Deep Black (Stephen Coonts' Deep Black, Book 1)

Deep Black (Stephen Coonts' Deep Black, Book 1)

Stephen Coonts, Jim DeFelice

Language: English

Pages: 368

ISBN: 0312985207

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


In Stephen Coonts' Deep Black, a spy plane gathering data on a new Russian weapon is blown out of the sky by a mysterious MiG. Is it an accident or the start of the next world war? One U.S. agency has what it takes to find out-the National Security Agency and its covert operations team: DEEP BLACK.

Working for the NSA, ex-Marine sniper Charlie Dean is dispatched to Russia, hooking up with former Delta Force trooper Lia DeFrancesca to find out what happened to the plane. The Deep Black team stumbles across an even more alarming secret-a plot to assassinate the Russian president and overthrow the democratic government by force. The coup could have dire consequences for Russia and the world. With no clearance from the government it's called on to protect, the National Security Agency goes to war. But before Lia and Dean can unravel the conspiracy, they learn that one of the spy plane's passengers-an NSA techie-survived the crash. Critical information could fall into enemy hands. And that enemy is playing to the death.

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shouting. “He got the shot off, but they got him. He’s down.” Rubens turned to Hadash nearby. “Tell President Marcke to ask to speak to Perovskaya. Otherwise, they’ll kill him. He was the target—if Kurakin wants him dead it must be to our advantage that he’s alive. Quickly.” Hadash started to relay the message. On the screen behind him, cars whipped by. The video transmission suddenly stopped—the Russians must’ve turned on a wide-spectrum jammer. Rubens turned to Telach. “Where’s the Bird

fingerprint powder supposedly didn’t harm the car paint, but Rubens didn’t trust the guarantees. Besides, he didn’t particularly care for anything associated with him to be dirty, not in the least. No one else at the NSA went to the length of keeping a safe house as a car drop. It was almost certainly unnecessary, and the bureaucracy’s attitude toward the arrangement could be seen in the fact that Rubens paid for the safe house himself. That was shortsighted of them, in his opinion. There was

heard the news?” “What news?” “There’s going to be an inquiry into Congressman Greene’s death. There’s a special congressional committee.” That was it? “I had heard that, yes,” said Rubens. “Are you concerned?” “Concerned? Of course I’m concerned. I’m worried.” Maybe she did do it, he thought. Perhaps she felt pressure to confess. That would end the rumors and contain the potential damage. A good solution. “I’m sure you have nothing to worry about,” he said in his most soothing voice. “If

speaking, probably on the verge of tears. As Rubens thought of what to say next—as he considered what formula might get her to gush out a confession—something odd occurred to him, something unprecedented. He felt sorry for her. “I feel like I’m in a vise,” she said. “Washington is like that,” Rubens told her. He glanced at the small clock on his desk—it was almost time for the conference call. “Do you have anything to worry about?” he said. It was blunt and crude, but with the time

collar. “Five,” said Al Austin, the CIA supervisor in Moscow. He was at a post near the Kremlin, running the crews keeping tabs on Kurakin and trying to prevent—or at least detect—an assassination attempt. Two other teams finished the check-in, reporting from surveillance posts that were covering secondary access routes to the capital. Their efforts duplicated that of the NSA’s own sensors, but in an operation like this there was no such thing as too much redundancy. “All right, now that we’re

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