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A succession struggle ignited by the impending death of Fidel Castro is
the catalyst for Stephen Coonts' latest suspense thriller.
As Havana heats up, the CIA learns that one of the presidential
contenders, secret police chief Alejo Vargas, has developed biological
weapons and installed them on half-dozen intermediate-range ballistic
missiles delivered by the Soviets during the 1962 Cuban Missile Crisis.
Vargas' plan: foment a crisis with the U.S. and cow the Americans with
biological weapons, thereby uniting the Cuban people behind his
leadership.
Meanwhile, the hijacking of a freighter transporting chemical and
biological warheads to the United States from the warehouses of Guantanamo
Bay sets off alarms all over the hemisphere. While searching for the
stolen warheads, Rear Admiral Jake Grafton is drawn into the growing Cuban
crisis.
Jake Grafton, the hero of six other Stephen Coonts bestsellers, from Flight
on the Intruder to The Red Horseman, is one of the stars of Cuba, but only one. Tommy Carmellini,
burglar and reluctant CIA agent, makes a dazzling debut, one that may well
lead to starring roles in future tales.
As always, Coonts' tale is full of memorable characters, such as Hector
Sedano, the priest who believes Cuba is on the verge of greatness; his
sister-in-law Mercedes Sedano, a patriot who risks everything for her
country; younger brother El Ocho, the fiery youth who will build a Cuban
future; and Carlos Corrado, a drunken fighter pilot who finally finds
something worth fighting for.
Chapter One
Guantanamo Bay, on the southeast coast of the island of Cuba, is the
prettiest spot on the planet, thought Rear Admiral Jake Grafton, USN.
He was leaning on the railing on top of the carrier United States's superstructure,
her island, a place the sailors called Steel Beach. Here off-duty crew
members gathered to soak up some rays and do a few calisthenics. Jake
Grafton was not normally a sun worshiper; at sea he rarely visited Steel
Beach, preferring to arrange his day so that he could spend at least a
half hour running on the flight deck. Today he was dressed in gym shorts,
T-shirt, and tennis shoes, but he had yet to make it to the flight deck.
Grafton was a trim, fit fifty-three years old, a trifle over six feet
tall, with short hair turning gray, gray eyes, and a nose slightly too
large for his face. On one temple was a scar, an old, faded white slash
where a bullet had ...
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Beware the man of one book
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