The Disciple (Tommy Carmellini Series #4)

( 51 )

Overview

Iran is much closer to having operational nuclear weapons than the CIA believes and its president, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, has a plan. With twelve nuclear warheads mounted on twelve missiles, he will make Iran a martyr nation—and lead the world’s Muslims in a holy war.

But the Americans have a secret weapon in a group of Iranian dissidents, including a brother and sister determined to avenge the death of a family member at the hands of the religious police. Their mission: to funnel...

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The Disciple (Tommy Carmellini Series #4)

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Overview

Iran is much closer to having operational nuclear weapons than the CIA believes and its president, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, has a plan. With twelve nuclear warheads mounted on twelve missiles, he will make Iran a martyr nation—and lead the world’s Muslims in a holy war.

But the Americans have a secret weapon in a group of Iranian dissidents, including a brother and sister determined to avenge the death of a family member at the hands of the religious police. Their mission: to funnel information to special agent Tommy Carmellini and thwart Ahmadinejad’s efforts.

But will Admiral Jake Grafton and the U.S. government believe the information these two informants are providing? Can the Americans prevent the Israelis from taking matters into their own hands and striking first? Meanwhile, the race is on to stop Iran from launching an all-out nuclear nightmare—and time has already run out…

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Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
PRAISE FOR STEPHEN COONTS AND HIS NOVELS

THE DISCIPLE

“Coonts carefully builds his plot using a wide cast of characters, from insider Iranian spies to cutting-edge aircraft pilots and government officials both high and low. Hardly a page passes without nerve-stretching tension or flat-out action. One can only hope the U.S. president, the head of the CIA, and the Israeli prime minister will have this book on their nightstands for easy reference in case fiction turns to reality, an all-too-real possibility as evidenced by recent headlines.” —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

THE ASSASSIN

“Exciting…. The action moves swiftly to its Hollywood ending.” —Publishers Weekly

“Tommy has been the star of the last two Grafton books, and in The Assassin he matures and develops into a complex and compelling character that should provide Coonts with many new and refreshing plot opportunities…An abundance of intrigue and betrayals…This is the best thriller that Coonts has written in some time. However, all recent books featuring Carmellini are superb.” —The Roanoke Times (Virginia)

“This book has more twists and turns than an old staircase…Coonts remains the master of the great techno-thriller.”—James Myers, The Entertainment Critic Book Review

THE TRAITOR

“An assured international thriller.”—Publishers Weekly

 “The prevailing spook mode shifts from cloak to dagger, and suddenly the guys they thought were watching their backs are aiming at them.”—Kirkus Reviews

The Traitor contains layer upon layer of deceit and deception…plenty of fistfights and explosions…. Coonts’s trademark excitement keep[s] the pages turning to the book’s ultimate conclusion.”—Bookreporter.com

LIARS AND THIEVES

“This book is vintage Coonts...plenty of action and intrigue, with the added benefit of a new lead character.”—Dallas Morning News

“Coonts knows how to write and build suspense…this is the mark of a natural storyteller.”—The New York Times Book Review

Publishers Weekly
Last seen together in bestseller Coonts's The Assassin (2008), Tommy Carmellini, a CIA operative, and Jake Grafton, the new CIA head of Middle Eastern Operations, try to stop the Iranian president, madman Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, from starting WWIII in this nail-biting near-future thriller. When they fail to do so, Tommy and Jake must attempt to knock out the conventional and nuclear missiles that Iran fires at targets throughout the Middle East. Coonts carefully builds his plot using a wide cast of characters, from insider Iranian spies to cutting-edge aircraft pilots and government officials both high and low. Hardly a page passes without nerve-stretching tension or flat-out action. One can only hope the U.S. president, the head of the CIA and the Israeli prime minister will have this book on their nightstands for easy reference in case fiction turns to reality, an all-too-real possibility as evidenced by recent headlines. 250,000 first printing. (Dec.)
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780312358099
  • Publisher: St. Martin's Press
  • Publication date: 11/30/2010
  • Series: Tommy Carmellini Series , #4
  • Format: Mass Market Paperback
  • Edition description: First Edition
  • Edition number: 1
  • Pages: 596
  • Sales rank: 281,618
  • Product dimensions: 4.10 (w) x 7.50 (h) x 1.30 (d)

Meet the Author

Stephen Coonts
STEPHEN COONTS is the author of sixteen New York Times bestselling books that have been translated and published around the world. A former naval aviator and Vietnam combat veteran, he is a graduate of West Virginia University and the University of Colorado School of Law. He lives in Colorado.

Biography

One of America's premier authors of action-adventure thrillers, Stephen Coonts broke into publishing in 1986 with his national bestseller Flight of the Intruder, hailed as one of the best novels ever written about flying and the camaraderie of men at war.

A veteran naval aviator who flew the A-6 Intruder during the Vietnam War, Coonts has followed his debut smash with many more novels featuring his protaganist Jake Grafton, each full of the riveting action and page-turning suspense that has gained him a legion of loyal fans.

In addition to his Jake Grafton books, Coonts also has written stand-alone thrillers, a smattering of sci fi and nonfiction, and the Deep Black series, which is co-authored with Jim DeFelice.

Good To Know

Coonts once held jobs as a taxi driver, a police officer, and an attorney.

He was a trustee of West Virginia Wesleyan College from 1990-98 and was inducted into the West Virginia University Academy of Distinguished Alumni in 1992.

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    1. Date of Birth:
      July 19, 1946
    2. Place of Birth:
      Morgantown, West Virginia
    1. Education:
      B.A., West Virginia University, 1968; J.D., University of Colorado, 1979

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

May: Syria 

The dark green bombs fell from a milky sky. There were six of them, weighing a ton apiece. They had been dropped from an altitude of about twenty-six thousand feet, so the fall was going to take a while.

    On the ground, Mikhail Toporov heard the distant, fading thunder of the three warplanes. Although he didn’t know it, they were Israeli F-15s. He scanned the sky. The visibility was excellent in the dry air under a high cirrus layer, which made the sky look a dirty white. Toporov saw nothing. If he had looked harder, he would have seen the aircraft as black dots against the white clouds, but his eyes were not focused for really distant objects. Even as he looked, the falling bombs were accelerating to terminal velocity.

    Mikhail Toporov was offended by the airplane noise. There should be no aircraft at all in this prohibited zone.

    Toporov flipped away his cigarette and walked quickly back into the air defense command and control bunker. Meanwhile the GPS modules on the tails of the bombs located their satellites and began issuing steering commands to canards that protruded from modules screwed into the noses of the weapons. Each bomb steered toward its designated target.

    As the warplanes completed their postrelease turns and steadied out on course for home base, Mikhail Toporov leaned over the shoulder of one of his Russian colleagues seated at a radar console and looked at the display. The radar was sweeping . . .  and there were no returns.

    “Select the local area display,” Toporov said.

    “That is the local area display.”

    It didn’t compute. Toporov had just heard the planes. “Select fi fty kilometers,” he said.

    A flip of a switch, and still the scope was empty.

    “Something is wrong,” Toporov said, his mind racing.

    Now only three miles above him, the bombs plummeted down.

Inside the administration building for the Syrian nuclear reactor, which was just next door, less than fifty yards away, Dr. Raza Qureshi was eating lunch at his desk while he scrutinized the latest draft of the government’s Top Secret plan to stockpile enriched uranium for future nuclear warheads. He had written the plan upon direction from Damascus; it was almost ready to be signed and forwarded to the ministry.

    Dr. Qureshi gave little thought to the political implications of the plan—he was concerned with the technical aspects. Still, he knew that Syria and her allies in the Middle East had many formidable enemies, with the most formidable, Israel, not very far away. It was his belief that the national leaders were prudent and correct to plan for the future.

    He used his fingers to select a piece of cold meat as he scanned the text. He was a compulsive editor, one who was never satisfied, even with his own words, and now he saw a word that perhaps should be changed. He abandoned the food plate in midgrope. He drew a careful line through the offending word and wrote the one he wanted immediately above it.

    That done, he laid down the pen and checked his watch. He had another half hour before he needed to go to the control room.

    Qureshi reached again for the food plate and resumed reading.

There were seventeen people in the reactor control room. A dozen technicians monitored dials and gauges and made meticulous notes in logbooks. Behind them, four electricians were trying to find the fault in a relay panel, which seemed to have developed a short. They had the front of the panel off and were working with voltage meters.

    The technicians were engrossed in their work. The reactor had been down for a month for maintenance, and they were engaged in the prestart checks. They were almost finished. Just now they were pulling the rods from the pile one at a time, then reinserting each one, checking to ensure that they had complete control of every rod. So far, everything was working just as it should, praise Allah, but Dr. Qureshi was a demanding taskmaster who insisted on no shortcuts. Intently focused, they continued their work.

    A man from the ministry in Damascus was watching and taking notes. He spoke to no one, asked no questions. Even though this was his very fi rst visit to the reactor, he acted as if he knew everything, so there was nothing to ask; most of the people in the room suspected that he asked no questions because he was afraid to reveal the depths of his ignorance. In their experience, political people rarely knew anything about the reactor or how it worked. This one, they had concluded hours earlier, was like all the others.

    Seventeen people, all of whom had only seconds more to live as the bombs fell toward the earth, toward the reactor, toward them.

An F-15 and two F-16s banked into a lazy right-hand circle around the reactor, twenty-two thousand feet above the ground, still well under the cirrus layer.

    The reactor off their right wings had been constructed under a large pitched roof, which resembled that of a barn, or even an old factory. The roof was there to hide the reactor from satellites and aerial reconnaissance. A half mile to the northeast of the building was the Euphrates River, a broad, brown, placid, meandering highway that stretched to the horizon. The reactor had been under construction for six years, so the disturbed area above the ditches in which the water pipes were buried that carried river water to and from the reactor  were no longer discernible from this altitude.

    The single-piloted F-16s were merely escorts for the F-15, which had a two- man crew. The man in the rear seat of the F-15 Eagle centered his handheld camera on the roof of the reactor. Fortunately, the visibility was excellent today. The camera was a digital one with a long lens, one designed to take fi ve photos a second automatically if the shutter button was depressed and held down. The pilot in the front seat was counting down the seconds. “Six . . . five . . .  four . . .”

    At four, the cameraman depressed the shutter button and held it down. He concentrated on holding the camera steady and keeping the reactor centered in the viewfinder.

In the antiaircraft defense control center, Mikhail Toporov was still baffled. Something was wrong—he had heard jet engines, and there should be no aircraft in the prohibited zone, none whatsoever. He reached down beside the man at the scope and pushed the red alert button on his console. Instantly a siren sounded in the control room.

A siren also sounded in the reactor administration building. Startled, Dr. Qureshi looked up, just in time to see his secretary walking into his office. That was the last thing he saw as the first bomb penetrated the roof of the building, plunged through all five floors and detonated in the basement of the structure. The floors heaved before they buckled. The desk on which he had been working was flung upward and struck Dr. Qureshi in the head, knocking him unconscious. He was killed when the building collapsed around him

In the reactor control room, a siren also went off. Shocked, the technicians stared at the gauges in front of them, trying to understand. The reactor was cold, so this couldn’t be the nuclear alarm.

    Even as they realized it was an air raid alert alarm, the bombs smashed into the roof of the reactor and penetrated deeply, one at a time, two-tenths of a second apart. The bomb fuses were set to explode before the weapons penetrated all the way through the structure into the earth; they actually exploded just above the massive concrete floor that formed the support for the reactor. The trip-hammer explosions—a total of five tons of high explosive— destroyed the pile, destroyed the coolant pipes and pumping systems and rods and rod machinery and the hydraulic systems that controlled them, destroyed the walls and machinery and ceiling, reduced everything to molten rubble. The explosions were so hot that steel and concrete ignited.

    In the adjacent control room, everyone died instantly as the control panel, which faced the reactor, was driven into them by the successive shock waves. The control room was completely crushed, which was fortunate, because anyone surviving the initial blast would have been cremated alive by the resulting inferno or quickly poisoned by the radiation released from the nuclear pile.

    In the F-15 the photographer was capturing all of it. Later, technicians examining the photos would be able to count each individual explosion. The guidance system in every bomb had worked flawlessly. The Americans made good stuff.

    Now, through the viewfinder, the photographer saw smoke pouring out of the reactor and adjacent administration building. Soon the rising smoke obscured the buildings, so he released the shutter button. He waited a moment, watching the smoke column, which he knew was radioactive. It seemed to be drifting off toward the desert to the southeast, just as the weather gurus predicted it would.

    “Let’s go home,” he said to the pilot, who banked the jet smoothly around onto a heading back to Israel.

Mikhail Toporov heard the explosions over the wail of the siren. He ran outside. The antiair defense center was on a low ridge two miles from the reactor. He stood stupefied as black smoke roiled up from the place where the reactor and admin building had stood. Their remains were hidden by the smoke.

    That was no meltdown—he knew that. Airplanes. Bombs!

    The Syrian in charge of the facility joined him. “What happened?” he demanded in Russian, the only language that Toporov spoke, as he jerked at Toporov’s sleeve.

    “Look for yourself, fool,” Toporov roared, gesturing wildly with his free hand. He jerked his other arm free and went back inside, the Syrian trailing closely.

    “Why didn’t your radars detect the planes?” the Syrian screamed over the high-pitched blast of the siren. He, too, had leaped to the conclusion that the facility was bombed.

    “I don’t know,” Mikhail Toporov replied bitterly. He was very worried. The people in Moscow, he knew, would be apoplectic when they heard the news. First and foremost, he must get possession of the tape that recorded everything the radars saw during the last hour. Only with that tape could he prove that the S-300 air defense system—a combination of radars and computers that controlled batteries of SA-20 antiaircraft missiles—failed to detect the incoming bombers. Only with that tape could he save himself.

When the warplanes landed in Israel, two men in civilian clothes stood outside the operations building watching them. One was about five and a half feet tall, heavyset, with a rounded tummy and a crew cut. He wore khaki trousers and a white short-sleeve shirt with buttons down the front and a pocket protector in the left breast pocket. His name was Dag Mosher, and he was a senior officer in Israeli intelligence, the Mossad.

    The man beside Mosher was an American. A half foot taller than Mosher, he was lean, with graying, thinning hair combed straight back. His face was not handsome; he had a square jaw, gray eyes and a nose that was a trifle large. His face and arms were tanned. He was wearing blue jeans and a pullover golf shirt with a logo on the left breast that he had apparently acquired at some summer festival in the States. He was the new CIA head of Middle Eastern Operations, and his name was Jake Grafton.

    They watched the planes shut down in revetments. The crews were picked up by a little van, which brought them to this building and let them out in front of it. Still in their flight gear, the pilots and Weapons Systems Operators straggled into the building carrying their helmets and chart bags. Mosher and Grafton followed them.

    The civilians sat in the back of the room and listened to uniformed intelligence officers debrief the flight crews. Neither asked a single question. An hour later, as the crews gathered their gear to leave, a technician brought in bomb- damage assessment photos of the target reactor and taped them to the blackboard. Mosher and Grafton strolled to the front of the room and, when the flight crews had had their looks and left, adjusted their reading glasses and studied the photos carefully.

    The intelligence debriefers packed up their gear and departed. When only Mosher and Grafton  were left in the room, Grafton dropped into a folding chair and asked the Israeli, “Are you guys going to do Iran?”

    “You know we can’t without aerial tankers. We’d need to borrow some of yours.”

    “Anything you bomb in Iran will release radioactivity. Lots of it.”

    “Their problem,” Dag Mosher said and dropped into a chair beside Grafton. He sat looking up at the row of photos.

    Finally he turned to Grafton. “All the choices are bad—every one has a great many negatives attached. I certainly am not one of the decision-makers, but I can tell you this: If Israel is destroyed, it will only be because we gave every last drop of blood and that wasn’t enough. We Jews got in line and shuffled into the gas chambers once—but never again. Never!”

    Mosher turned back to the photos and sat staring at them.

    “I think the driving force in Iran for the acquisition of nuclear weapons,” Grafton said conversationally, “and perhaps the destruction of Israel, is Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. One wonders what might happen in Iran if he died unexpectedly.”

    Dag Mosher turned slowly to face Grafton. He sat silently, examining his face. Finally he said, “Was that thought hatched in Washington, or did you dream it up?”

    “Well, I’m kinda new to the Middle East,” Jake Grafton drawled, “and, I confess, I thought that one up all by my own self. There’re probably a hundred good reasons not to pop Ahmadinejad. Not cricket, bad form, and all that. You won’t hold this against me, will ya?”

    A trace of a smile appeared on Mosher’s face; then he turned back to the photos.

    “Same country, different subject,” Jake Grafton continued. “I’ve sent one of my best men to Iran, and he’s going to need all the help he can get. I was wondering, do you folks have a few people there who can discreetly watch his back? I would appreciate a heads-up if he appears to be getting in too deep.”

    Dag Mosher looked amused. “Tommy Carmellini, perhaps?” he asked casually.

    “Why, yes,” Grafton said with a smile. “Let’s hope the Iranians are not as well informed as the Mossad.”

    “We can always hope,” Mosher admitted.

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4
( 51 )
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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 51 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted February 6, 2010

    Another fantastic book from Stephen Coonts. Gripping. Even though it's fiction, it made me wonder about if this could really happen. I had a hard time putting down the book.

    Stephen Coonts is one of my favorite authors. He takes some elements of reality (in this case, a nuclear middle-east), and writes a believable fiction novel. I'm not a voracious reader, but when it comes to books like "The Disciple", I just wanted to keep reading it and had a hard time putting it down. I HIGHLY recommend it to anyone. All Stephen Coonts fans will love it (of course.)

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted December 17, 2009

    more from this reviewer

    Acronym Overload

    The Disciple takes a look at life in Iran, the pollution, overcrowding, the politics, and, of course, the mullahs. It's an interesting point of the book. The buildup of power for the ultraconservatives comes to a head, and the ramblings of the nut president Ahmadinejad finally lead to the moment that all want to avoid, nuclear war.
    The battles themselves though, are the downfall of the novel. First, there are a multitude of them. We have a large variety of Iranians with names unusual to the western reader, and we have an overload of acronymns for the various planes, bombs, and military titles. What should be a suspenseful climax to the book turns out instead to be an eye-glazing alphabet soup.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted June 30, 2011

    great read

    Many twists and turns - a good techno-thriller

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  • Posted December 30, 2010

    more from this reviewer

    One of Coonts' Best Ever!!

    I usually laugh when a reviewer says a book is a page turner, but this one really was. I stayed up to 2AM last night cause I wanted to know how this exciting read ended. I rate it up there with Clancy's Red Storm Rising in terms of great political/military stories. And, as an ex-fighter pilot, I trully enjoyed his MIG-29/F-22 aerial engagement. If only the real-world Iranian situation could end this way!!

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  • Posted December 23, 2010

    Awesome & Probable.

    Awesome! Not only believable but very probable...5stars in every category.
    Al E.

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  • Posted April 8, 2010

    Another Great book!

    I always enjoy Coonts books. They are current and very enjoyable from the first chapter. I can't wait till the next one comes out!

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  • Posted February 21, 2010

    I Also Recommend:

    Pulse-pounding excitement. Thoroughly entertaining.

    Boy was this book fun to read. At one point, I actually caught myself chuckling out loud to ease the tension, when hero Tommy Carmellini finds himself in a particularly nasty pickle. Now thats good story telling! In the Disciple, Mr. Coonts has assembled a great cast of characters and tossed them into a gripping plot involving Iran and nuclear arms. A thrill ride, start to finish.

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  • Posted January 30, 2010

    Another Coonts Blockbuster

    Stephen Coonts hits another one out of the ballpark with his Tommy Carmellini series. Action packed and well written. Once you start reading it, it's hard to put it down.

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  • Posted October 30, 2009

    more from this reviewer

    This is a tense thriller

    CIA Middle Eastern Operations chief Jake Grafton assigns his top operative Tommy Carmellini to work inside Iran as there is fear that maniacal fundamentalist President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad is close to having his finger on a nuclear trigger. The Iranian leader wants a holy war to the death with the west and he believes his side will win.

    As Tommy watches and gathers information, he has Iranians supporting him; many fear Ahmadinejad's legacy will be a stone age Iran. While Israel considers bombing Iran's nuclear sites as it did Syria, Tommy's efforts and that of his associates and his boss fail to prevent the madman from firing missiles throughout the Middle East under the guise of martyrdom. Tommy and Jake to try to deflect his assault of missiles, including some nuclear, that Iran has fired in order to stop WW III from occurring.

    This is a tense thriller that places the stars of in what feels like a potentially realistic extrapolation of headline news with recent revelations re Iranian hidden nuclear developments. The story line is fast-paced starting with the opening sequence of the Israeli destruction of the Syrian nuclear plant as told to readers by a Russian adviser killed at the site and never slows down. Though obviously biased as the American heroes are hawk patriots (not the chicken hawk couch potato variety of send someone else); the action enables the reader to know who are allies and enemies as Stephen Coonts provides a super tale of vaporization while exposing Ahmadinejad's fanatical background that goes back to even before the fall of the Shah.

    Harriet Klausner

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