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To my wife, Lynne, who has supported me all these years and sacrificed so much, allowing me to chase my dreams.
To Brett, Caitlin, and Courtney, I pass along the advice that led me to write this novel:
—What would you do, if you weren’t afraid?
CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Principal Characters
Prologue
10 Days Remaining
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
9 Days Remaining
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
8 Days Remaining
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
7 Days Remaining
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
6 Days Remaining
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
5 Days Remaining
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
4 Days Remaining
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
3 Days Remaining
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
2 Days Remaining
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
1 Day Remaining
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
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Epilogue
Complete Cast of Characters
Author’s Note
About the Author
Copyright
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many thanks are due to those who helped me write and publish this novel:
First and foremost, to Ned Steele for the inspiration to pick up the pen; to my wife, Lynne, and my children for their support through the long hours; to Nancy Coffey, without whose assistance I would not be a writer; and to my agent, John Talbot, for his belief in this book and for taking a chance.
To the many wonderful people at St. Martin’s Press. First, to my editor, Keith Kahla, for making this novel twice as good as it was. To the many departments at St. Martin’s Press; editorial is only the beginning: to Young Lim and the art department for the incredible cover, to Rafal Gibek and William Rees and the rest of production, to Steven Seighman and design for the interior layout, to my marketing and publicity team—Paul Hochman, Loren Jaggers, Justin Velella, Cassandra Galante, and Courtney Sanks—for the many hours they’ve dedicated on behalf of The Trident Deception, to Hannah Braaten, for her cheerful assistance as I attempted to navigate my way through a new literary world, and to the countless sales reps I’ll never meet. And finally, to the publisher of St. Martin’s Press, Sally Richardson, and the editor in chief, George Witte, for making this book possible. Thank you all so much.
To those who helped me get the details in The Trident Deception right: to Commander Pete Arrobio, who walked me through the P-3C submarine prosecution procedures, to Royal Australian Navy Lieutenant Commander Josh Wilkinson, who guided me through the Australian submarine scenarios, and to U.S. Navy Captains Murray Gero and Steve Harrison for refreshing my memory and helping me get the new technical details right. (Some of it isn’t right, on purpose—see Author’s Note in back.) And to Douglas C. Waller—the nuclear weapon release procedures in The Trident Deception are those authorized for public dissemination in his novel, Big Red.
To my writer friends in Purgatory and The Pit, thank you for your support on this long journey; for sharing the good times and pulling me though the bad times. I wouldn’t have made it without you.
And finally, to the men and women in our armed services, and especially the Submarine Force. My heart and thoughts will always be with you.
PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS
(A complete cast of characters is provided in the addendum.)
UNITED STATES ADMINISTRATION
KEVIN HARDISON, chief of staff
CHRISTINE O’CONNOR, national security adviser
STEVE BRACKMAN, senior military aide
DAVE HENDRICKS, deputy director, National Military Command Center, Pentagon
MIKE PATTON, Section Two watchstander, National Military Command Center
ISRAELI ADMINISTRATION
LEVI ROSENFELD, prime minister
EHUD RABIN, defense minister
BARAK KOGEN, intelligence minister
ARIEL BRONNER, director, Metsada
COMSUBPAC
JOHN STANBURY, Commander, Submarine Force Pacific
MURRAY WILSON, senior Prospective Commanding Officer Instructor
USS KENTUCKY
BRAD MALONE, Commanding Officer
BRUCE FAY, Executive Officer
PETE MANNING, Weapons Officer
TOM WILSON, Assistant Weapons Officer
HERB CARVAHLO, Electrical Division Officer
STEVE PRASHAW, Chief of the Boat
ALAN DAVIDSON, Radio Division Chief Petty Officer
TONY DELGRECO, Sonar Division Leading Petty Officer
BOB CIBELLI, Sonar Division Petty Officer
ROGER TRYON, Missile Division Leading Petty Officer
FAST-ATTACK SUBMARINES
KEN TYLER, Commanding Officer, USS San Francisco
DENNIS GALLAGHER, Commanding Officer, USS North Carolina
BRETT HUMPHREYS, Commanding Officer, HMAS Collins
EAGLE-FIVE-ZERO (P-3C AIR CREW)
SCOTT GRAEF, Tactical Coordinator
PETE BURWELL, Communicator
PROLOGUE
WASHINGTON, D.C.
As a full moon cast faint shadows across the narrow paths winding through Rock Creek Park, Russell Evans checked over his shoulder again as he ran at nearly a
full sprint. The young man almost lost his footing on the rocky path above the creek bed, his dress shoes slipping on the damp stones. Stopping behind a thick copse of trees, Evans rested his hands on his knees as he waited for his exhaustion to fade, his heart racing as he gulped the cool night air. Dropping to one knee, he thought about the poor choice he’d made tonight and the danger he now faced.
It had seemed like a wise decision at the time. The man he had chosen to confide in was the one person who had the authority to investigate further. But Evans had misinterpreted the flicker in the man’s eyes when the information had been laid before him, assuming the seasoned government official shared his concern over what he had discovered. Now Evans believed the man’s concern was not for the danger the security breaches represented but for the discovery of the breaches themselves. Evans now realized that had he been older and wiser, had he confided in someone more trustworthy than powerful, he would not be in a desolate park in the middle of the night, fleeing for his life.
Evans pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through his address book, the faint light of the BlackBerry display illuminating his face in the darkness. This time, he selected a person he knew he could trust without question. A draft e-mail appeared. The first line of the message he’d typed was short and cryptic, only seven characters long. He was about to expound when the snap of a twig brought his head up.
Pressing the BlackBerry display against his chest, he scanned his surroundings. But his eyes saw nothing in the dark shadows. He slowed his breathing, keeping it shallow in an effort to listen more closely, but all he heard was the babbling of Rock Creek as it wound south toward the Potomac. As he debated whether to finish the e-mail or resume his flight, a voice reached out from the darkness.
“Stand up.”
Searching in the direction of the voice, Evans spotted its source. In the trees twenty feet away stood a man, his arm raised, pointing a pistol. Evans stood, then took a step back.
“Stay where you are!”
The man’s voice was familiar, but Evans couldn’t place it. His eyes strained to identify the man, but the moon’s faint illumination was insufficient.
“Who are you? What do you want?” Evans asked.
“Who have you told?”
“About what?”
The man stepped closer, his face becoming clearer. “Tell me who you have told, and I’ll spare your life.”
Evans almost laughed. He knew he would be dead in a few minutes regardless of what he revealed. As he held the cell phone against his chest, he slid his thumb along the keyboard and pressed Send. The message was incomplete, but it would have to do. He had run out of time. He dropped his phone on the ground as he replied to his assailant, hoping the sound of the BlackBerry hitting the path wouldn’t be noticed. “I told no one. You caught up to me too soon.”
Evans crushed the phone between the heel of his shoe and the rocky trail with the full weight of his body, until a sharp, impossibly loud crack echoed through the quiet park.
“What are you doing?” the man asked.
“I stepped on a stick,” Evans replied, with no expectation he’d be believed.
“I can see I’ve wasted enough time with you already.”
It appeared Evans had assessed the situation correctly; he would not leave Rock Creek Park alive. But the e-mail had been sent, offering hope the information he had collected would be successfully analyzed. Not that it mattered, Evans stepped toward his executioner, hoping to determine his identity. As the man’s features slowly materialized into a recognizable face, Evans began trembling. He now understood what was at stake, what they were planning to do.
“It’s a shame I have to kill you,” the man said. “But when we’re about to kill millions, what’s one more.” The man squeezed the trigger gradually, until he felt the firm recoil of the pistol in his hand.
* * *
Standing over Evans’s body, the man verified the single shot had done its work. He then scanned the ground with a small flashlight, spotting the fractured BlackBerry. Stooping down, he retrieved the phone, attempting to turn it on. But the phone refused to energize. Realizing what Evans must have done, the man slipped the broken phone into his pocket, confident it could be repaired enough to reveal whom the young man had contacted and what information had been shared.
10 DAYS REMAINING
1
JERUSALEM, ISRAEL
Under normal circumstances, the thirteen men and women seated in the conference room would have been dressed in formal attire, the men wearing crisp business suits, the women turned out in silk blouses and coordinating skirts. They would have struck up lively conversations, attempting to persuade their colleagues to accept one proposal or another, their animated faces reflecting off the room’s varnished chestnut paneling. But tonight, pulled away from their evening activities, they wore sports slacks and shirts, their hair wet and windblown, their faces grim as they sat quietly in their seats, eyes fixed on the man at the head of the U-shaped conference table.
Beads of rain clung to Levi Rosenfeld’s Windbreaker, left there by a spring storm that had settled over the Middle East, expending itself in unbridled fury, sheets of rain descending in cascading torrents. Prime Minister Rosenfeld, flanked by all twelve members of Israel’s National Security Council, fumed silently in his seat as he awaited details of an unprecedented threat to his country’s existence. He wondered how such critical information could have been discovered so late. At the far left of the conference table sat Barak Kogen, Israel’s intelligence minister. Although Kogen was not a member of the Security Council, Rosenfeld had directed him to attend tonight’s meeting to explain the Mossad’s failure.
At the front of the room, a man stood before a large flat-screen monitor. Thin and short, wearing round wire-rimmed glasses, Ehud Rabin’s physical presence failed to reflect the power he wielded as the leader of Israel’s second-strongest political party and as Israel’s defense minister. Ehud waited for Rosenfeld’s permission to begin.
Rosenfeld nodded in his direction.
Pushing his glasses onto the bridge of his nose, Ehud stated what everyone in the room already knew. “The Mossad reports Iran will complete assembly of its first nuclear weapon in ten days.” The lights in the conference room flickered, thunder rumbling in the distance as if on cue.
Rosenfeld looked at his intelligence minister. “Why did we discover this just now, only days before they complete assembly?”
Kogen shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes scanning each member of the Security Council before coming to rest on Rosenfeld. “I apologize, Prime Minister. Nothing is more important than preventing Iran from acquiring nuclear weapons. But Iran has deceived us and the rest of the world. We were fortunate to discover the true extent of their progress in time. We will be more vigilant in the future.”
There was something about Kogen’s quick apology rather than stout defense of his Mossad that gave Rosenfeld the impression he was hiding something. But perhaps the evening’s tension was clouding his intuition. He turned back to Ehud. “What are our options?”
Ehud pressed a remote control in his hand, stepping aside as the monitor flickered to life, displaying a map of Iran. “Weapon assembly is occurring at the Natanz nuclear complex.” A flashing red circle appeared two hundred kilometers south of Tehran. “Uranium for additional weapons is being enriched at Isfahan, and plutonium is being produced at their heavy-water plant near Arak.” Two more red circles appeared in central Iran. “Eliminating the facilities at Arak and Isfahan will be easy, but destruction of their weapon assembly complex at Natanz will be impossible with a conventional strike.” The map zoomed in on the Natanz facility, a sprawling collection of innocuous-looking buildings. “Iran has built a hardened complex beneath the Karkas mountains, connected to the main facility by tunnels. While a conventional strike will collapse the tunnels, it cannot destroy the weapon assembly complex.”
“So how do we destroy this facility?”
�
��Since the complex cannot be destroyed with conventional weapons, that leaves one option.”
Rosenfeld leaned forward in his chair. “What are you proposing?”
Ehud glared at the prime minister. “You know exactly what needs to be done here, Levi. We have a responsibility to protect the citizens of our country. There is no question this weapon will be used against us, either directly or indirectly. We must destroy this facility before Iran completes assembly of this bomb, even if that means we have to employ one of our nuclear weapons.”
The conference room erupted. Some council members passionately agreed with Ehud while others chastised him for proposing such an egregious break in policy. Rosenfeld slammed his fist on the table, silencing the room. “Out of the question! We will not use nuclear weapons unless they are used against us first.”
Ehud’s eyes narrowed. “Then millions of our people will die, because Iran will use this weapon against us. We can either strike now, before our men, women, and children are murdered, or afterward. If we do not strike first, their deaths will be on your conscience.”
The defense minister’s assertion hung in the air as Rosenfeld surveyed his council members, some of them staring back, others with their eyes to the table. Whether they agreed with Ehud or not, they could not avoid the underlying truth.
If Iran assembled this weapon, it would eventually be used against Israel. That was something Israel could not allow. But a nuclear first strike! Although the prime minister and his Security Council had the authority to authorize the use of nuclear weapons, morally …
Rosenfeld looked down one side of the conference table and then the other, examining the faces of the men and women seated around him, eventually returning his attention to Ehud. “Are there are no conventional weapons capable of destroying this complex? Not even in the American arsenal?”
Ehud’s lips drew thin. “The Americans have the necessary weapons. But they will not provide them to us while they engage in discussions with Iran.” Ehud’s voice dripped with disdain as he mentioned America’s attempt to convince Iran to abandon its nuclear ambitions with mere words.
“Do not discount our ally so easily,” Rosenfeld replied. “I will meet with the American ambassador tomorrow and explain the situation.”
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