by Dale Brown
Dedication
This novel is dedicated to U.S. law enforcement and military and civilian security forces located right here in the United States. With all the turmoil and conflicts all over the world, it’s easy to forget those who stand watch over our homes, businesses, and military and government installations in America.
Thank you for your service, your watchfulness, and your dedication to protecting our country. We pray you never have to be used, but we are thankful you’re on the job if the need arises.
Epigraph
Being defeated is often a temporary condition. Giving up is what makes it permanent.
—Marilyn vos Savant, American columnist
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Cast of Characters
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Forty-Three
Forty-Four
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Weapons and Acronyms
About the Author
Also by Dale Brown
Copyright
About the Publisher
Cast of Characters
Americans
STACY ANNE BARBEAU, president of the United States of America
EDWARD RAUCH, president’s national security adviser
LUKE COHEN, White House chief of staff
SCOTT FIRESTONE, admiral, U.S. Navy, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff
KEVIN CALDWELL, admiral, U.S. Navy, director of the National Security Agency
JOHN DALTON FARRELL, governor of Texas and presidential candidate
ANDREW DAVIS, head of Governor Farrell’s security detail, former sergeant in the Iron Wolf Squadron and U.S. Army Special Forces
FRANK JAMESON, owner, Jameson Construction
MARTIN CROWN, chief executive officer, Regan Air Freight
HALSEY STUTZ, chief financial officer, Regan Air Freight
TED LOCKE, director of flight operations, Regan Air Freight
RAFAEL DÍAZ, special agent in charge, U.S. Secret Service
CAPTAIN PAUL FRASER, U.S. Air Force, pilot of HH-60G Pave Hawk search-and-rescue helicopter, Barksdale Air Force Base
COLONEL DANIEL KIM, U.S. Air Force, chief of security for Strategic Command Bunker, Wright-Patterson Air Force Base
TEAM SERGEANT CASIMIR “KAZ” OSTROWSKI, U.S. Army 10th Special Forces Group
LIEUTENANT (JUNIOR GRADE) CARLY DE MELLO, U.S. Navy, radar officer, E-2C Hawkeye 2000
LIEUTENANT TIM LAYTON, U.S. Navy, Combat Information Center officer, E-2C Hawkeye 2000
COMMANDER DENNIS NINOMIYA, U.S. Navy, executive officer, CG-53 MOBILE BAY
LIEUTENANT BRIAN THORSON, U.S. Navy, tactical action officer, CG-53 MOBILE BAY
CAPTAIN BLAIR POLLOCK, U.S. Navy, commander, Naval Base San Diego
KARL ERICSON, National Cable News, broadcast engineer
AMY MAGUIRE, National Cable News, audio assistant
Isle of Man
FRANCIS XAVIER REGAN, Canadian tax exile and billionaire, owner of Regan Air Freight and FXR Trucking, Inc.
Iron Wolf Squadron and Scion
KEVIN MARTINDALE, president of Scion, former president of the United States of America
BRAD McLANAHAN, Cybernetic Infantry Device (CID) pilot and XCV-62 Ranger pilot, Iron Wolf Squadron
PATRICK McLANAHAN, Iron Wolf Squadron training and intelligence expert, former lieutenant general, U.S. Air Force (ret.)
MAJOR NADIA ROZEK, Polish Special Forces officer, attached to Iron Wolf Squadron as a CID pilot, and as copilot and systems operator for XCV-62 Ranger
WAYNE “WHACK” MACOMBER, commander, Iron Wolf Squadron CID operations, former major, U.S. Air Force Special Operations Command (ret.)
IAN SCHOFIELD, commander, Iron Wolf deep-penetration unit, former captain in Canada’s Special Operations Regiment
SAMANTHA KERR, operative, Scion Intelligence
MARCUS CARTWRIGHT, operative, Scion Intelligence
DAVID JONES, operative, Scion Intelligence
Sky Masters Aerospace, Inc.
HUNTER “BOOMER” NOBLE, Ph.D., chief of aerospace engineering, Sky Masters Aerospace, Inc.
JASON RICHTER, colonel, U.S. Army (ret.), Ph.D., chief executive officer
HELEN KADDIRI, Ph.D., president and chair of the board
RICHARD WITT, Ph.D., cyberneticist
Russians
GENNADIY ANATOLIYVICH GRYZLOV, president of the Russian Federation
VIKTOR KAZYANOV, minister of state security
IVAN ULANOV, president’s private secretary
MIKHAIL ARONOV, Ph.D., chief cyberneticist for the State Cybernetics Factory
CAPTAIN YURI BEZRODNY, commander, disguised special operations ship Brodyaga
LIEUTENANT SERGEI ROZONOV, commander, Spetsnaz detachment assigned to Brodyaga
MAJOR VASILY DRAGOMIROV, field operative for Russian military intelligence (GRU)
CAPTAIN EDUARD NAUMOV, technical officer, GRU Ninth Directorate
CAPTAIN DMITRY LEONOV, 22nd Guards Spetsnaz Brigade
SENIOR SERGEANT ANDREI ISAYEV, 22nd Guards Spetsnaz Brigade
COLONEL GENERAL VLADISLAV NIKITIN, commander, Southern Military District
MAJOR GENERAL MAXIM BOROVKOV, chief of staff, Southern Military District
COLONEL IVAN ZAITEV, commander, S-400 Triumf surface-to-air missile battalion
RAZRESHENIYE KONFLIKTOV USLUGI (CONFLICT RESOLUTION SERVICES)—a private military corporation owned by Gennadiy Gryzlov
VLADIMIR KURAKIN, president and chief executive officer, former major general in Russia’s special operations forces
KIRILL ARISTOV, commander RKU reconnaissance and security detachment, former Spetsnaz captain
NIKOLAI DOBRYNIN, second in command, RKU recon detachment, former Spetsnaz lieutenant
PAVEL LARIONOV, RKU recon detachment, former Spetsnaz sergeant
YURI ANNENKOV, commander RKU covert flight operations base in Moab, Utah, pilot for converted Boeing 737-200F cruise-missile carrier, former colonel, Russian Air Force
KONSTANTIN USPENSKY, copilot for 737-200F cruise-missile carrier, former major, Russian Air Force
ANDREJ FILIPPOV, ordnance specialist, former major, Russian Air Force
COLONEL RUSLAN BARYSHEV, commander, Kiberneticheskaya Voyennaya Mashina (Cybernetic War Machine) force, former Su-50 fighter pilot, Russian Air Force
CAPTAIN OLEG IMREKOV, KVM pilot, former Su-50 fighter pilot, Russian Air Force
MAJOR VIKTOR ZELIN, KVM pilot, former Su-34 fighter-bomber pilot
MAJOR ALEXEI BRAGIN, KVM pilot, former Su-27 fighter pilot, Russian Air Force
MAJOR
DMITRY VESELOVSKY, KVM pilot, former Su-35 fighter pilot, Russian Air Force
CAPTAIN SERGEI NOVIKOV, KVM pilot, former Su-34 fighter-bomber pilot, Russian Air Force
Swiss
WILLEM DAENIKER, investment banker chosen by Gennadiy Gryzlov to negotiate the secret purchase of Regan Air Freight and FXR Trucking, Inc.
Poles
PIOTR WILK, president of Poland, former general in the Polish Air Force and commander of the 1st Air Defense Wing
COLONEL PAWEŁ KASPEREK, F-16 fighter pilot and commander of the Polish Air Force’s 3rd Tactical Squadron
KAROL SIKORA, sergeant, Polish Special Forces, attached to Iron Wolf Squadron deep-penetration unit
Hungarians
TIBOR LUKÁCS, prime minister of Hungary
Prologue
GHEAY NIAR ÇHIARNYS (EAST WIND MANOR), ISLE OF MAN, IN THE IRISH SEA
LATE FALL 2019
Willem Daeniker glanced at the security guard seated across from him. A faint bulge beneath the other man’s dark jacket showed he was armed. The Swiss investment banker hid a wry smile as he looked away, out through the tinted windows of the big black Mercedes limousine. They were headed north along a winding, rain-slick road.
Overhead, bands of storm clouds drifted slowly across the sky, soaking hills and valleys that had been continuously inhabited for more than eight thousand years. Over the long millennia, wave after wave of peoples—Stone Age tribesmen, invading Gaels from Ireland, warlike Vikings, and then the rival Scots and English—had descended on this small island to hunt and fish and farm. But the old ways were passing fast, supplanted by wealthy newcomers and corporations lured by low taxes and limited regulation. Offshore banking and high-tech manufacturing were the forces driving the Isle of Man’s economy now. And so, one by one, centuries-old estates and homes fell into the hands of rich businessmen from around the world.
Men like Daeniker’s host, Francis Xavier Regan.
Like many of the world’s super rich, the reclusive Canadian billionaire ruthlessly shielded his privacy. Very few people were ever invited onto his property and they were always subject to close scrutiny. Tabloid journalists and other trespassers were met by armed watchmen and snarling dogs.
Tires crunched on wet gravel as the Mercedes swung onto a long drive. East Wind Manor’s age-darkened stone façade, turrets, and chimneys loomed ahead through the dreary gray light of the fading day. Beside its massive front door, a somber manservant stood huddled under an umbrella, waiting to greet him.
Once indoors out of the damp, Daeniker eyed his surroundings with interest. Stone floors overlaid by beautiful Persian rugs, dark oak paneling, gleaming suits of armor, ornate coats of arms, and walls lined with expensive paintings conveyed an overwhelming aura of both vast wealth and a distinguished and ancient lineage. The wealth was Regan’s by right, the Swiss thought cynically. But since his immigrant Irish father had been nothing more than a day laborer, the noble lineage belonged entirely to this purchased house.
Meeting the billionaire in the flesh did nothing to dispel that cynical view.
Regan, a tall, burly man in his midsixties, nodded curtly to a chair. “Well, Mr. Daeniker?” he demanded. “What have you got for me?”
Unfazed by this rudeness, the Swiss banker opened his briefcase and took out a thick sheaf of documents. The international consortium he represented wanted to buy two of the other man’s privately held North American enterprises—FXR Trucking and Regan Air Freight. And the Canadian wanted to sell. Though these midsized transportation companies were the original foundation of his enormous fortune, Regan was not a sentimental man. In President Stacy Anne Barbeau’s overtaxed and overregulated America, neither business was worth his continued investment of time and money.
Donning a polite smile, he handed the documents across the desk. “I think you will find everything is in order, Mr. Regan.”
“Maybe so,” the other man said brusquely. “And maybe not.”
Daeniker frowned, feeling uncertain for the first time. Both sides had already agreed on a price. Even more important, neither wanted to trigger any “inconvenient” scrutiny by government tax officials and regulatory agencies. What kind of game was Regan playing now?
The billionaire looked back at him with a cold expression. “Your clients like to live dangerously, Mr. Daeniker. If they’d dicked around with me for just twelve more hours, they would have been shit out of luck.”
The Swiss banker nodded. Regan was due to depart on his annual sailing vacation at dawn the next morning. Every year, before the worst winter weather hit the Isle of Man, he took his prized Dutch-built yacht, Bear Venture, on a weeks-long cruise south to Spain and then across the Atlantic to his second home in the Cayman Islands. And he made it a rule never to conduct any serious business while at sea.
“I regret the various delays,” Daeniker said. He spread his hands. “But when one is dealing with the different interests of so many prospective investors, they are sometimes unavoidable.”
Regan snorted.
For a moment, Daeniker had the uncomfortable impression the other man knew he was lying. In truth, his real client had carefully controlled the timing of their negotiations. From the beginning, his orders had been clear: The deal must be concluded only in the hours just before Regan set sail from the Isle of Man.
“Unavoidable or not, those delays are going to cost you,” Regan said, showing his teeth. He stabbed at the contracts with one powerful forefinger. “I’ll sign these. But my asking price just went up fifty million euros.”
Daeniker raised an eyebrow. “Fifty million euros more? For what reason?”
“For two reasons,” the other man told him coolly. “First, your buyers have inconvenienced me. They’ve wasted my time with bullshit. Nobody does that for free.”
Regan leaned back in his chair, looking smug. “And second, as a means of guaranteeing your clients’ continued anonymity. It’s obvious that this ‘consortium’ of yours is nothing but window dressing. And ordinarily, I don’t do business with folks I don’t know. But I’m willing to make an exception in this case . . . at a price.”
Daeniker kept his mouth shut.
“So here’s the situation as I see it,” Regan went on. “Your real buyers have tried hard to hide themselves.” He shrugged. “Maybe because they want to dodge some confiscatory taxes or nitpicking regulations. Or maybe because they’re the sort of people who need new ways to make dirty money a little cleaner. So what I figure is that your mysterious principals really don’t want my security people poking and prying around to identify them, Mr. Daeniker.” He smiled thinly. “My bet is that you’re empowered to sweeten this deal to make sure it goes through on time . . . and without any inconvenient truths coming out. Correct?”
Daeniker sat motionless for several moments, thinking fast. At last, he sighed. “Such a circumstance was not entirely unforeseen. I am authorized to go a bit higher, but no more than—”
Regan shook his head. “We are not bargaining here.” His eyes were stony. “The price goes up fifty million. Or you leave empty-handed. It’s your call.”
“You are a hard man, Mr. Regan.”
The other man nodded. “That I am. Which is why I’m sitting on this side of the desk and you’re on the other, Mr. Daeniker.”
An hour later, Willem Daeniker watched the dark stone walls and dim lights of East Wind Manor disappear behind him, swallowed up by night and rain. The Mercedes swung onto the main road, heading back to the airport where a private jet sat fueled and waiting. Frowning, he pulled out his smartphone and typed a short text message to Russian president Gennadiy Gryzlov waiting impatiently in Moscow, sixteen hundred miles due east of the Isle of Man: Arrangements complete. Cost 50m higher than hoped. Unfortunately, seller still shows regrettable curiosity.
SPECIAL OPERATIONS SHIP BRODYAGA (PROWLER), FAR OUT IN THE ATLANTIC OCEAN
SEVERAL NIGHTS LATER
Stars speckled the moonless night sky—tiny points of light glitter
ing in the midst of infinite blackness. Far below, in inky darkness, an elegant craft more than a hundred meters long and with a displacement of over four thousand tons slid gracefully through long, rolling waves. Without any running lights illuminating her superstructure, the destroyer-sized ship was almost invisible.
Seen in daylight and from a distance, Brodyaga looked like a luxury mega-yacht, not a warship. Her sleek lines and floor-to-ceiling windows mirrored those of other gleaming, ultramodern private vessels owned by the world’s wealthiest men and women, including a number of Russia’s leading industrialists and business oligarchs.
In reality, Brodyaga was a disguised intelligence and special operations vessel for the Russian Navy. If necessary, she could discreetly slip in and out of foreign ports that were otherwise off-limits to Russia’s surface combatants and spy ships. Nor was she routinely trailed by Western warships and aircraft while at sea—which gave her the necessary freedom of movement to conduct any number of covert missions.
Like this one.
Brodyaga’s red-lit Combat Information Center was buried deep in her hull, far below the spacious staterooms and luxurious fittings used to fool foreign observers. Crammed full of sophisticated electronics and displays, it was a hive of quiet, purposeful activity.
Captain Yuri Bezrodny leaned over the shoulder of one of his junior lieutenants. Carefully, he studied the low-light images transmitted by a drone flying forty kilometers ahead. They showed a large, two-masted ketch sailing downwind at around four knots. His eyes narrowed. There were no other ships or aircraft within effective radar range. Their sonar reported no subsurface contacts. And the sea state and weather conditions were near optimal.
He straightened up and turned to his executive officer. “Launch the strike team.”
Forty minutes later, a rigid inflatable boat, comparable to the F470 Zodiac rubber raiding craft used by U.S. Navy SEALs, sped across the sea at nearly fifteen knots. A coxswain manned the tiller at the rear and seven more Spetsnaz combat frogmen straddled the gunwale, lying low to reduce their profile. They wore black wet suits and night-vision gear. Compact Groza-4 assault carbines were slung across their shoulders. Fitted with suppressors on shortened barrels, the weapons were designed for close-quarters clandestine action.
