An instant before he hit the water, Oliver Stone smiled, and then John Carr disappeared beneath the waves.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
DON’T READ THIS UNTIL YOU’VE FINISHED THE BOOK
HOPE YOU ENJOYED Stone Cold. One note so people won’t e-mail telling me I made a glaring mistake: I’ve played with the time-line, putting Yuri Andropov and Konstantin Chernenko in office as heads of the Soviet Union so it would match Oliver Stone’s career as a government assassin. As a fiction writer, I have full latitude to do so. It’s an entitlement actually granted to me by the Novelist’s Bill of Rights, under the subsection “Why Bother with the Truth When You Can Just Make It Up?” It was duly enacted by Congress, an august body that has enviable experience in same.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
TO MICHELLE, the ride continues, and there’s no one else I could ever do it with.
To Mitch Hoffman, here’s to the first of many.
To Aaron Priest, Lucy Childs, Lisa Erbach Vance and Nicole Kenealy, who let me focus on writing. And for always giving it to me straight.
To David Young, Jamie Raab, Emi Battaglia, Jennifer Romanello, Martha Otis and all the wonderful folks at Grand Central Publishing, for being with me every step of the way. New name, same great people.
To David North, Maria Rejt and Katie James at Pan Macmillan, for leading me to the top across “the Pond.”
To Grace McQuade and Lynn Goldberg, on a great new partnership. Thanks for all your hard work. It really paid off.
To Shane Drennan, for all your expert advice. I hope I did it justice.
I owe the craps table scene to Alli and Anshu Guleria and Bob and Marilyn Schule. Thanks, guys. See you in Vegas.
To Deborah and Lynette, the stellar Starship Enterprise crew.
And to the millions of Camel Club fans for seeing light when others only saw the darkness.
