Sidney Sheldon’s Reckless

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgments (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Also By (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

PART I (#ulink_26cdeb4e-fedf-52df-8075-81f3c8a4212e)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_de9e2f23-1259-5b36-8af7-de0cf6944e97)

ROYAL MILITARY ACADEMY, SANDHURST, ENGLAND SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 9:00 P.M.

SIR!”

Officer Cadet Sebastian Williams burst into Major General Frank Dorrien’s office. Williams’s complexion was white, his hair disheveled, his uniform a disgrace. Frank Dorrien’s upper lip curled. If he closed his eyes he could practically hear the standards slipping, like turds off a wet rock.

“What is it?”

“It’s Prince Achileas, sir.”

“Prince Achileas? Do you mean Officer Cadet Constantinos?”

Williams looked at the ground. “Yes, sir.”

“Well? What about him?”

For one appalling moment, General Dorrien thought that Williams might be going to cry.

“He’s dead, sir.”

The Major General flicked a piece of lint off his jacket. Tall and thin, with the wiry frame of a marathon runner and a face so chiseled and angular it looked like it had been carved from flint, Frank Dorrien’s expression gave nothing away.

“Dead?”

“Yes, sir. I found him … hanging. Just now. It was awful, sir!” Cadet Williams started to shake. Christ, he was an embarrassment.

“Show me.”

Frank Dorrien took his battered attaché case with him and followed the distressed cadet along a windowless corridor back towards the barracks. Half walking, half jogging, the boy’s limbs dangled like a puppet with its strings tangled. Frank Dorrien shook his head. Soldiers like Officer Cadet Sebastian Williams represented everything that was wrong with today’s army.

No discipline. No order. No fucking courage.

An entire generation of dolts.

Achileas Constantinos, Prince of Greece, had been just as bad. Spoiled, entitled. These boys seemed to think that joining the army was some sort of game.

“In there, sir.” Williams gestured towards the men’s bathrooms. “He’s still … I didn’t know if I should cut him down.”

“Thank you, Williams.”

Frank Dorrien’s granite-hewn face showed no emotion. In his early fifties, gray haired and rigid backed, Frank was a born soldier. His body was the product of a lifetime of rigorous physical discipline. It was the perfect complement to his ordered, controlled mind.

“Dismissed.”

“Sir?” Cadet Williams hovered, confused. Did the Major General really want him to leave?

Not that he wanted to see Achileas again. The image of his friend’s corpse was already seared on his memory. The bloated face with its bulging eyes, swinging grotesquely from the rafters like an overstuffed Guy on bonfire night. Williams had been scared to death when he found him. He might be a soldier on paper, but the truth was he’d never seen a dead body before.

“Are you deaf?” Frank Dorrien snapped. “I said ‘dismissed’.”

“Sir. Yes, sir.”

Frank Dorrien waited until Cadet Williams was gone. Then he opened the bathroom door.

The first thing he saw were the young Greek prince’s boots, swinging at eye level in front of an open stall. They were regulation, black and beautifully polished. A thing of beauty, to General Dorrien’s eyes.