{"product_id":"second-strike-isbn-9781101985328","title":"Second Strike","description":"\u003cb\u003ePeter Kirsanow delivers a gripping, high-stakes thriller in which special operator Mike Garin faces off against a lethal Russian assassin--and a devious plot to wreak chaos in America.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWithin mere weeks of thwarting a cataclysmic electromagnetic pulse (EMP) attack against the United States, Michael Garin, former leader of the elite Omega special operations unit, discovers that Russia has triggered an ingenious and catastrophic backup plan. Garin's efforts to warn the administration of the new attack, however, fall on deaf ears. No one believes the Russians would initiate another strike of such magnitude so soon. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWithout government support, Garin turns to three people for help: Congo Knox, a former Delta Force sniper; Dan Dwyer, the head of a sprawling military contracting firm; and Olivia Perry, an aide to the national security advisor. Yet Garin and his ad hoc team are checked at every turn by the formidable Russian assassin, Taras Bor, who is directed by an individual seemingly able to manipulate the highest reaches of the US government. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs evidence mounts that the Russian plot has been set in motion and that Bor is pivotal to its success, it's up to Garin and his team to thwart an attack that will cause the death of millions and establish a new world order.“\u003ci\u003eSecond Strike\u003c\/i\u003e is packed with unrelenting action...Peter Kirsanow’s engrossing and captivating story will leave readers with a true appreciation of the many real world challenges our nation’s SPECOPS teams face when going up against the threat of weapons of mass destruction and a ruthless enemy.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—Don D. Mann, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eInside SEAL Team SIX\u003c\/i\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"An exceptionally exciting, edge-of-your-seat thriller whose twists and turns will keep the reader guessing until the very end.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—Walt Gragg, Best Book Award-winning author of \u003ci\u003eThe Red Line\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“\u003ci\u003eSecond Strike\u003c\/i\u003e adds a chilling twist to modern geopolitical tensions.  The Russians have utilized fake ISIS-inspired websites to assemble a group of terrorist-saboteurs, setting the stage for an epic showdown on American soil.  Peter Kirsanow delivers a crafty, edge-of-your-seat story in crackling prose and pulsating action.” \u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e—Barry Lancet, award-winning author of \u003ci\u003eThe Spy Across the Table\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A riveting political thriller short on narrative embellishments and high on frontline action heroes defending plausible threats from outside and inside the U.S.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Kirsanow’s follow-up to \u003ci\u003eTarget Omega\u003c\/i\u003e is equally intense and compelling… Both the villains and the entire plot are truly diabolical. Give this to any military-thriller fan.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eBooklist\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Kirsanow…rarely misses an opportunity to maximize suspense.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003ePraise for the Mike Garin series:\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“An astonishing debut with intelligence and action on every page. This tense and bold special ops thriller delivers a breakneck pace and ultra-high stakes, and the authentic feel of the combat, spycraft, and backroom D.C. political intrigue are second to none. Fans of Brad Thor and Vince Flynn will love \u003ci\u003eTarget Omega\u003c\/i\u003e and demand more from Peter Kirsanow.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—Mark Greaney, #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eBack Blast \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Kirsanow has created an engaging main character in Garin.” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eBooklist \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eon\u003ci\u003e Target Omega\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A riveting and fast paced read, written with a knowledge of weaponry, the intelligence world and the real world politics that mirror our modern struggles.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—Dr. Howard Wasdin, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eSEAL Team Six \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eon \u003ci\u003eTarget Omega\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A dark conspiracy, a hard-edged, big-hearted hero, and non-stop action: \u003ci\u003eTarget Omega\u003c\/i\u003e is one hell of a debut. Peter Kirsanow’s \u003ci\u003eTarget Omega\u003c\/i\u003e is about threats to America in a modern world and the heroes—like charismatic operator Mike Garin – who risk it all to stop the villains and exact revenge in the most brutal and just of ways. Terrific first novel for Peter Kirsanow. Thriller readers, make sure the batteries in your night lights are good to go because \u003ci\u003eTarget Omega\u003c\/i\u003e is going to keep you up all night.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003c\/b\u003eBen Coes, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eFirst Strike\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003ePeter Kirsanow\u003c\/b\u003e practices and teaches law and is an official of a federal agency. He is a former member of the National Labor Relations Board and has testified before Congress on a variety of matters, including the confirmations of five Supreme Court justices. He contributes regularly to \u003ci\u003eNational Review\u003c\/i\u003e, and his op-eds have appeared in newspapers ranging from \u003ci\u003eThe Wall Street Journal\u003c\/i\u003e to \u003ci\u003eThe Washington Times\u003c\/i\u003e. The author of \u003ci\u003eTarget Omega\u003c\/i\u003e, he lives in Cleveland, Ohio.Chapter 1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Boston, Massachusetts,        August 14, 6:35 a.m. EDT\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It was all so much nonsense, she thought. Deliriously theoretical      nonsense. Almost science fiction. Nonetheless, Meagan      Cahill-no-nonsense big-firm litigator Meagan Cahill-sat at the      counter of an eatery in Terminal B of Boston's Logan Airport,      sipping iced coffee and listening as Ryan Moore Hammacher once      again expounded ominously on something called the Arlanda Event.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She listened because Ryan happened to be her current romantic      interest. She listened because he was endearingly earnest and      because there was, frankly, little else to do as they waited for      their flight to Reagan National to begin boarding.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Most of all-she admitted to herself with a twinge of guilt-she      listened because railing about an impending apocalypse had proven      to be remarkably lucrative, and Ryan had spent a not      inconsiderable portion of his earnings on Meagan.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They'd met a little more than two years ago when the MIT professor      of electrical engineering and computer science retained her firm,      one of Boston's most prominent, to sue a Route 128 corridor tech      company for appropriating software he'd developed for the Defense      Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA). She obtained a sizable      settlement for Ryan and shortly thereafter he called her for      drinks. They'd been seeing each other ever since.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Her trial lawyer instincts telegraphed that Ryan would propose      marriage sometime after they arrived in D.C., perhaps after his      testimony later that morning before the House Committee on      Transportation and Infrastructure, but more likely after his      afternoon testimony before the House Committee on Science, Space,      and Technology.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She would accept, sincerely but pragmatically, knowing that she      wouldn't find a better partner. And he was not unattractive,      although his large head, spindly arms, and awkward gait made him      resemble a giant marionette. A mischievous and vaguely lustful      recess of her mind flashed to an image of his head atop the body      of Corey Raines, the brawny Red Sox catcher she'd briefly dated,      but she banished the thought with another twinge of guilt.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e This would be the fourth time she'd accompanied him to Washington      for testimony before some obscure committee of Congress. Each time      previously the hearing had been anodyne. Only a few congressmen, a      smattering of staffers, and a few other witnesses had been      present. No C-SPAN; no print reporters.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Yet after each hearing, Ryan's speaking fees, as well as the      number of requests, rose. After the first hearing he was tendered      a consulting agreement from a defense contractor nearly equal to      his annual salary at MIT. After the last hearing, he'd entered      into another for more than twice the cumulative earnings from his      entire academic career. And DARPA had recently retained his      services to develop certain software in collaboration with      cybersecurity experts. All because Ryan Moore Hammacher was the      Herald of Doom.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e As the coffee parted the early-morning fog in her brain, she      listened to him finish his latest jeremiad, just as the gate      attendant announced that boarding would begin in a few minutes. \".      . . And there's no way of preventing it, at least not on an      individualized basis. They'd become weaponized. Scores of      catastrophes combined to create an event without parallel in      history.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Meagan heard herself say \"horrible\" for perhaps the third time      that morning.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"What's more, they know it. But they haven't created the systems      or countermeasures to prevent it. Unforgivable.\" Ryan fished in      his pocket and placed a tip on the counter. \"Watch my bag? Quick      dash to the men's room before we board.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Meagan finished her coffee as she watched him cross to the      lavatory on the other side of the concourse, politely dodging and      yielding to travelers headed toward their gates. She smiled. A      kind, sweet man playing Chicken Little on a grand scale.      Thankfully, he'd already made his small fortune, because news      reports showed that the president, Congress, and the military now      were more concerned about the threat of electromagnetic pulse, or      EMP, attacks, understandable given the recent Russian-Iranian      efforts in that regard. It was the EMP experts' turn to become      wealthy preventing Armageddon, while Ryan retreated to the      ordinary life of an academic.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A minute later, priority boarding for the flight to D.C. was under      way. Meagan gathered her belongings and Ryan's bag and proceeded      to the line at the gate.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e As regular boarding began, she glanced back toward the men's room.      Ryan's dash had stopped being quick several minutes ago. A dozen      passengers more and the door to the Jetway would soon close. No      time for subtlety. Meagan walked briskly to the entrance of the      men's room and called Ryan's name.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e No response.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She called again. Nothing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She took a few tentative steps toward the entrance. \"Ryan,      boarding's about done. We gotta go.\" A beat. \"Ryan?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She cocked her head and listened. \"Ryan? Hello?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She peeked around the corner into the brightly lit, white-tiled      lavatory lined with a series of sinks on the left wall and a half      dozen urinals on the right. Between them, lying spread-eagled on      the floor and staring at her with lifeless eyes wide open, was      Ryan, his chin resting in a pool of foamy saliva.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Meagan's screams echoed off the restroom walls and into the      concourse just as a voice announced the final boarding call for      United Flight 7181, scheduled for a seven a.m. departure to the      nation's capital.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Chapter 2\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Pacific Northwest,        August 14, 9:27 a.m. PDT\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sean McDermott hated being afraid. He hated having to concede he      was afraid as much as the sensation of fear itself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He knew that to others he didn't look like the kind of man who was      afraid of much. He was big-a former heavyweight wrestler in      college-with a head shaped like an anvil and a face resembling a      bulldog's. In fact, nothing much did scare him. But flying did,      even though he had more hours in the air than some commercial      pilots. As human resources director for a multinational steel      company with facilities across the globe, he flew several days a      week.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And each time petrified him. He knew the fear was irrational. He'd      read the literature on the odds of a plane crash, that he'd have      to fly for centuries before there might be a catastrophic event.      None of that mattered when he was in the air.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Turbulence, of course, was his greatest concern. The slightest      bump, shallowest dip, weakest shudder, set his nerves aflame. He      couldn't help it, no matter how hard he tried.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e During a flight McDermott was alert to every change in speed and      altitude, every call button signal, every movement of the flight      attendants. He knew when to expect the sound of the landing gear      retracting after takeoff and lowering upon landing, the sound of      the wing flaps, the bellow and whine of the engines.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Several of his most frequent flight paths had been committed to      memory. Looking out the cabin window, he would identify mountains,      rivers, lakes, and monuments marking the points at which the plane      should be at cruising altitude, banking toward a final      destination, beginning initial descent, or making final approach.      Any deviation caused him to perk and wait for some sign of      assurance that all was well.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e McDermott took pains never to betray his fear. Whenever one of his      flights did experience rougher than normal turbulence, his face      would remain placid, almost serene, the only evidence of tension      being the bulging veins on the backs of his hands as they gripped      the armrests.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e McDermott was on board a 737, the second leg of the flight from      Detroit to Seattle, with a connection in Salt Lake City. He'd      flown this particular route eight times in the last six months to      attend union negotiations at one of his company's pickling and      slitting facilities outside of Tacoma. By the third trip he'd      memorized all of the landmarks along the flight path denoting the      various stages of the flight.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He could see the Columbia River to the north. By his estimate they      were about seventy-five miles south of Pasco, Washington, and      little more than a hundred miles southeast of Hanford, which at      one time was home to nine nuclear reactors, and now, after their      decommissioning, contained much, if not most, of the high-level      radioactive waste in the country.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e McDermott calculated that in a minute or so he would be able to      see the plumes of steam coming from the cooling towers on the      commercial nuclear power plant that remained in operation at the      Columbia Generating Station. They would then proceed northwest for      another twenty minutes before beginning their initial descent into      Sea-Tac.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Except they didn't. McDermott first sensed a slight drift      northward in the direction of the Hanford site, then a faint bank      to the east, the starboard wing dipping modestly. He swiveled his      head to look about the cabin to see if it had captured anyone      else's attention. Nothing. Some passengers dozing, others scanning      devices in airplane mode, others playing sudoku.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e McDermott gazed out the window. Despite the northerly drift, he      could see the billowing clouds of steam from the Columbia      Generating Station's cooling towers to the west. Likely just a      minor course adjustment, probably to accommodate some traffic in      the vicinity.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A few seconds later, however, the plane banked to the west, a more      pronounced dip of its portside wing, the northerly drift becoming      northwesterly. McDermott once again glanced about the cabin. A few      more passengers were looking up, curious if not concerned.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The cooling towers grew larger in his window as the plane      continued to bank in a northwesterly direction. The flight      attendant from the main cabin passed him on her way to first      class, where she spoke briefly to another attendant, who then      picked up the wall phone opposite the flight deck. After a brief      conversation, she turned to the other attendant with an urgent      expression and said something to which the attendant replied with      a curt nod before returning to the main cabin.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Seconds later, the plane began to descend noticeably, far too soon      and steep for initial descent. They were probably a good two      hundred miles from Sea-Tac and still around a cruising altitude of      thirty-one thousand feet.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The seat belt sign illuminated. A couple of seconds later the      voice of the flight attendant came on the speaker. \"Ladies and      gentlemen, the captain has turned on the seat belt sign. Please      return to your seats and make sure your seat backs and tray tables      are upright and in their locked position and your seat belts are      securely fastened for the remainder of the flight. We're      experiencing a few minor bumps before landing. We'll be passing      through the cabin to collect any remaining service items.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e McDermott, affecting an attitude of nonchalance, began tightening      his seat belt just as the plane shuddered violently and pitched in      a steep dive to the west. Panic spiked from McDermott's stomach      through his throat, which struggled to suppress a cry of terror.      He watched the attendant in first class get knocked off-balance      and fall against the seatback of 4A-opening a deep gash on her      right temple. Baggage flew from the overhead compartments and      oxygen masks dipped to screaming passengers, many of whom were too      preoccupied with bracing themselves to even notice.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Amid the shouts, cries, and prayers McDermott, strangely, found      himself becoming composed. It was as if the overwhelming sensation      of fear had tripped some gauge in some gland that flooded his      brain and body with serotonin and endorphins, producing an      incongruous sense of calm and ease. He quickly considered and      dismissed possible causes for the impending disaster, as if he'd      be able to correct the problem upon identifying it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The roar of the engines grew louder and swiftly changed to a      high-pitched whine. McDermott closed his eyes and the screams of      the passengers and the whine of the engines receded into white      noise. He shook his head once at the irony that all of his worst      fears of flying would be confirmed by his own death.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But in the very next second the whine of the engines dropped      several octaves, the volume of noise dropped almost to normal, and      the plane began to level and stabilize.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e McDermott's eyes snapped open and he looked out the window. The      plane appeared to be at between fifteen and twenty thousand feet,      far higher than he'd expected; it felt as if they'd been diving      for much longer.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He heard whispers, gasps, and sounds of relief from other      passengers. The flight attendants, including the one who'd hit her      temple, were moving about, checking and comforting the passengers.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e McDermott did a quick personal inventory to confirm he hadn't been      hurt and waited for the captain's voice to come on the speaker      with assurances and an explanation of what had gone wrong. But      after several minutes of waiting, it became clear that no      explanation would be coming.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They don't know why it happened, he thought.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e For Scott McDermott, the lack of an explanation didn't matter. In      fact, for his purposes, there was no possible explanation that      would've mattered. Because at that moment, Scott McDermott      resolved never to fly again.","brand":"Dutton","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46299947237605,"sku":"NP9781101985328","price":27.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781101985328.jpg?v=1767736259","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/second-strike-isbn-9781101985328","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}