Barracuda 945 (Admiral Arnold Morgan Series #6) [NOOK Book]

Overview

The enemy from within . . .

Iranian-born British Commando Major Ray Kerman was a rising star in the SAS -- until he abruptly switched loyalties while on a mission in the Middle East. Fanatically determined to employ his brilliant talents and training in the destruction of those he once swore to protect, he is now General Ravi Rashood, leader of the world's most vicious terrorist organization -- and he has found his ultimate weapon: Barracuda 945. A sleek and silent Russian ...

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Barracuda 945 (Admiral Arnold Morgan Series #6)

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Overview

The enemy from within . . .

Iranian-born British Commando Major Ray Kerman was a rising star in the SAS -- until he abruptly switched loyalties while on a mission in the Middle East. Fanatically determined to employ his brilliant talents and training in the destruction of those he once swore to protect, he is now General Ravi Rashood, leader of the world's most vicious terrorist organization -- and he has found his ultimate weapon: Barracuda 945. A sleek and silent Russian hunter-killer nuclear submarine that can fire land-attack guided missiles from below the ocean's surface, it is invisible to all pursuers and virtually impossible to track. Yet Admiral Arnold Morgan, the President's National Security Adviser, must somehow marshal America's forces and hunt down this 8,000-ton nightmare of modern warfare before it unleashes its fire and death . . . or the first target to fall will be California.

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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
Terrorists lay siege to the West Coast in this engrossing if frustratingly digressive naval thriller that features a turncoat British officer matching wits with Robinson's series star, National Security Adviser Arnold Morgan. The crusty, steel-nerved Morgan, making his sixth appearance (The Shark Mutiny, etc.), goes up against former SAS commando Ray Kerman, who has become a leader in the terrorist group Hamas. Kerman has spearheaded such daring missions as a $100-million bank robbery in Jerusalem and a raid on an Israeli prison that freed 47 of the most feared Arab terrorists. With the help of the Iranians, Kerman is now taking his battle to the West. He has purchased a Russian nuclear submarine, the Barracuda 945, and has begun using it for missile strikes against Alaskan oil supplies for California's electrical grid. Along with strategist and sidekick Lt. Jimmy Ramshawe, Morgan directs the might of the U.S. Navy, as well as his raging temper, toward capturing the Barracuda. After weeks of fruitless pursuit, U.S. forces finally pin down the elusive sub in the confines of the Panama Canal. Though marred by a pallid finale, Robinson's latest is the work of a skilled storyteller and researcher. Some readers may chafe at his tendency to drift into pedantry-on the history of the Panama Canal, presidential speechwriting and the Academy Awards, among others-just when the plot gets hot. Those who don't mind such lectures will be treated to an audacious, richly told tale with action both above sea level and below. 8-city author tour. (Aug.) Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information.
Library Journal
Terrorists get hold of a Russian nuclear submarine and head for the United States. There's a one-day laydown; let's hope the terrorists also lay down their arms. Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information.
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780061806629
  • Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
  • Publication date: 10/13/2009
  • Series: Admiral Arnold Morgan Series , #6
  • Sold by: HARPERCOLLINS
  • Format: eBook
  • Pages: 512
  • Sales rank: 81,333
  • File size: 924 KB

Meet the Author

Patrick Robinson is the author of seven international bestselling suspense thrillers, including Nimitz Class and Hunter Killer, as well as several nonfiction bestsellers. He divides his time between Ireland and Cape Cod.

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Read an Excerpt

Barracuda 945


By Patrick Robinson

Harper Collins Publishers

Copyright © 2003 Patrick Robinson All right reserved. ISBN: 0060086629

Chapter One

7 P.M. Wednesday, May 12, 2004 SAS Training Camp (Counterterrorist) Southern Israel (Location: Classified)

Major Ray Kerman, on his second tour of duty with the Regiment, stared westward out toward the desert city of Beersheba. In the setting sun, the heat still rose shimmering along the foothills of the Dimona Mountains, despite the eternal wind. A long line of Bedouin camels heading for the last oasis north of the river moved symmetrically across the sandy wastes, not 100 yards from the SAS stronghold.

Ray Kerman stood almost in the long shadows of the caravan. He watched the black-hooded men, swaying to the tireless rhythm of the camels, their wide hooves making no sound on the soft desert floor. The nomads of the Negev Desert turned neither right nor left, acknowledging nothing, especially a swarthy broad-shouldered Army officer in an Israeli uniform. But Ray could feel their hard, dark eyes upon him, and he understood he would be forever an intruder to the West Bank Bedouins.

He usually found the tribesmen were different, trading at the Bedouin market in Beersheba, where the hand of friendship was frequently offered to any prospective buyer. But as his Sergeant, Fred O'Hara, had mentioned, "These blokes would rush up and French-kissMoshe Dayan if they thought they could sell him a secondhand carrot."

Ray, however, saw them differently. Before making this first tour of duty to the Near East he had read the works of the important Arabist, Wilfred Thesiger. He had arrived in the Israeli desert filled with an unspoken admiration for the natives of the wide, hot, near-empty Negev Desert ... men who could, if necessary, go without food or water for seven days, who could not be burned by the pitiless sun nor frozen by the harsh winter nights. Men who could suffer the most shocking deprivations yet still stand unbowed. They were men who accepted certain death only upon the collapse of their camels.

The English officer had not forgotten the first tribesman he had met in Beersheba, a tall robed nomad, trading goats and sheep in the market. The man had been introduced, and he had stared hard, without speaking, into Ray's eyes, the traditional manner of contact in the desert.

Finally, he had touched his forehead and gracefully arched his hand downward in the Muslim greeting. Softly, he had said, "As salam alaikum, Major. Peace be upon you. I am Rasheed. I am a Bedouin."

In that split second, Ray Kerman knew what Wilfred Thesiger had meant when he had written about the Bedouin's courtesy, his courage and endurance, his patience and lighthearted gallantry. "Among no other people," Thesiger once wrote, "have I felt the same sense of personal inferiority."

Ray recognized that as high praise. Not only had Thesiger been one of only two white men ever to make the murderous journey across the burning wastes of the "Empty Quarter" in the southeast of the Arabian Peninsula, he had won a boxing Blue at Oxford University, and served in the SAS during the war. More telling yet, the craggy, teak-tough Thesiger had been educated at Eton, England's school for its highborn, a place which in 560 years had never produced a pupil who felt personally inferior to anyone, never mind a camel driver. Ray knew about Etonians. He had attended Eton's "upstart" rival public school, Harrow, alma mater of Sir Winston Churchill, founded as recently as 1571 as a Protestant school in the reign of England's first Protestant Queen, Elizabeth I.

Ray stood watching the camel train head westward, into the shifting sands, into the silence. He knew they would remain at the oasis overnight, before heading into the market at first light. He held his Heckler & Koch machine gun lightly in his right hand, the barrel downward, and he shook his head as he contemplated tonight's mission. He thought, I really don't want to end up shooting these people. I wonder if I ever should have accepted this command?


The truth was Major Kerman, with his immaculate SAS record, and inescapably Jewish surname, was not precisely what he seemed. Major Kerman's parents had both been Iranian, brought up as Muslims, and descended from nomadic Arabs in the southern city of Kerman, on the edge of Iran's vast southern desert, Dasht-e Lut.

But when the downfall of the ruling Shah appeared to be inevitable, back in the early seventies, the wealthy couple had emigrated with their toddler son, Ravi, to London. And there they began importing from the family's carpet manufacturing business in their home city.

The booming British economy during the premiership of Margaret Thatcher was perfect for the family. Mr. and Mrs. Reza Rashood quickly became Mr. and Mrs. Richard Kerman, taking a new name from an old place in the manner of many Middle Eastern families far from home.

While dozens of tribesmen stitched and wove the elegant patterns in the hilly regions north of Bandar Abbas, Richard Kerman opened a string of warehouses in southern England, and then invested in a small shipping line to transport the costly wool and silk floor coverings up through the Suez Canal and on through the Mediterranean to Southampton.

His Iranian carpets led him to expand his importing empire. Richard's seagoing freighters led him to oil tankers, and to the gigantic profits that were commonplace during the 1980s. He also began shipping superb Iranian dates out of Bandar Abbas. Tons and tons of them, all grown in another town in the Kerman region, the tree-lined twelfth-century citadel of Bam. Most of the dates were cultivated by his Rashood relatives.

Soon the Kermans owned an expansive gabled house on North London's fabled Millionaire's Row, The Bishop's Avenue, next to the old Cambodian Embassy.

Twin Rolls-Royce Silver Ghosts occupied the garages. Not so far away, fifty-five miles west down the M4 motorway in the Berkshire village of Lambourn, six highly bred thoroughbred flat horses were expensively in training ...

(Continues...)


Excerpted from Barracuda 945 by Patrick Robinson
Copyright © 2003 by Patrick Robinson
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

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First Chapter

Barracuda 945

Chapter One

7 P.M. Wednesday, May 12, 2004
SAS Training Camp (Counterterrorist)
Southern Israel (Location: Classified)

Major Ray Kerman, on his second tour of duty with the Regiment, stared westward out toward the desert city of Beersheba. In the setting sun, the heat still rose shimmering along the foothills of the Dimona Mountains, despite the eternal wind. A long line of Bedouin camels heading for the last oasis north of the river moved symmetrically across the sandy wastes, not 100 yards from the SAS stronghold.

Ray Kerman stood almost in the long shadows of the caravan. He watched the black-hooded men, swaying to the tireless rhythm of the camels, their wide hooves making no sound on the soft desert floor. The nomads of the Negev Desert turned neither right nor left, acknowledging nothing, especially a swarthy broad-shouldered Army officer in an Israeli uniform. But Ray could feel their hard, dark eyes upon him, and he understood he would be forever an intruder to the West Bank Bedouins.

He usually found the tribesmen were different, trading at the Bedouin market in Beersheba, where the hand of friendship was frequently offered to any prospective buyer. But as his Sergeant, Fred O'Hara, had mentioned, "These blokes would rush up and French-kiss Moshe Dayan if they thought they could sell him a secondhand carrot."

Ray, however, saw them differently. Before making this first tour of duty to the Near East he had read the works of the important Arabist, Wilfred Thesiger. He had arrived in the Israeli desert filled with an unspoken admiration for the natives of the wide, hot, near-empty Negev Desert ... men who could, if necessary, go without food or water for seven days, who could not be burned by the pitiless sun nor frozen by the harsh winter nights. Men who could suffer the most shocking deprivations yet still stand unbowed. They were men who accepted certain death only upon the collapse of their camels.

The English officer had not forgotten the first tribesman he had met in Beersheba, a tall robed nomad, trading goats and sheep in the market. The man had been introduced, and he had stared hard, without speaking, into Ray's eyes, the traditional manner of contact in the desert.

Finally, he had touched his forehead and gracefully arched his hand downward in the Muslim greeting. Softly, he had said, "As salam alaikum, Major. Peace be upon you. I am Rasheed. I am a Bedouin."

In that split second, Ray Kerman knew what Wilfred Thesiger had meant when he had written about the Bedouin's courtesy, his courage and endurance, his patience and lighthearted gallantry. "Among no other people," Thesiger once wrote, "have I felt the same sense of personal inferiority."

Ray recognized that as high praise. Not only had Thesiger been one of only two white men ever to make the murderous journey across the burning wastes of the "Empty Quarter" in the southeast of the Arabian Peninsula, he had won a boxing Blue at Oxford University, and served in the SAS during the war. More telling yet, the craggy, teak-tough Thesiger had been educated at Eton, England's school for its highborn, a place which in 560 years had never produced a pupil who felt personally inferior to anyone, never mind a camel driver. Ray knew about Etonians. He had attended Eton's "upstart" rival public school, Harrow, alma mater of Sir Winston Churchill, founded as recently as 1571 as a Protestant school in the reign of England's first Protestant Queen, Elizabeth I.

Ray stood watching the camel train head westward, into the shifting sands, into the silence. He knew they would remain at the oasis overnight, before heading into the market at first light. He held his Heckler & Koch machine gun lightly in his right hand, the barrel downward, and he shook his head as he contemplated tonight's mission. He thought, I really don't want to end up shooting these people. I wonder if I ever should have accepted this command?


The truth was Major Kerman, with his immaculate SAS record, and inescapably Jewish surname, was not precisely what he seemed. Major Kerman's parents had both been Iranian, brought up as Muslims, and descended from nomadic Arabs in the southern city of Kerman, on the edge of Iran's vast southern desert, Dasht-e Lut.

But when the downfall of the ruling Shah appeared to be inevitable, back in the early seventies, the wealthy couple had emigrated with their toddler son, Ravi, to London. And there they began importing from the family's carpet manufacturing business in their home city.

The booming British economy during the premiership of Margaret Thatcher was perfect for the family. Mr. and Mrs. Reza Rashood quickly became Mr. and Mrs. Richard Kerman, taking a new name from an old place in the manner of many Middle Eastern families far from home.

While dozens of tribesmen stitched and wove the elegant patterns in the hilly regions north of Bandar Abbas, Richard Kerman opened a string of warehouses in southern England, and then invested in a small shipping line to transport the costly wool and silk floor coverings up through the Suez Canal and on through the Mediterranean to Southampton.

His Iranian carpets led him to expand his importing empire. Richard's seagoing freighters led him to oil tankers, and to the gigantic profits that were commonplace during the 1980s. He also began shipping superb Iranian dates out of Bandar Abbas. Tons and tons of them, all grown in another town in the Kerman region, the tree-lined twelfth-century citadel of Bam. Most of the dates were cultivated by his Rashood relatives.

Soon the Kermans owned an expansive gabled house on North London's fabled Millionaire's Row, The Bishop's Avenue, next to the old Cambodian Embassy.

Twin Rolls-Royce Silver Ghosts occupied the garages. Not so far away, fifty-five miles west down the M4 motorway in the Berkshire village of Lambourn, six highly bred thoroughbred flat horses were expensively in training ...

Barracuda 945. Copyright © by Patrick Robinson. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 3.5
( 17 )
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Sort by: Showing all of 17 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted January 6, 2004

    BARRACUDA 945 - SUPER HIT

    This book is one of Robinson¿s best and should be required reading at the Pentagon and Whitehall. Robinson pieces together a brilliant story, keeping an unbiased perspective of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Kerman is described as over whelmed by the conflict and siding with the Palestinians. Robinson lays out a candid story portraying flaws in the SAS character screening and background checks, being Kerman is of Iranian heritage without being detected. The story unfolds with Iran purchasing a Sierra Class nuclear submarine (Barrakuda class) of Project 945 with hull numbers K-239 and K-240. Most sources site the second boat a hull number K-276 that is in dry dock, both built at the Severodvinshk and based at Ara Guba. Robinson sets a series of events that lead up to Iran buying the nuclear subs from Russia via the Peoples Republic of China. Then the action unfolds in the exciting Robinson manner. While Robinson is relatively unbiased toward the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, he really unloads (without mentioning) former President Bill Clinton and the Democrats, mainly through his favorite character Vice Admiral Arnold Morgan, the National Security Advisor, and one of Robinson¿s favorite characters and evidently alter ego. Morgan takes a surprising low profile through most of the book, appearing at the end giving the book a tremendous bang at the end. Morgan¿s racial slurs are not as pronounced as in Robinson¿s earlier books, giving him a more mellow touch. Robinson makes a very good point in portraying a potential weakness in the U.S. oil supply system, but over sensationalizing tremendously. He looses accuracy when he writes about the oil industry, even if the book is just fiction. On page 306 he says the Exxon Valdez accident happened in 1992, when it was actually March 24, 1989. The west coast has many oil refineries from southern California up through Washington. In reality the oil from Alaska goes to many refineries on the west coast. The Grays Harbor refinery is fiction in the book, is pictured as the bottleneck that all oil from Alaska flows through it and it is the largest in the U.S. The largest refinery in the U.S. is Hovensa at Croix, U.S. Virgin Islands, with the ExxonMobil Baton Rouge, Louisiana refinery coming in second, based on production. The ExxonMobil refinery at Baytown, Texas is about the same capacity as Baton Rouge, along with many others in the country. The Valdez oil terminal is run by Alyeska, not as mentioned on p. 274, ¿Amoco, BP, and Phillips Petroleum.¿ Anyway BP has swallowed up Amoco and Phillips has merged into Conoco-Phillips. The oil industry on the west coast of the U.S. is much more extensive and linked with pipelines to the rest of the U.S. and Canada making it not near a vulnerable as pictured in the book. However, Robinson makes a good point in a nuclear sub making a dreaded weapon. On page 245 Robinson mentions Shakira, Rashood¿s new love, as the first woman ever to be on a submarine. People in the U.S. Navy sub fleet tell me that there are women on the U.S. Trident subs. Robinson takes a good swipe at Alaska, writing on page 270, ¿¿ state with the highest level of alcoholism in the country.¿ His crowning achievement and one that will make the book most popular in the Middle East is when he takes a hit at the entertainment industry on pp. 355-356. When the electricity is knocked out, disrupting the Oscars, the entertainers are ¿unused to inconvenience. Many had not been argued with for several years. Some of them could not recall the last time they were interrupted. Self-important voices demanded an explanation.¿ What a marvelous hit Robinson ¿ you don¿t care for entertainers- they ALL can¿t be that bad. The book ends in a tragedy with some revenge being taken by the U.S. retaking the Panama Canal. The terrorists ¿ Rashood and Shakira ¿ safely escape, probably to appear again in another Robinson book. I am sure we haven¿t heard the last of Vice Adm. Arnold Morgan and

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted November 19, 2003

    Brilliant!

    Arnold Morgan will make you cheer out loud! Patrick Robinson takes you on a ride through the White House and into battle like no other author! He blends facts and fiction into a story that will keep your mind rivited, long after bed time. Thanks Patrick for the great ride!!!!

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted December 9, 2008

    more from this reviewer

    An exciting chiller

    British SAS commando Major Ray Kerman stationed in Israel joins Hamas and quickly becomes a leader due to his bold successes in country. Abetted by the Iranians, Ray buys a Russian nuclear submarine, the Barracuda 945. He plans to attack the West Coast of the United States with missile strikes against the Alaskan oil supplies and the California electrical grid.<P> National Security Advisor Vice Admiral Arnold Morgan leads the US Navy¿s efforts to stop the Barracuda 945 at sea. However, even with the help of the National Security Agency the US Navy struggles to locate the deadly nuclear sub for several weeks until they locate the Barracuda 945 in the Panama Canal. Confrontation between two brilliant leaders and their crew occur with much at stake. <P> Though the historical soliloquies can be overwhelming, they bring a sense of reality to a powerful action-packed sea adventure that will remind readers of Sink the Bismarck. The story line is going at the fastest knots, but also insures the key two antagonists plus Morgan¿s friend, Assistant to the Director of the National Security Agency Lieutenant Commander James Ramshawe, are more than just 200 proof testosterone. Instead readers feel their frustrations and excitement. Patrick Robinson¿s latest Morgan thriller is a solid tale that fans will enjoy the high-speed sea chase.<P> Harriet Klausner

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 29, 2012

    Supper good read by mc

    Mc

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 8, 2011

    highly

    Patrick Robinson has done it again. Another good book. He took the time to do the work of finding out things about submarines and then writing a book about it.

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  • Posted November 24, 2010

    more from this reviewer

    A laughably bad soapbox for ultra-conservative propaganda.

    I wish I had remembered that I given up reading one of Mr. Robinson's books before. But I didn't and so I picked up a copy of "Barracuda 945" to my later regret. This is an inferior example of what I call a "airplane book", a novel the gets bought at the airport for the sole purpose of making time on an airline flight pass by. It most likely doesn't find a space on your bookshelf. But while many in this genre stretch suspension of belief to fantastic lengths, they can also be quite enjoyable (the books of Matthew Reilly come to mind here). "Barracuda 945" is not one of them. Now I think the author meant me to hate Ravi Rashood and love Arnold Morgan, but I found the opposite to true. Morgan bullies everyone into doing what he says, seems to dislike everything that isn't related to the military and is engaged to his secretary, a women who treats his every word as gospel. Compared to that blowhard, Rashood seems eminently reasonable and even likable. That is the definition of bad writing, I would think. Others here have noted the silly and unbelievable nature of the plot. In the addition to it's poor quality as fiction, "Barracuda 945" also manages to offend anybody that is even slightly left of center in their political views and probably plenty of moderate Republicans as well. The book's 'heroes' seem to all be on the extreme right and the author spends a great deal of time insulting Democrats, especially Bill Clinton. A few quotes: *"Liberal s**thead," confirmed the President. *For once in their lives, the media had it absolutely right, putting two and two together to make a precise and pristine four, rather than five, or eighty-seven. *All because of a President who never much cared for America's achievements, especially the military ones, or indeed for what America ought to stand for, in an often inferior world. Thank god I only borrowed this junk. I'd have hated to wasted $25.95 plus tax on it.

    0 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 8, 2003

    this barracuda is just plain fishy

    In a word ¿ Heinous. In short ¿ the Barracuda of the title is a mothballed Sierra class Russian sub capable of showering its enemies w/missiles and escaping unharmed. The Russians can¿t afford to run the ship any longer, and sell the boat to the Iranians in a complex (actually, not that complex) deal involving the Chinese ¿ Robinson¿s other perennial heavies. The architect of Iran¿s plan to use the Barracuda against the Americans in a string of daring missile attacks is Ray Kerman ¿ a British SAS commando of Iranian descent. Nobody knows about Kerman¿s Islamic roots until he impulsively switches sides while on operations alongside Israeli soldiers in the West Bank. Though not positive, Israelis, Kerman¿s former superiors and American military intel conclude that Kerman has become the chief tactician for Islamic terrorism. Kerman¿s prominence takes him to Iran, where petro-dollars and anti-Americanism will supply what he wants for a big strike against the west. Doesn¿t sound so bad? That¿s the problem: though reminiscent of virtually all of Robinson¿s novels ¿ Barracuda¿s plot actually comes closest of the three books I¿ve read (the other¿s being ¿Shark Mutiny¿ and ¿Nimitz Class¿) to ascending above Robinson¿s brand of writing ¿ the tortuously overwrought prose, underdeveloped characters, horrible dialog, questionable realism, suspension of disbelief, slavish attention to irrelevant minutiae and blatant anti-left sentiment (Robinson made no secret of his bent in prior books, though holds it in reserve here until the final third of the book; then he makes up for lost time). I would have accepted Robinson¿s conspiracy theories linking the Panama Canal to the Red Chinese if it mattered to the story. Instead, like nearly everything in this book, it¿s a detail that has little do with what people do, and why. Also, Robinson¿s diatribes against democrats, the Clinton administration and liberalism are so bald, inarticulate and pointless, you¿ve got to wonder whether he¿s taking potshots at the left or really lampooning their enemies. Instead, Robinson sticks with his military details, which is a mistake since he seldom demonstrates a unique knowledge of subs or special forces, and some of it is simply and literally incredible (given the antipathy between Israel and Europe, are we supposed to believe that SAS officers would ride shotgun w/the IDF through the West Bank? The first woman arab Kerman meets is named Shakira? The Russians unload their super-subs for about $600 million, as if that were a lot for one deep-diving, cruise-missile carrying, nuclear sub). There¿s no structure to the plot, nothing to make you feel like the story is going anywhere. Robinson crafts a pretty thin story, one closing with an unbelievably open-ended, sequel-guaranteeing anti-climax. If you want a nautical thriller that won¿t disappoint, read ¿To Sink Potemkin¿ or anything by Poyer or Dimercurio.

    0 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 18, 2003

    Disappointing- story about an Islamic terrorist

    Boy, does Patrick hate the Democratic administrations and Clinton! The book brings out the (apparent)failures of their administrtations. Too much hero worship of the head terrorist. So very similar to the previous book, where another Islamic terrorist is the hero. The ending was thrown together with his Seals team and did not hold together.

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