When a document, written by a long-dead Swiss monk, containing a master plan for world domination, falls into the hands of the ruthless Overseer cabal and they launch a campaign of world terror, a beautiful government agent joins forces with a brilliant young political theorist to stop them. 100,000 first printing.
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Jonathan Rabb has a B.A. from Yale and an M.Phil from Columbia University in political theory and taught at Columbia College for three years, specializing in early modern political thought. He had the idea for The Overseer while on a Fulbright fellowship in Germany. Rabb lives in New York City.
Jonathan Rabb taught at Columbia College for three years.
t document ever written must be found.
And time is running out.
It has long been rumored in academic circles that a sixteenth-century monk named Eisenreich took Machiavelli several steps further, writing a masterplan for world domination so dangerous the Pope had him killed to suppress it. But Eisenreich's text, On Supremacy, survived. Some scholars even believed the Third Reich had a copy. But when the bullet-riddled body of a young girl is found in Montana and "Eisenreich" is her dying word, it becomes terrifyingly clear that not only is the document real--someone is planning to use this explosive piece of history in the late twentieth century.
This deadly document is at the heart of The Overseer, a chillingly authentic, compulsively readable thriller of global intrigue and political conspiracy that follows a desperate search for a fabled manuscript, one with frightening modern-day implications. Be
The Overseer
by Jonathan Rabb
In the summer of 1531, Medici soldiers, working for Pope Clement VII, tortured to death an obscure Swiss monk, Eusebius Eisenreich. What Eisenreich would not reveal was the location of a simple manuscript.
The Pope never found it.
Saddled with overnight bag, purse, and briefcase, Sarah Trent looked the typical attorney making her weekly trek to New York. The heavy winter coat bounced playfully just above her knees, revealing a pair of rather exquisite legs. At five foot seven, trim and athletic, Sarah was used to the turned heads, the long stares. She smiled back, her keep chestnut eyes flashing in response, as she moved along the platform to a nonsmoking car, the Metroliner surprisingly empty for noon on a Thursday.
She had opted for the train rather than the shuttle for the simple reason that she needed more time with the files--two days hadn't been enough to digest all the material that had landed on her desk. A research update. just some background information for the new system, the note had read. We've got the space, we need to fill it. Typical bureaucratic reasoning.
Now, finding a pair of seats midway through the car, Sarah swung the two cases onto the window seat, then dropped herself into the one on the aisle. She turned to the briefcase as she unbuttoned her coat.
She had spent the last two days on the phone, trying to piece together the strands of information in the files. Very little had come up. And whenever she tried to dig a bit deeper, awkward pauses followed by curt responses had make it clear that she was not meant to look further. Brush-offs, notwithstanding, a few names had popped up to catch her attention--organizations that seemed to fit into a category with various right-wing fringe groups but which remained just this side of respectability.
In all the digging, one name had continued to crop up. One Alexander Jaspers, a prolific academic who had spent the last few years churning out article after article on the new decency in conservatism. His phrase. Sarah had leafed through a number of his pieces and, realizing she had found her font of information, had made an appointment to see him.
As the train emerged from the station, Sarah opened the one file that had intrigued her most during her first perusal. Tieg, The infamous host of Tieg Tonight--one of the country's more popular evening television entertainments. Jaspers would be well up on Tiegs history, having mentioned him in at least two of the articles. Never comfortable with academic types--always a bit intimidated--Sarah was determined to hold her own with Doctor Jaspers. She settled into her seat and let her shoes drop to the floor, ready now to peruse the file more
The first pages were standard form: born 33 to Hungarian émigrés, public schools, regional wrestling champion, scholarship to St. Johns. Nothing unusual until 51, when, in a period of less than six weeks, Tiegs father died, he dropped out of school, and he set sail for Europe. No explanation.
Sarah took a moment to jot down a few notes and then turned to the last few pages. The story beyond 69 was common knowledge. Buying up a number radio stations--the source of the initial capital unclear--Tieg had parlayed them into a series of local television outfits, and by 73 had the largest media package in the Southwest. Then the shift to telecommunications in 75, when he started to drum up business in Washington. His current linkups included Europe, Southeast Asia, and South America.
And then, just as quickly as he had gotten into technology, he moved on, turning his attentions to Tieg Tonight, the homespun talk show that blossomed from a four share in 93 to a twenty-two share by 97, a legendary rise by any standards. The ratings established Tieg as the premier pontificating politico of the airwaves.
Sarah placed the file on her lap and closed her eyes. She had read the last few pages without the attention she knew they deserved, preoccupied by the three-year hiatus Tieg had enjoyed in Europe. The question remained: Who--or what--was allowing him to escape the keep eye of the worlds most thorough intelligence agency forty years later? How had those three years remained hidden?
They sat. I'd recommend a nice cup of tea and a piece of the raspberry chocolate cake, but not everybody's a chocolate nut.
No, that sounds nice. Everything was nice, Sarah thought--the idea of tea, the funny little cafe that wanted so desperately to evoke images of Paris or Berlin--and the company. There was something very relaxing about young Dr. Jaspers. Something that seemed so...unacademic.
So, Clara mentioned the State Department and my articles. I can only guess were here to talk about The New Right and the rise of conservatism. The self-mocking tone in his voice prompted another smile from Sarah. The title of a very dull article I wrote.
Not so dull.
Jaspers eyes widened. You've actually read it?
My job, Professor Jaspers--
Xander, he interrupted. Everyone calls me Xander.
Again, she smiled. One of the many I read...Xander. All very informative. And all quite different from the other articles on the subject. Your approach is...how shall I put this--
Unique? Probably the source. He pulled a thin well-worn book from his jacket pocket, several rubber bands holding it together. He placed it on the table. The cover read The Prince. Never leave home without it.
Machiavelli? she asked.
Dont be so surprised. They were pretty bright in the sixteenth century. He was probably the brightest.
And now he's a man for all centuries, she said, watching as Jaspers stretched the rubber bands around the flaking pages.
The nice thing about theory, Ms. Trent, is that it can apply to any number of situations. He put the book in his pocket. Its the way you apply it that makes the difference.
And your friend Machiavelli just happens to fit in with the New Right?
And the junk-bond market, and several LBOs, even a separatist group in Idaho--I'm not the only one whose seen a connection. I just keep it theoretical. Its everyone else who tries to put it into practice.
Theories are...susceptible to broad interpretation. That's what makes them so seductive. Sometimes, they're hard to dismiss. But at a certain point, you have to recognize their limitations.
Ill try to keep that in mind, Sarah said. So, she continued, its all really...
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