Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
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II
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IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
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XVI
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XVIII
XIX
AFTERWORD
“W.E.B. Griffin is the best chronicler of the U.S. military ever to put pen to paper—and rates among the best storytellers in any genre.”
—The Phoenix Gazette
Praise for THE HOSTAGE
“IS GRIFFIN OUR HOMER OR TACITUS? Those military experts wrote about real soldiers and what the world needs now is a real-life Charley Castillo, Griffin’s smart and efficient Department of Homeland Security agent . . . Castillo and his team of tough and shrewd experts are just the kind of believable people we want in these situations. And if it takes a novelist like Griffin, who has honed his skills and weapons in five previous series, to bring them to life, at least their real counterparts will have some fictional role models to live up to.” —Publishers Weekly
“WILL APPEAL TO THRILLER READERS, especially Griffin’s many fans . . . [The Hostage has] fast pacing and the relevance of the story to today’s events and headlines.”
—Booklist
BY ORDER OF THE PRESIDENT
“CUTTING-EDGE MILITARY MATERIAL . . . Those who love Griffin’s stories of past wars will take to this new series based on present and future conflicts.”
—Publishers Weekly
“PLENTY OF ACTION, HIGH-LEVEL INTRIGUE, interesting characters, flip dialogue, romance, and a whole lot of drinking and other carrying on.” —Library Journal
RETREAT, HELL!
“LOVERS OF MILITARY YARNS WILL GRAB THIS BOOK.” —The Columbus Dispatch
“GRIFFIN . . . STICKS MORE CLOSELY TO THE ACTION AND MOVES AHEAD WITH GALVANIZED SELF-ASSURANCE.” —Kirkus Reviews
“ANOTHER SOLID ENTRY . . . Veterans of the series will enjoy finding old comrades caught up in fresh adventures, while new-guy readers can easily enter here and pick up the ongoing story.” —Publishers Weekly
W.E.B. GRIFFIN’S CLASSIC SERIES
THE CORPS
The bestselling saga of the heroes we call Marines . . .
“GREAT READING. A superb job of mingling fact and fiction . . . [Griffin’s] characters come to life.”
—The Sunday Oklahoman
“THIS MAN HAS REALLY DONE HIS HOME-WORK . . . I confess to impatiently awaiting the appearance of succeeding books in the series.” —The Washington Post
“ACTION-PACKED . . . DIFFICULT TO PUT DOWN.”
—Marine Corps Gazette
HONOR BOUND
The high drama and real heroes of World War II . . .
“ROUSING . . . AN IMMENSELY ENTERTAINING ADVENTURE.” —Kirkus Reviews
“A TAUTLY WRITTEN STORY whose twists and turns will keep readers guessing until the last page.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A SUPERIOR WAR STORY.” —Library Journal
BROTHERHOOD OF WAR
The series that launched W.E.B. Griffin’s phenomenal career . . .
“AN AMERICAN EPIC.” —Tom Clancy
“FIRST-RATE. Griffin, a former soldier, skillfully sets the stage, melding credible characters, a good eye for detail, and colorful gritty dialogue into a readable and entertaining story.” —The Washington Post Book World
“ABSORBING, salted-peanuts reading filled with detailed and fascinating descriptions of weapons, tactics, Green Beret training, army life, and battle.”
—The New York Times Book Review
“A CRACKLING GOOD STORY. It gets into the hearts and minds of those who by choice or circumstance are called upon to fight our nation’s wars.”
—William R. Corson, Lt. Col. [Ret.], U.S.M.C., author of The Betrayal and The Armies of Ignorance
“A MAJOR WORK . . . MAGNIFICENT . . . POWERFUL . . . If books about warriors and the women who love them were given medals for authenticity, insight, and honesty, Brotherhood of War would be covered with them.”
—William Bradford Huie, author of The Klansman and The Execution of Private Slovik
BADGE OF HONOR
Griffin’s electrifying epic series of a big-city police force . . .
“DAMN EFFECTIVE . . . He captivates you with characters the way few authors can.” —Tom Clancy
“TOUGH, AUTHENTIC . . . POLICE DRAMA AT ITS BEST . . . Readers will feel as if they’re part of the investigation, and the true-to-life characters will soon feel like old friends. Excellent reading.” —Dale Brown
“COLORFUL . . . GRITTY . . . TENSE.”
—The Philadelphia Inquirer
“A REAL WINNER.” —New York Daily News
MEN AT WAR
The legendary OSS—fighting a silent war of spies and assassins in the shadows of World War II . . .
“WRITTEN WITH A SPECIAL FLAIR for the military heart and mind.” —Winfield Daily Courier (KS)
“SHREWD, SHARP, ROUSING ENTERTAINMENT.”
—Kirkus Reviews
ALSO BY W.E.B. GRIFFIN
HONOR BOUND
HONOR BOUND
BLOOD AND HONOR
SECRET HONOR
BROTHERHOOD OF WAR
BOOK I: THE LIEUTENANTS
BOOK II: THE CAPTAINS
BOOK III: THE MAJORS
BOOK IV: THE COLONELS
BOOK V: THE BERETS
BOOK VI: THE GENERALS
BOOK VII: THE NEW BREED
BOOK VIII: THE AVIATORS
BOOK IX: SPECIAL OPS
THE CORPS
BOOK I: SEMPER FI
BOOK II: CALL TO ARMS
BOOK III: COUNTERATTACK
BOOK IV: BATTLEGROUND
BOOK V: LINE OF FIRE
BOOK VI: CLOSE COMBAT
BOOK VII: BEHIND THE LINES
BOOK VIII: IN DANGER’S PATH
BOOK IX: UNDER FIRE
BOOK X: RETREAT, HELL!
BADGE OF HONOR
BOOK I: MEN IN BLUE
BOOK II: SPECIAL OPERATIONS
BOOK III: THE VICTIM
BOOK IV: THE WITNESS
BOOK V: THE ASSASSIN
BOOK VI: THE MURDERERS
BOOK VII: THE INVESTIGATORS
BOOK VIII: FINAL JUSTICE
MEN AT WAR
BOOK I: THE LAST HEROES
BOOK II: THE SECRET WARRIORS
BOOK III: THE SOLDIER SPIES
BOOK IV: THE FIGHTING AGENTS
BOOK V: THE SABOTEURS
(with William E. Butterworth IV)
PRESIDENTIAL AGENT
BOOK I: BY ORDER OF THE PRESIDENT
BOOK II: THE HOSTAGE
BOOK III: THE HUNTERS
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
THE HOSTAGE
A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author
Copyright © 2006 by W.E.B. Griffin.
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26 July 1777
The necessity of procuring good intelligence is apparent and need not be further urged.
George Washington
General and Commander in Chief
The Continental Army
FOR THE LATE
WILLIAM E. COLBY
An OSS Jedburgh first lieutenant
who became director of the Central Intelligence Agency.
AARON BANK
An OSS Jedburgh first lieutenant
who became a colonel and the father of Special Forces.
WILLIAM R. CORSON
A legendary Marine intelligence officer
whom the KGB hated more than any other U.S. Intelligence
officer—and not only because he wrote the definitive
work on them.
FOR THE LIVING
BILLY WAUGH
A legendary Special Forces command sergeant major
who retired and then went on to hunt down the infamous
Carlos the Jackal.
Billy could have terminated Osama bin Laden
in the early 1990s but could not get permission to do so.
After fifty years in the business, Billy
is still going after the bad guys.
RENÉ J. DÉFOURNEAUX
A U.S. Army OSS second lieutenant attached to the British
SOE who jumped into Occupied France alone and later
became a legendary U.S. Army counterintelligence officer.
JOHNNY REITZEL
An Army special operations officer who could have
terminated the head terrorist of the seized cruise ship
Achille Lauro but could not get permission to do so.
RALPH PETERS
An Army intelligence officer
who has written the best analysis of our war against
terrorists and of our enemy that I have ever seen.
AND FOR THE NEW BREED
MARC L.
A senior intelligence officer despite his youth
who reminds me of Bill Colby more and more each day.
FRANK L.
A legendary Defense Intelligence Agency officer
who retired and now follows in Billy Waugh’s footsteps.
OUR NATION OWES THESE PATRIOTS
A DEBT BEYOND REPAYMENT.
I
[ONE]
Flughafen Schwechat Vienna, Austria 1630 12 July 2005
As an American, Jean-Paul Lorimer was always annoyed or embarrassed, or both, every time he arrived at Vienna’s international airport. The first thing one saw when entering the terminal was a Starbucks kiosk.
The arrogance of Americans to sell coffee in Vienna! With such a lurid red neon sign!
Dr. Jean-Paul Lorimer, Ph.D.—a very black man of forty-six who was somewhat squat, completely bald, spoke in a nasal tone, and wore the latest in European fashion, including tiny black-framed glasses and Italian loafers in which he more waddled than walked—had written his doctoral thesis on Central European history. He knew there had been coffee in Europe as early as 1600.
Dr. Lorimer also knew that after the siege of Vienna in 1683, the fleeing Turkish Army left behind bags of “black fodder.” Franz Georg Kolschitzky, a Viennese who had lived in Turkey, recognized it as coffee. Kolschitzky promptly opened the first coffeehouse. It offered free newspapers for his customers to read while they were drinking his coffee, which he refined by straining out the grounds and adding milk and sugar.
It was an immediate success, and coffee almost immediately became a part of cultured society in the Austro-Hungarian Empire. And spread from there around the world.
Dr. Lorimer waddled past the line of travelers at the kiosk, shaking his head in disgust. And now the Americans are bringing it, as if they invented it, like Coca-Cola, to the world? Spreading American culture? Good God! Outrageous!
Dr. Jean-Paul Lorimer no longer thought of himself as an American. For the past twenty-two years, he had been a career professional employee of the United Nations, with the personal rank of minister for the past five.
His title was chief, European directorate of interagency coordination. It had its headquarters in Paris, and thus he had lived there nearly a quarter-century. He had purchased an apartment several years ago on Rue Monsieur in the VII Arrondissement and planned—when the time was right—to buy a little house somewhere on the Côte d’Azur. He hadn’t even considered, until recently, ever returning to the United States to live.
Dr. Lorimer’s blue, gold-stamped United Nations diplomatic passport saw him waved quickly past the immigration officer on duty.
He got in the taxi line, watched as the driver put his small, take-aboard suitcase into the trunk of a Mercedes, got in the back and told the driver, in German, to take him to an address on Cobenzlgasse.
Lorimer had mixed feelings, most of them bad, about Vienna, starting with the fact that it was difficult to get here from Paris by air. There was no direct service. One had to go to either London or Brussels first to catch a plane. Today, because he had to get here as quickly as possible, he’d come via London. An extra hour and a half of travel time that got him here two hours earlier than going through Brussels would have.
There was the train, of course, The Mozart, but that took forever. Whenever he could, Lorimer dispatched one of his people to deal with things in Vienna.
It was a beautiful city, of course. Lorimer thought of it as the capital city of a nonexistent empire. But it was very expensive—not that that mattered to him anymore—and there was a certain racist ambience. There was practically none of that in Paris, which was one of the reasons Lorimer loved France generally and Paris in particular.
He changed his line of thought from the unpleasant to the pleasant. While there was nothing at all wrong with the women in Paris, a little variety was always pleasant. You could have a buxom blond from Poland or Russia here in Vienna, and that wasn’t always the case in Paris.
Jean-Paul Lorimer had never married. When he’d been working his way up, there just hadn’t been the time or the money, and when he reached a position where he could afford to marry, there still hadn’t been the time.
There had been a film about ten years ago in which the actor Michael Caine had played a senior diplomat
who similarly simply didn’t have the time to take a wife, and had found his sexual release with top-notch hookers. Jean-Paul reluctantly had identified with Caine’s character.
The apartment Lorimer was going to was the Viennese pied-à-terre of Henri Douchon, a Lebanese business associate. Henri, as Lorimer, was of Negroid ancestry—with some Arab, of course, but a black-skinned man, taller and more slender—who also had never married and who enjoyed buxom blond women.
Henri also liked lithe blond young men—that sort of thing was common in the Middle East—but he sensed that Jean-Paul was made uncomfortable in that ambience, and ran them off from the apartment when Jean-Paul was in town, replacing them with the buxom blond Poles or whatever they both liked. Sometimes four or even six of them.
I might as well enjoy myself; God only knows what will happen tomorrow.
There was no response to the doorbell of the apartment when Jean-Paul rang it.
Henri had not answered his phone, either, when Jean-Paul called that morning from Paris to tell him he was coming. He had called from one of the directorate’s phones—not his—so the call couldn’t be traced to him, and he hadn’t left a message on the answering machine, either, for the same reason.
But he knew Henri was in town because when he was not, he unplugged his telephone, which caused the number to “ring” forever without activating the answering machine.
Jean-Paul waited exactly ninety seconds—timing it with his Omega chronometer as he looked back onto Cobenzlgasse, the cobblestone street that he knew led up the hill to the position where Field Marshal Radetsky had his headquarters when the Turks were at the gates of Vienna—before putting his key in the lock.
There was no telling what Henri might be doing, and might be unwilling to immediately interrupt. It was simply good manners to give him ninety seconds.
When he pushed the door open, he could hear music—Bartók, Jean-Paul decided—which suggested Henri was at home.
“Henri,” he called. “C’est moi, Jean-Paul!”
There was no answer.
As he walked into the apartment, there was an odor he could not immediately identify. The door from the sitting room to Henri’s bedroom was open. The bed was mussed but empty.
Jean-Paul found Henri in the small office, which Henri somewhat vainly called the study.
The Hostage Page 1
