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    Brass Monkey: James Acton Thrillers, #2
    Brass Monkey: James Acton Thrillers, #2
    Brass Monkey: James Acton Thrillers, #2
    Ebook445 pages6 hoursJames Acton Thrillers

    Brass Monkey: James Acton Thrillers, #2

    By J. Robert Kennedy

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    • Mystery

    • Adventure

    • Friendship

    • Nuclear Weapons

    • Military Operations

    • Chosen One

    • Race Against Time

    • Secret Society

    • Heroic Sacrifice

    • Mole

    • Ancient Conspiracy

    • Nuclear Threat

    • Mentor

    • Damsel in Distress

    • International Intrigue

    • Deception

    • Archaeology

    • Espionage

    • Egypt

    • Fear

    About this ebook

    *** FROM USA TODAY & MILLION COPY BESTSELLING AUTHOR J. ROBERT KENNEDY ***

    WILL A FORGOTTEN WEAPON AND AN UNCONTROLLABLE HATE UNLEASH THE ULTIMATE WAR?

     

    A nuclear missile, lost during the Cold War, is now in play—the most public spy swap in history, with a gorgeous agent at the center of international attention, triggers the endgame of a corrupt Soviet colonel's 25-year plan. Pursued across the globe by the Russian authorities, including a brutal Spetsnaz unit, those involved will stop at nothing to deliver their weapon and ensure their payday, regardless of the terrifying consequences.

    When Laura Palmer confronts a UNICEF group for trespassing on her Egyptian archaeological dig site, she unwittingly stumbles upon the ultimate weapons deal, and becomes entangled in an international conspiracy that sends her lover, Archaeology Professor James Acton, racing to Egypt with the most unlikely of allies, not only to rescue her, but to prevent the start of a holy war that could result in Islam and Christianity wiping each other out.

    If you enjoy action-packed thrillers, then don't miss Brass Monkey, a novel international in scope, certain to offend some, and stimulate debate in others. Brass Monkey, from USA Today and million copy bestselling author J. Robert Kennedy, pulls no punches in confronting the conflict between two of the world's most powerful, and divergent, religions, and the terrifying possibilities the future may hold if left unchecked.

     

    Grab your copy of this controversial thriller today, and see why J. Robert Kennedy has been compared to Brown, Cussler, and Rollins.

     

    About the James Acton Thrillers:

     

    ★★★★★ "James Acton: A little bit of Jack Bauer and Indiana Jones!"

     

    Though this book is part of the James Acton Thrillers series, it is written as a standalone novel and can be enjoyed without having read any of the previous installments.

     

    ★★★★★ "Non-stop action that is impossible to put down."

     

    The James Acton Thrillers series and its spin-offs, the Special Agent Dylan Kane Thrillers and the Delta Force Unleashed Thrillers, have sold over one million copies. If you love non-stop action and intrigue with a healthy dose of humor, try James Acton today!

     

    ★★★★★ "A great blend of history and current headlines."

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherUnderMill Press
    Release dateNov 28, 2014
    ISBN9781502265906
    Brass Monkey: James Acton Thrillers, #2
    Author

    J. Robert Kennedy

    With millions of books sold, award-winning and USA Today bestselling author J. Robert Kennedy has been ranked by Amazon as the #1 Bestselling Action Adventure novelist based upon combined sales. He is a full-time writer and the author of over seventy international bestsellers including the smash hit James Acton Thrillers.

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      Brass Monkey - J. Robert Kennedy

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      Award winning and USA Today bestselling author J. Robert Kennedy has sold over one million books, and is now giving some away for free! Join The Insider’s Club to be notified when new books are released, and as a thank you, get his 5 book Starter Library for free along with other bonus materials available nowhere else!

      Find out more at www.jrobertkennedy.com.

      Follow me on Facebook, BookBub, GoodReads and Twitter.

      BOOKS BY J. ROBERT KENNEDY

      Please click here for the intended reading order.

      * Also available in audio

      The Templar Detective Thrillers

      The Templar Detective

      The Templar Detective and the Parisian Adulteress

      The Templar Detective and the Sergeant's Secret

      The Templar Detective and the Unholy Exorcist

      The Templar Detective and the Code Breaker

      The Templar Detective and the Black Scourge

      The Templar Detective and the Lost Children

      The James Acton Thrillers

      The Protocol *

      Brass Monkey *

      Broken Dove

      The Templar’s Relic

      Flags of Sin

      The Arab Fall

      The Circle of Eight

      The Venice Code

      Pompeii’s Ghosts

      Amazon Burning

      The Riddle

      Blood Relics

      Sins of the Titanic

      Saint Peter’s Soldiers

      The Thirteenth Legion

      Raging Sun

      Wages of Sin

      Wrath of the Gods

      The Templar’s Revenge

      The Nazi’s Engineer

      Atlantis Lost

      The Cylon Curse

      The Viking Deception

      Keepers of the Lost Ark

      The Tomb of Genghis Khan

      The Manila Deception

      The Fourth Bible

      Embassy of the Empire

      Armageddon

      No Good Deed

      The Last Soviet

      Lake of Bones

      Fatal Reunion

      The Special Agent Dylan Kane Thrillers

      Rogue Operator *

      Containment Failure *

      Cold Warriors *

      Death to America

      Black Widow

      The Agenda

      Retribution

      State Sanctioned

      Extraordinary Rendition

      Red Eagle

      The Messenger

      The Delta Force Unleashed Thrillers

      Payback

      Infidels

      The Lazarus Moment

      Kill Chain

      Forgotten

      The Cuban Incident

      Rampage

      Inside the Wire

      The Detective Shakespeare Mysteries

      Depraved Difference

      Tick Tock

      The Redeemer

      The Kriminalinspektor Wolfgang Vogel Mysteries

      The Colonel’s Wife

      Sins of the Child

      Zander Varga, Vampire Detective Series

      The Turned

      TABLE OF CONTENTS

      Table of Contents

      The Novel

      Definitions

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 20

      Chapter 21

      Chapter 22

      Chapter 23

      Chapter 24

      Chapter 25

      Chapter 26

      Chapter 27

      Chapter 28

      Chapter 29

      Chapter 30

      Chapter 31

      Chapter 32

      Chapter 33

      Chapter 34

      Chapter 35

      Chapter 36

      Chapter 37

      Chapter 38

      Chapter 39

      Chapter 40

      Chapter 41

      Chapter 42

      Chapter 43

      Chapter 44

      Chapter 45

      Chapter 46

      Chapter 47

      Chapter 48

      Chapter 49

      Chapter 50

      Chapter 51

      Chapter 52

      Chapter 53

      Chapter 54

      Chapter 55

      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

      Chapter 89

      Chapter 90

      Chapter 91

      Chapter 92

      Chapter 93

      Chapter 94

      Chapter 95

      Chapter 96

      Chapter 97

      Chapter 98

      Epilogue

      Acknowledgments

      Sample of Next Book

      Don't Miss Out!

      Thank You!

      About the Author

      Also by the Author

      For my dad, who tirelessly scoured the web and harassed his contacts, in search of answers to hundreds of questions posed, with no hint of the context in which they were asked, and for no reward other than the love of a grateful son.

      DEFINITIONS

      Peacetime definition of Brass Monkey:

      The Brass Monkey recall procedure is to prevent violations of the neutral airspaces of Austria and Switzerland by allied aircraft. Brass Monkey is a peacetime procedure initiated by the units of the Tactical Air Command and Control Service, and is applicable to all allied aircraft in German airspace.

      Cold War definition of Brass Monkey:

      A Brass Monkey recall indicated a NATO aircraft had violated Warsaw Pact airspace. When this occurred, a Brass Monkey was broadcast, and all combat aircraft operating in the vicinity of the eastern borders were to immediately reverse course and return to base, regardless of whether they thought they were in the correct location. During the Cold War, Brass Monkey recalls were never publicized. To this day, NATO has never acknowledged they occurred, and deny any aircraft were shot down violating Warsaw Pact airspace.

      Definition of Nap-of-the-Earth (NOE) flight:

      A very low-level type of flight designed to avoid detection by the enemy. During the Cold War, NATO air forces would routinely practice NOE flying, rushing the Warsaw Pact borders then suddenly turning back at the last minute. Typically, these flights were armed with conventional weapons, and on occasion, fully armed tactical nuclear weapons. NATO has never admitted to these flights, and denies any were lost.

      In Germany they first came for the Communists, and I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a Communist. Then they came for the Jews, and I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a Jew. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a trade unionist. Then they came for the Catholics, and I didn’t speak up because I was a Protestant. Then they came for me-and by that time no one was left to speak up.

      Reverend Martin Niemoller

      Description: Chapter Header 1 |

      West German Airspace

      July 23, 1985

      Major Simon Donavan, callsign Juggernaut, yawned. He had done this run a hundred times before, and he’d do it a hundred times again. This time was different, what with the nuke he had loaded in the bomb bay, and the fact his wingman had returned to base with an equipment malfunction. Beyond that, everything else about this nap-of-the-earth flight was routine. They hugged the deck as the mighty engines of the FB-111F fighter-bomber, unofficially but affectionately nicknamed the Aardvark, strained, eager to reach the battlefield its crew hoped they would never see.

      He pulled up on the stick slightly as a thatch of tall trees neared, his fun meter momentarily pegged as he recalled the report of the Canadian F-104 Starfighter pilot that flew his single-engine jet home last month after a bird strike. Unfortunately, the bird was in its nest and the pilot had the branch in his intake to prove it. Pilots across NATO had assigned him a new callsign—Treehugger.

      He wasn’t amused.

      If only the peaceniks knew what we were doing!

      Juggernaut smiled at his Weapons Systems Officer. Captain Mike Minkey Trotter had been his WSO for the past two years, and like him, knew the routine like the back of his hand. This was one of their assigned runs, the actual one decided when hostilities broke out. And if it were this run, this was the exact route they would take. No exceptions, no deviations. Rush the border at treetop level, cross into enemy territory, and deliver your nukes. This was NATO’s answer to the Warsaw Pact’s overwhelming numbers. If the enemy reaches the Rhine, we go nuclear—Europe would not be lost.

      I’m hugging the deck so hard if this plane had balls, they’d be shaved. If those pinkos knew, they’d probably try to shoot us down themselves!

      "Yeah, the morons. Don’t they realize nukes are the only things keeping those damned Rooskies out of their backyard?"

      Yeah, and Ivan would love a little payback on the Germans.

      Minkey snorted, summoning his best Russian accent. Allo, Siegfried, my name Ivan. Payback is ah beetch!

      Juggernaut’s laugh was cut off as he entered heavy low-lying clouds. His TACAN indicated he was twenty nautical miles from the border, but it didn’t jive with his knowledge of the terrain. Hey, Minkey, check our position, will ya?

      Roger. Minkey examined the readings. TAC says we’re sixteen miles but Inertial says one. That can’t be right. We’d be in the Buffer Zone.

      Inertial’s been off before. Contact GCI just to make sure.

      Before Minkey could contact Ground Control Intercept, their comm squawked.

      Brass Monkey! Brass Monkey! Brass Monkey!

      Juggernaut’s heart leaped.

      Is that us? yelled Minkey.

      I don’t know, but let’s get the hell out of here. Juggernaut jerked his stick to the left, banking the lumbering Aardvark in a one-eighty he had done innumerable times before, though never in a Brass Monkey situation where he was this close to the East German border. A flashing indicator on his cockpit followed by an alarm momentarily distracted him.

      We’ve got a threat alarm! I’m showing a SAM launch!

      Castle-Rock, this is Foxtrot two-ten. We are under attack, say again, we are under attack. TAC shows us in friendly airspace, am deploying flares. Minkey was already launching flares and chaff to confuse the missile. If they had indeed strayed into enemy airspace, it was probably due to the Soviets spoofing their TACAN.

      Foxtrot two-ten, this is Castle-Rock. We show you two nautical miles outside the green zone, over.

      Damn! Juggernaut had the engines maxed, but this beast wouldn’t make two miles before the SAM hit. Status on inbound!

      Flares had no effect, still on target. Estimate impact in ten seconds. We’ve got to eject!

      Not with this damned cargo!

      If he could get them back across the border, they might have to jettison the missile on bailout, but at least it would be in friendly hands. He pushed the engines even harder as he flattened from his turn and glanced out his canopy at the contrail rapidly approaching. In a last-ditch effort, he pushed the stick hard forward, sending the aircraft into a rapid dive. He thought of his wife and son as the plane’s tail jerked from the missile contact.

      Description: Chapter Header 2 |

      Mobile SAM Site

      East Germany

      Major Grigori Andreievich Trubitsin stared through his binoculars, his face revealing none of the elation he felt inside. For years, he had spoofed the NATO TACAN with no success, using a cobbled-together system based upon plans obtained from a French contact. He always laughed at the fact NATO continued to let France sit at the same table when they refused to commit to the organization, and was happy to take advantage of NATO’s naiveté.

      Capitalist pigs. Your arrogance will be your undoing.

      The SA-8b Surface to Air Missile he had ordered launched moments before sped toward its prey. In less than a minute, it was all over. A cacophony of shrapnel from the airframe, burning jet fuel, and exploding ordnance was all that was left of the FB-111F that had strayed illegally into their airspace.

      Of course, the Motherland would never admit to the fact the plane was tricked and had innocently crossed into East German airspace. That was irrelevant. All that was relevant was that he, Major Grigori Trubitsin, highly decorated member of the Russian Armed Forces, hero of Kabul, Order of Lenin recipient, had brought down a NATO aircraft. And now he would claim credit for whatever technology they retrieved from it.

      He and his squad of five men climbed into two UAZ-469 light utility vehicles and raced for the smoldering wreckage in the nearby hills. Within minutes they arrived, covering the final few feet on foot. As they neared the crash site, he saw larger and larger pieces of debris, debris that might yield valuable secrets for Mother Russia.

      Ordering his men to fan out, they moved forward in a straight line, searching for the cockpit. It didn’t take long to find it lying on its side, its canopy glass shattered, severed from the plane’s rear half. He bent over and peered inside, finding the two crewmembers still strapped in their seats. Drawing his weapon, he slapped the pilot. The man stirred slightly.

      Good, prisoners for interrogation!

      Leaning over the pilot, he reached out with his left hand to see if the weapons officer was alive. Before he could check, the man’s eyes opened. Startled, Trubitsin accidentally squeezed the trigger, shooting him through the neck.

      This brought his squad running toward his position, his second-in-command jumping onto the nose cone from the other side. Comrade Major, are you okay?

      Yes, Lieutenant. He pointed at the pilot. This one is alive. Get him out and tend to his wounds. Don’t let him die, the KGB will want to interrogate him.

      Yes, Comrade Major.

      He swore the young man’s boot heels clicked, which should be impossible since he was sprawled across the front of the aircraft. He was a good soldier of the Soviet Union. Followed orders, impeccably neat, fiercely loyal. Exactly what you wanted in a second-in-command. Someone who would back your orders without question, who the men could respect.

      He explored more of the fuselage as several of his men extricated the now moaning pilot. From outside, an excited corporal yelled.

      Comrade Major, come! You must see this!

      He frowned. The man should have gone to his sergeant first.

      Follow the chain of command!

      He ignored him.

      Comrade Lieutenant, you and the Major must see this! This time it was his Sergeant, Boris Yakovski, a career military man who had seen action in more conflicts than Moscow admitted to being in. He wasn’t sure he had ever heard him excited about anything in the two years Yakovski had served under him.

      Trubitsin climbed down from the cockpit and rounded to where the rest of his squad was now staring. A bomb bay door at the bottom of the fuselage was torn away, revealing a missile inside.

      A tactical nuclear missile.

      This time, he smiled outwardly.

      Description: Chapter Header 3 |

      Alamut, Persia

      November 18, 1256

      Exhausted, Faisal slowly shoveled the food into his mouth. Every muscle in his body ached. Covered in cuts and bruises, some new, some days or weeks old, he ignored them, the pain no longer registering, but the fatigue inescapable. The training he had undergone was beyond anything he had ever endured, and in training for most of his life, that was saying something. Both his father and eldest brother were members of the Hassassins, the name given to the Order of the Assassins, whispered in reverence by their supporters, and in fear by their enemies. His father had reached the rank of Greater Propagandist before dying in battle against the Saracens a year ago, and his brother was now a Propagandist. They had prepared him for the better part of ten years to join in their quest to maintain balance between Islam and the infidel Christians, a task handed down by the great Sabah, the Order’s founder.

      But now he was on his own. His brother and father could no longer help him—he had been handed over to the Order. He was shocked at first by some of the rituals. His kin had hinted at them but never filled him in on any, begging off his questions by citing the oath they had taken when accepted into the fraternity of the Order. And as a good son, a good brother, and a good Muslim, he hadn’t pressed. They had their reasons, and it made him all the more determined to join the Order and learn its secrets.

      His entire squad had trained for hours with the sword and bow on foot and on horseback, followed by sessions studying the Koran with the Imam, and finally hours more of unarmed hand-to-hand combat, all with no food and little water. The sun had now set, this meal and fresh water their reward, a reward that would last for mere moments before evening prayers and study, then bed.

      The double-clap of a pair of hands raised the drooping heads in the mess hall, all eyes now on the Lasiq who had just entered. He scanned the room and pointed at a student at a nearby table. You, report to the corral!

      The young man rose from the table and dutifully hurried to the exit. Everyone in the hall lowered their heads, avoiding eye contact—no one wanted to report for corral duty. Faisal hid behind the piece of bread he had taken a bite of.

      The Lasiq pointed at him. You! He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating Faisal should follow his companion.

      His heart sank.

      I hate corral duty.

      He rose from the table and headed through the tall stone archway of the mess, glancing back to see who else would receive the duty usually reserved for new recruits, not those who had trained for almost a year. He smiled when his friend Jamar was selected, and outright grinned when the son of a camel’s behind, Momar, was also chosen, the shocked look at being selected for such a task worth whatever amount of dung that required shoveling tonight.

      The four were brought into the corral, one side the high southern wall of Alamut, the massive mountain-top fortress that had served as the Hassassin stronghold for over a century, the other three of piled stones about chest high, the horses usually held there nowhere in sight.

      But their manure was. He flashed back on his first weeks, thankful they were over—nothing was worse than cleaning up horse droppings in the baking Persian sun. And thankfully, it appeared that was not to be their task tonight, as their instructor stood in the center of the corral, beckoning them to hurry. The four students lined up in front of him and bowed.

      Master Hasni bin Saeed Al-Maktoum, who held the rank of Greater Propagandist within the Order, stared at them gravely. "You have all been taught in the ways of killing. Your mastery of these techniques, I have no doubt in. You have also been trained in how to incapacitate your opponent without killing him. Interrogation can be critical. Before a great battle, you may be sent by your commander to capture an enemy patrol in order to gain valuable information that might mean the difference between victory and defeat. But, in the heat of the moment, the skirmish between you and your potential fountain of information, could turn into a fight to the death. You must overcome that temptation, the temptation to slay your opponent who is so determined to slay you. And this makes your task all the more difficult, for he is only trying to survive, and he cares not if he kills you or merely maims you enough to escape. You, however, must care. Your task of gathering information is more important than your life. Succeeding in your mission could save hundreds or even thousands of your brothers."

      Hasni slowly stared down each of them as he spoke, making sure his words sank in. And that is why, tonight, you practice on each other, your own brothers, your friends. Your mission is to incapacitate your opponents.

      Faisal glanced to his left where his three comrades stood. They had trained together for almost a year. Two he considered good friends. They, like him, had worried expressions. None wanted to hurt the others, except maybe Momar.

      But! snapped Hasni, his voice piercing, all four whipping their attention back to him. If any of you kills one of the others, you will be joining them by my own hand! Faisal gulped. Hasni clapped his hands together. Prepare yourselves! The four recruits stared at each other in confusion. Begin!

      Faisal tensed as he and the other three slowly backed away from each other, none wanting to strike their friend first. He faced Jamar, one of the more gifted students at the academy. In fact, if he thought about it, all four were the top of their class.

      I wonder if—

      Jamar lunged at him, cutting off the thought. He clasped his opponent’s leading hand and pulled it toward him, causing Jamar to lose his balance slightly. Faisal whipped Jamar’s feet out from under him and threw him unceremoniously to the ground. Jamar leaped back to his feet and approached again, this time more warily.

      From the corner of his eye, Faisal caught a glimpse of the other two students, Momar and Eid, locked in combat. Unlike Jamar and himself, these two were not friends. In fact, they were competitors since the beginning, Momar unable to make friends or peace with the fact he was now one of many gifted warriors. In his clan, he was praised as a future great warrior, and sent to train with the best, the Hassassins. But upon arriving, he was treated like everyone else, no better, no worse, but the same, and he no longer stood out. Yes, he was gifted, one of the best there, but just one of. Not the one. And this irritated him to no end.

      Jamar lunged again and this time gripped Faisal’s robe, jerking him forward and kneeing him in the stomach. Faisal gasped as the wind was knocked out of him. Jamar whispered an apology as he tossed him to the ground. This continued for a short time before Eid cried out. Faisal, who had Jamar in a particularly painful hold, looked up to see what had happened. Momar released Eid from a headlock and threw his crumpled body to the ground, his neck in an unnatural position, a shocked look frozen in place.

      He was dead.

      That much was obvious. Momar had a satisfied expression until Hasni screamed at him. What have you done? He raced from the side of the corral where he was watching with several other instructors.

      I— was all Momar said before Hasni drew his scimitar and spun clockwise, his arm fully extended, the blade swinging in a clean arc. It made contact with the neck of the still speaking Momar, slicing clean through. Momar remained standing for a few moments, an expression of confusion on his face. Finally, slowly, his knees gave way and his head slipped off the neck that once held it. His body collapsed to the ground in a heap, his head landing beside it with a thud, rolling several paces away.

      Faisal and Jamar stared in disbelief. Hasni turned on them. Continue!

      They didn’t budge.

      Hasni raised his sword, still dripping with Momar’s blood. Now! In the heat of battle your brothers will die by your side. Will you stop and stare while the enemy runs you through, or will you continue to fight and avenge your brother’s death? Continue!

      Faisal spun at Jamar, grabbed him around the neck, and twisted him into a sleeper hold. Within moments, he was out cold.

      Hasni approached and congratulated him. Well done, my brother. I knew you had it in you.

      Faisal’s stomach churned. He couldn’t stop eying the body of his friend and the severed head of Momar.

      Hasni glanced at the bodies then back at him. This is the first time you have looked upon death?

      Faisal nodded.

      Then look at it. Gaze upon it in all its sickness and glory. Learn to hate it and learn to love it. Despair in that you have lost a friend. Rejoice in that you have lost an enemy. But most of all, remember the lesson learned here tonight. Obey your orders, or you may die not by your enemy’s hand, but by that of your brother. Hasni placed his hand on Faisal’s shoulder and lowered his voice. I know he was your friend. Honor him tonight in your prayers, and tomorrow we will feast to his sacrifice. He gave Faisal’s shoulder a squeeze then swatted him on the back. Off to bed with you, we will see you in the morning.

      Faisal bowed and headed to his bedchambers. As he lay exhausted, he couldn’t help but think of what had happened in the corral. Two students dead. He tried to shake the image of Eid’s face staring up at him, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t until the sweet release of sleep mercifully overtook him that he was rid of the evening’s horror.

      But not for long.

      As he was about to drift off, the door to his room was kicked open and three men stormed in, brandishing shamshirs he recognized as Mongol, bitter enemies to the Hassassin. He flipped over the side of his bed, avoiding a blow that split the frame in half. Reaching for his sword, the other two men leaped at him, and before he could stop them, seized him by the arms. As he struggled against his captors, the third who had struck the initial blow, approached him, his menacing grin revealing a mouthful of rotting teeth. But rather than run him through, he held a cloth over Faisal’s mouth. A pungent odor filled his nostrils and he felt drowsy. One of his captors let him go and he watched in a daze as the man raised his sword high over his head. As he brought it down, Faisal passed out, praying he had led a good enough life to reach paradise.

      Description: Chapter Header 4 |

      Sixth Round of New START Negotiations

      Geneva, Switzerland

      September 24, 2009

      "Gentlemen, it is now time to turn our attention to the problem of Broken Arrows."

      The silence in the room defined uncomfortable. Justin Lee, chief negotiator for the United States in the Strategic Arms Reduction Treaty talks, stared across the table at his Russian counterpart. He leaned toward his official translator who whispered in his ear.

      As if you didn’t understand what I just said.

      He knew the translator was the puppet master’s representative in the room, and that his honored counterpart, Aleksandr Petrenko, was merely a marionette on the international stage, with strings extending all the way back to the office of the man who truly controlled Mother Russia, the Prime Minister.

      Petrenko grunted and said something in Russian to the room. His delegates nodded then the translator spoke.

      Mr. Lee, Mr. Petrenko repeats our previous position on this, that Russia has had no Broken Arrow incidents, as you call them, no lost nuclear missiles, therefore does not see the need to discuss this.

      Lee nodded. That’s interesting. He held his right hand up over his shoulder and his aide, standing behind him near the wall, stepped forward and placed a file in

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