monument of precious stone in the Forbidden City. They say it's as though someone blew up the Lincoln Memorial." "It's a different kind of statue! Lincoln's got clothes on; his balls don't show! It's not the same!" "Nevertheless, the White House thinks the parallel is justified, sir. The President wants Hawkins removed. More than removed, actually; he wants him cashiered. Court-martial and all. Publicly." "Oh, for Christ's sake, that's out of the question." Symington leaned back in his chair and breathed deeply, trying to control himself. He reached out for the report on his desk. "We'll transfer him. With a reprimand. We'll send transcripts of the—censure, we'll call it a censure—to Peking." "That's not strong enough, sir. The State Department made it clear. The President concurs. We have trade agreements pending—" "For Christ's sake, Lieutenant!" interrupted the brigadier. "Will someone tell that spinning top in the Oval Office that he can't have it on all points of the compass! Mac Hawkins was selected. From twenty-seven candidates. I remember exactly what the President said. Exactly. 'That mother's perfect!' That's what he said." "That's inoperative now, sir. He feels the trade agreements take precedent over prior considerations." The lieutenant was beginning to perspire. "You bastards kill me," said Symington, lowering his voice ominously. "You really frost my apricots. How do you figure to do that? Make it 'inoperative,' I mean. Hawkins may be a sharp pain in your diplomatic ass right now, but that doesn't wash away what was operative. He was a fucking teen-age hero at the Battle of the Bulge and West Point football; and if they gave medals for what he did in Southeast Asia, even Mac Hawkins isn't strong enough to wear all that hardware! He makes John Wayne look like a pansy! He's real; that's why that Oval Yo-yo picked him!" "I really think the office of the presidency—regardless of what you may think of the man—as commander in chief he—" "Horse—shit!" The brigadier general roared again, separating the words in equal emphasis, giving the crudity of his oath the sound of a military cadence. "I'm simply explaining to you—in the strongest terms I know—that you don't publicly court-martial a MacKenzie Hawkins to satisfy a Peking complaint, no matter how many god