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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2007
Copyright © Harry Patterson 2007
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2007
Cover photograph © Paul Bowen/Getty Images
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This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the authorâs imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780008124953
Ebook Edition © August 2015 ISBN: 9780007290536
Version: 2015-09-03
Blake Johnson was received with courtesy at the American Embassy in Grosvenor Square, as befitted President Jake Cazaletâs most important security adviser, the head of a secret White House operation known simply as the Basement. An aide took him to the Ambassadorâs office, a fine young Marine captain in dress uniform bearing medals from Bosnia, Iraq and Afghanistan.
âThe Ambassadorâs hosting a cocktail party, mostly for those who werenât invited to Brussels for the conference.â
âAnd who would that be?â Blake asked.
âThe dregs of every embassy in London, Major.â
âI know the feeling. And itâs not Major â Vietnam was a long time ago.â
âOnce a Marine always a Marine, Major. My dad was in Vietnam, and my grandfather was in North Africa and in Normandy on D-Day.â
âThey must be proud of you. That Navy Cross speaks for itself.â
âThank you, sir. Iâll alert the Ambassador.â He went out. Blake helped himself to Scotch from a decanter on the sideboard and moved to the French window opening onto the terrace and looked into Grosvenor Square, the roads shining in the street lights, rain pounding down.
He stood under the canopy, inhaling the freshness, savouring his drink, and the door opened behind him. He turned and it was the Ambassador, Frank Mars, a friend of many yearsâ standing. As little more than boys theyâd served together in Nam. Mars shook his hand warmly.
âItâs good to see you, Blake, but also a bit of a surprise. I thought you were in Brussels with the President.â
âWell, at first I wasnât going, but the President decided that his meeting with the Prime Minister and President Putin might veer into my territory, so he decided he wanted me in Brussels anyway. Iâm meeting Charles Ferguson tonight and weâre flying over together.â
Ferguson was the head of the group of special operatives often referred to as the Prime Ministerâs private army. Blake had run many operations with him, and the tempo had only picked up of late.
Mars topped up their glasses and they stood there, looking into the square. âAll the years Iâve known this place and now I have to look down at those great ugly concrete blocks protecting us. The terrorists have accomplished what two world wars could not.â
âNot to mention the Cold War,â Blake said. âStill, it all helped lead to this, those years of strife, the atomic submarines, the cancer of communism, East versus West.â
âWe got it wrong with Berlin in 1945,â said Mars, âallowing Russia to take the city. Thatâs when they first sensed they could roll over us. I remember the first trip I made behind the Wall in Berlin. It chilled the soul.â
Blake gestured to the left of the square to the statue of Eisenhower on its plinth. âWhat do you think heâd make of it? After all, it was he, Roosevelt and Winston Churchill who were responsible.â
âIâd remind you that Joseph Stalin had something to do with it,â Mars pointed out.
Blake nodded thoughtfully. âAnd now we have Vladimir Putin. Think the Cold War is on its way back?â
Frank Mars put a hand on his shoulder.
âBlake, old friend, itâs not on its way, itâs arrived. From the moment Putin became President of the Russian Federation he had an agenda. Weâve seen it unfold bit by bit, and heâs got the money to back it up, all that gas and oil. I think heâs capable of anything. And thereâs something else about him thatâs very dangerous indeed.â