Jon Bennett is a top Wall Street strategist turned senior White House advisor. But nothing has prepared him for the terror that he will face. Saddam Hussein dispatches his top hit men to assassinate the President of the United States. Iraqi terrorists spread carnage throughout London, Paris, and Riyadh . . . and the Butcher of Baghdad has a nuclear ace in his hand that he has not yet played.
Only a solid Arab-Isreali coalition against Iraq can keep the U.S.--and other Western nations--from certain devastation. And only Bennett and his beautiful partner, Erin McCoy, can make that happen. Their secret project--a billion-dollar oil deal off the coast of Gaza--could be the basis for an historic peace treaty and enormous wealth for every Isreali and Palestinian. But just before a treaty can be signed, Isreali commandos foil an Iraqi Scud missile launch, recovering a nuclear warhead and evidence that the next attack will level Washington, New York and Tel Aviv.
Now, the Isreali Prime Minister gives the American President an ultimatum: Melt down Baghdad within one hour . . . or Israel will do it herself. From Jerusalem, Bennett and McCoy must summon all their stealth and savvy to save themselves--and the world--from absolute destruction.
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August 31, 2003
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Excerpt from The Last Jihad by Joel C. Rosenberg
ONE nbsp; nbsp; A presidential motorcade is a fascinating sight, particularly at night, and particularly from the air. Even from twenty miles out and ten thousand feet up—on approach to Denver International Airport’s runway 17R—both pilots of the Gulfstream IV could clearly see the red and blue flashing lights of the entourage on the ground at about one o’clock, beginning to snake westward down Pena Boulevard. The late November air was cool, crisp, and cloudless. A full moon bathed the flat plains below, and the Rockies jutting heavenward to the right, with a bluish tint and remarkable visibility. A phalanx of two dozen police motorcycles led the way towards downtown Denver, forming a “V,” with the captain of the motorcycle force riding point. Then came a dozen Colorado State Patrol squad cars, four rows of three each, spread out and taking up all three lanes of westbound highway with more lights and more sirens. Two jet-black Lincoln Town Cars followed immediately, carrying the White House advance team. These were followed by two black Chevy Suburbans, each carrying teams of plainclothes agents from the United States Secret Service. Next—one after the other—came two identical limousines, both black, bulletproof Cadillacs built to precise Secret Service specifications. The first was code-named “Dodgeball.” The second, “Stagecoach.” To the untrained eye it was impossible to know the difference, or to know which vehicle the president was in. The limousines were tailed closely by six more government-owned Suburbans, most carrying fully locked-and-loaded Secret Service assault teams. A mobile communications vehicle followed, along with two ambulances, a half dozen white vans carrying staffers, and two buses carrying national and local press, baggage and equipment. Bringing up the rear were a half dozen TV-network satellite trucks, more squad cars, and another phalanx of police motorcycles. Overhead, two Denver Metro Police helicopters flanked the motorcade—one on the right, the other on the left—and led it by at least half a mile. All in all, the caravan lit up the night sky and made a terrible racket. But it was certainly impressive, and intimidating, for anyone who cared to watch. A local Fox reporter estimated that more than three thousand Coloradoans had just packed a DIA hangar and tarmac to see their former governor—now President of the United States—come home for Thanksgiving, his last stop on a multistate “victory tour” after the midterm elections. Some stood in the crosswinds for more than six hours. They’d held American flags and hand-painted signs and sipped Thermoses of hot chocolate. They’d waited patiently to clear through incredibly tight security and get a good spot to see the president step off Air Force One, flash his warm, trademark smile, and deliver one simple, Reaganesque sound bite: “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” The crowd absolutely thundered with approval. They’d seen his televised Thanksgiving Week address to the nation from the Oval Office. They knew the daunting task he’d faced stepping in after Bush. And they knew the score. America’s economy was stronger than ever. Housing sales were at a record high. Small businesses were being launched at a healthy clip. Unemployment was dropping fast. The Dow and NASDAQ were reaching new heights. Homeland security had been firmly reestablished. The long war on terrorism had been an unqualified success.Al-Qaedaand the Taliban had been obliterated. Osama bin Laden had finally been found—dead, not alive. Forty-three terrorist training camps throughout the Middle East and North Africa had been destroyed by the U.S. Delta Force