The Operative (A Ryan Kealey Thriller)
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After more than a decade on the deadly front lines of the war on terror, Ryan Kealey believes he's finally put danger behind him--and some of his demons to rest. But his calm is shattered when he's swept into a merciless terror attack during a charity gala in downtown Baltimore. Among the dozens of casualties is the wife of CIA Deputy Director John Harper. With normal channels of investigation obstructed, Harper turns to Kealey, the one man with the resources, expertise--and freedom from government interference--to pursue the awful truth.
Following a string of secrets and violence, Kealey blazes a trail from the confines of the innermost chambers of government and big business to the dimmest reaches of the human psyche, forced to match wits with a new nemesis aided by new allies, each with a unique agenda. Slowly, Kealey unspools an unimaginable conspiracy that suggests America may in fact be its own worst enemy.
"[Britton] may well give Tom Clancy a run for the money." –St. Louis Post-Dispatch
"No-holds-barred action and gripping suspense." --Library Journal on The Exile
"The 'best' of Tom Clancy, Michael Connelly, and Robert Ludlum all rolled into a single book." --armchairinterviews.com on The Assassin
"Brilliantly well-written with plotting sharper than a fence full of razor wire, a sizzling page-turner." --Brad Thor, New York Times bestselling author on The American
himself for his task. Zuhair had paid no attention to the game until shortly before he left Camden Yards, when people suddenly began exiting the ballpark. Had someone identified him and given an alert? Was the stadium being evacuated? That was when he realized the visiting Boston Red Sox had a large 10–0 lead in the eighth inning, and that people were leaving. Zuhair wore an Orioles baseball cap and jersey outside his baggy chinos, aware he would be inconspicuous enough disguised as one of the
judgment and out-of-the-box thinking, her style did not make her any friends. Jon Harper—who hadn’t needed the RAP sheet to put him in the mind of Ryan Kealey—swiveled toward her. “He was my guy, actually,” Harper said. “And he doesn’t play games.” Expecting the question from someone, Harper had pulled up Kealey’s service record. He sent it to her. Had Choate done more than glance at it, she would have seen how Kealey was fast-tracked to U.S. Army major in eight years, made captain a chestful
probably been deafened, permanently, by the blast. Crouched over them, their clothes torn and soiled, dozens of men and women were tending to the injured. FBI tacs were circulating throughout the room, after having made their entries through the windows and stairs. They were trying to assist as best they could. O’Neill’s detachment joined them. Kealey felt Allison clutch his arm. “Ryan, I see Julie,” she said, pointing. The horror had so overwhelmed him, he had forgotten why he was here. It
over and examine any vehicles—typically vans and U-Hauls—which they deemed to be suspicious. Stopping a van or truck loaded with explosives, of course, would cause the driver to trigger the device prematurely, killing them. But the police stopped the vehicles just the same, as part of their oath to preserve and protect. The Trask Industries van was pulled over as it rolled down Broadway. A name was easy enough to fake, so the Atlanta tags would have to be checked along with the contents. Police
the air-to-ground, laser-guided Enhanced Paveway III bombs, which were used by NATO to pummel Gadhafi in the Libyan uprising. Division Omega was different. It created weapons that had never been used in combat. To date, only a handful had even been tested at the military’s White Sands range in south-central New Mexico. Division Omega designed EPWs—earth-penetrating weapons. These were all nuclear in nature. Unlike atom or hydrogen bombs, which had to be dropped from airplanes, or the much-feared