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by Wayne SimmonsMark Graham

Pub Date: Sept. 18th, 2012
ISBN: 978-0-312-60932-0
Publisher: Dunne/St. Martin's

In Simmons and Graham’s (The Missing Sixth, 2011, etc.) spy thriller, Jake Conlan is called back undercover. 

Conlan’s past 50, but he’s no less lethal when set to task by his mentor, the mysterious Mr. Elliot. Word is Iran finally has the bomb and means of delivery, and Jake’s sent to stop The Twelvers, the messianic Shiite group in power, from using it. After a clandestine SR-71 flight to Paris, Jake is first tasked to clean up a minor mess. A drug dealer has his hooks in a weak-kneed U.S. senator serving on an intelligence committee. Jake plugs that leak with a Mauser pistol. Complications arise when it develops that the dealer had connections with Mujahedim-e Kahlq, an Iranian opposition group financing operations with edge-of-legal activities. Post-Paris action moves to Antwerp for a cinematic chase scene, then to Turkey, where a security breach means someone is an Iranian agent. Undercover ops like Jake need a plethora of tech tools to foil the evildoers plus help from a stalwart general back in D.C. Need to HALO jump (high altitude, low opening) into Iran? The U.S. Air Force routes a black-ops-modified C-17 to a remote airstrip in Turkey. Conlan’s primary weapon, however, seems to be his modified iPhone. GPS, encrypted communications, specialized apps—Conlan pulls it out more often than his Walther PPK. Once among the bad guys, Conlan leaves more than one Iranian shot or stabbed while he dodges from peril to peril like a frog hopping across burning lily pads. Under the noses of the mullahs, Conlan is aided by Charlie Amadi, who once skated around U.S. law and is now Iran’s premier contraband smuggler. Charlie’s beautiful cohort, Jeri, provides muscle as Conlan infiltrates, spies and iPhones-home vital information from Qom and Natanz. No worries. An hours-away three-pronged nuclear strike on Israel and the West promptly falls victim to assorted fighter-bombers and bunker-busters.

Ruthless and remorseless James Bond-ian escapades, sans skirt-chasing intervals, in the name of Western ideals.