The Apocalypse Directive

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More About This Book

Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780843960884
  • Publisher: Leisure Books
  • Publication date: 7/29/2008
  • Format: Mass Market Paperback
  • Pages: 320
  • Product dimensions: 4.20 (w) x 6.70 (h) x 1.10 (d)

Read an Excerpt

The Apocalypse Directive
By Douglas MacKinnon
Dorchester Publishing
Copyright © 2008 Douglas MacKinnon
All right reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-8439-6088-4



Chapter One Sharks. All Tom Hiatt could think about were sharks. As he flailed about in the warm waters twenty miles east of Miami, he did not think about drowning, did not wonder what had just violently catapulted him and his best friend from their twenty-eight-foot Bayliner cruiser, was not curious about the incredibly loud ringing in his ears, and for the moment, did not care that his buddy seemed to be screaming and pointing up in the air.

Hiatt was not worried about things in the air. Things in the air weren't sharks. He was concerned only about the underwater prehistoric killing machines that were swimming around his boat just before he was ejected from it.

While, as a treasure hunter, he made his living on and in the water, the deep, dark secret that he tried and failed to keep from friends and family was that he had an almost pathological fear of sharks. Ever since he had first seen the movie Jaws as a nine-year-old boy, he instantly had an attraction to boats and the sea, and a hatred and loathing of sharks. A loathing that had only grown throughout his adult life.

As he had that thought, something hard brushed against his right foot, and Hiatt nearly levitated himself out of the water. When he splashed back down, his friend grabbed him and started to scream in his left ear.

"Tom! Calm down. It's me. Eric. I think we hit a mine."

Hiatt forced his eyesfrom wildly staring down into the blue-green water as he tried to confirm that his feet and legs were still attached, to look up at the darkly tanned face of his animated friend.

"What? We hit ... what?"

As his friend tried to yell back at him, the water they were thrashing about in started to vibrate, splash, and whip around in a frenzy as the prop- wash of a Blackhawk helicopter began to descend upon them.

By instinct more than anything, Hiatt desperately reached for his cell phone clipped to his waist. While dripping wet, it still seemed okay. He looked down and saw one bar of signal. As salt water peppered and stung his face, he pushed a memory button on the phone and dialed a number in Washington, DC.

In the middle of the second ring, a static- shrouded voice answered, "Rachel Hiatt."

Just as Tom Hiatt was about to answer, the ocean around him went dark as it fell into the shadow of the Blackhawk. Hiatt looked up just in time to see what looked like a commando in the open door of the helicopter pointing something down at him and Eric.

Knowing he may have no time left, he screamed, "Rach, it's me! Off the coast of Florida. Looks like government is trying-"

Just then, the figure in the open door of the Blackhawk fired and the water all around Hiatt became electrified. As the electricity coursed through his body, Hiatt could barely think, could not breathe, and could not move.

As he slowly slipped beneath the surface, he watched in almost a dreamlike trance as his cell phone fell from his fingers and caught the filtered rays of the sun as it began its nine-hundred-foot tumble to the ocean floor below.

As water now filled his paralyzed and open mouth, Hiatt irrationally still wondered if he might become the victim of a shark attack.

Chapter Two One thousand miles to the north, President Shelby Robertson was sitting in his private study adjacent to the Oval Office. Before him on his small and simple desk lay the President's Daily Briefing. The PDB was the highly classified "eyes only" report compiled late each evening by the nation's various three-letter intelligence agencies, and delivered to the president by 6:00 a.m. the following morning.

Now in the third year of his second term, the conservative president from Alabama found himself remarkably at peace in a world gone mad. Twenty- three thousand Americans had been killed by escalating terrorist attacks on the homeland while he was in office, and the report he was now reading predicted with certainty that in the coming months more violent terrorist attacks would be visited upon the United States. Curiously, such hair-raising and mind-numbing predictions only confirmed his beliefs, and fueled the inner joy he felt during these darkest of times.

Though known to be a religious man by the American public, Robertson was careful to never wear his beliefs on his sleeve. Ever mindful that there was always someone out there-usually a reporter from the New York Times or the Washington Post-who would be more than happy to twist rational belief into something to be feared.

Robertson slowly closed the report and then tapped upon it a few times with his fingertips as he looked toward the ceiling and nodded his head in silent thought. He then stood and walked across the small study and knelt down before a one- foot- tall, ceramic statue of Jesus Christ that sat atop an end table. Prayer and meditation had been part of his lifestyle since his college years. Robertson was convinced that it sustained him, made him whole, and gave him the strength to make terrible decisions. Decisions that men who lacked unquestioned faith could never make because of the horrific consequences of such actions.

After one minute of meditation, Robertson stood and then said out loud to himself, "True belief ... is everything."

As the president walked back into the Oval Office, one of the two phones on his desk quietly buzzed. Once seated in his bulletproof, high-back black chair, the president answered.

"Yes?"

"Mr. President," said his assistant from an office just outside of his. "General Mitchell is on the phone for you."

"Splendid. Thank you, Dorothy. Put him right through."

A millisecond later, the general was on the line. "Mr. President?"

"Wayne. How is the commander of the United States Strategic Command this fine day? And better yet, what is the status of our project?"

"I'm fine, Mr. President. As for our project, I'd rather update you about that in person."

The president tapped a pencil on the edge of his desk as he thought for a moment. "Agreed. Time, as you well know, Wayne, is of the essence."

"Yes, sir, Mr. President. I'll be there early tomorrow morning, and I'm confident you will be quite happy with my report."

As the four-star air force general in charge of America's ground-based nuclear arsenal hung up the phone, he was mildly surprised at how calm and serene he was. A peace of mind bestowed upon him by God. His God. The one and only God in a world full of false idols and an evil soon to be confronted.

(Continues...)



Excerpted from The Apocalypse Directive by Douglas MacKinnon Copyright © 2008by Douglas MacKinnon.Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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  • Posted December 9, 2008

    more from this reviewer

    An exciting cautionary tale

    In the very near future, the American people elect an evangelical Christian president Shelby Robertson, who is now in the third year of his second term. He appointed true believers to his cabinet posts, but none except his most inner circle of trusted advisers realize he is a pure fundamentalist who believes that the Word of his version of the bible and his messages from God supersede that of the Constitution. He strongly feels that Jews, Muslims, other religions, and non Fundamentalist Christians need to be eradicated so that heaven can come to earth.---------------- The president accepts that his dreams come from God instructing him what to do. He has built an underwater complex Neptune that will house 5000 disciples when he dispatches the total military arsenal on an unsuspecting world including those Americans he leaves behind. Hos followers,The Christian Ambassadors, have infiltrated every aspect of the government even the military they wait for the Word while the Judas Group including the Vice President seek a Hail Mary to prevent a man-made pandemic hell on earth.------------------- Before the current administration no one would believe that the premise behind THE APOCALYPSE DIRECTIVE is plausible, but few would doubt that now with a few nuances much of this exciting cautionary tale could have happened. There is no question of secret governmental groups with no oversight or any accountability making policy whether it is Iraq or energy (remember Cheney¿s Energy Initiative) while the White House has the leader who admits he goes with his feelings rather than all the facts. Douglas MacKinnon extrapolates somewhat the Bush Imperial presidency's pampering of the Fundamental Right into a frightening chilling tale that will scare readers to their souls because it suddenly seems possible. Fast-paced while the clock ticks away as Armageddon seems certain, the Supreme Court would probably have deliberated 5 to4 (with the five holding session inside Neptune that THE APOCALYPSE DIRECTIVE is constitutionally legal because they would say In God the Founding Fathers trusted.---------------- Harriet Klausner

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