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Executive Power

Vince Flynn

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  Returning from a covert mission, Mitch Rapp was publicly hailed by the president for his role in the fight against terrorism. After years of working in the shadows, Rapp was caught in the media spotlight—and marked for death by virtually every terrorist in the world. Now a CIA advisor, Rapp is ready to battle terror far from the front lines. But when a Navy SEAL team in the Philippines is ambushed, all evidence points to a leak within the U.S. State Department. And a greater threat lurks—a ruthless assassin working for the most powerful men in the Middle East, who are bent on igniting a world war. With the world watching, Rapp must hold back the flames of Armageddon.





  Includes an excerpt from Vince Flynn’s gripping new thriller,

  Pursuit of honor







  His explosive bestsellers featuring Mitch Rapp are

  “FANTASTIC” (Glenn Beck) . . .

  “JUST FABULOUS” (Rush Limbaugh) . . .


  TIMELY” (The Providence Journal, RI)

  Praise for his electrifying thriller


  “A globe-trotting geopolitical thriller that sizzles with inside information, military muscle, and CIA secrets.”

  —Dan Brown, #1 bestselling author of The Da Vinci Code and The Lost Symbol

  “Craftily plotted and crammed with violence. . . . Complex and interesting.”

  —Star Tribune (Minneapolis, MN)

  And national acclaim for the other Mitch Rapp bestsellers in Vince Flynn’s “exciting, Ludlum-like series” (Booklist)


  “Thrillers do not get any better. . . .”

  —Copley News Service

  “A Rambo perfectly suited for the war on terror.”

  —The Washington Times

  “Mitch Rapp is back with a vengeance. . . . Simply stated, there’s nothing better than watching Mitch Rapp in fiction knock off the bad guys nobody seems able to get in fact. . . . A new era was born [on 9/11] and this is the best thriller to come out of it so far.”

  —The Providence Journal (RI)

  “If you start this well-written thriller, you’ll stick with it, probably past your bedtime.”

  —St. Louis Post-Dispatch

  “Flynn demonstrates that he truly understands the psyche of the enemy. . . . The book races toward a catastrophic, and ironic, conclusion. . . . Really scary, so realistic.”


  “A captivating thriller. . . . An excellent expose about what manner of enemy we are fighting . . . and how the political correctness of the day . . . can not only impede the effort but invite the carnage to our shores.”


  “Taut writing and [a] plausible vision of the real work of the intelligence community.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “CIA operative Mitch Rapp is back. And he’s as fearless as ever.”

  —Saint Paul Pioneer Press (MN)

  “Suspenseful . . . satisfying and totally unexpected.”

  —The Roanoke Times (VA)

  “Every American should read this book.”

  —Bill O’Reilly

  “[A] thriller with deadly aim. . . . Moves at the speed of a Stinger missile.”


  “Nonstop action [with a] surprising twist.”

  —The Stuart News/Port St. Lucie News (FL)

  “Flynn has done his homework on military and security matters.”

  —The Washington Post

  “A master of the political/espionage thriller.”

  —Deseret News (Salt Lake City)

  “Complex, chilling, and satisfying.”

  —The Plain Dealer (Cleveland)

  “Flynn keeps the action moving.”

  —Houston Chronicle


  —The Florida Times-Union

  “A page-turning read.”

  —Larry King, USA Today

  “A roller-coaster, edge-of-your-seat thriller. . . .”

  —Star Tribune (Minneapolis, MN)

  “Action-packed, violent, and politically intense. . . . Truly entertaining—even for those not particularly politically inclined.”

  —The Gazette (Cedar Rapids, IA)

  “The king of high-concept political intrigue.”

  —Dan Brown

  “You’ll be hooked. . . . Move over, Jack Ryan!”

  —Portland Oregonian


  Pursuit of Honor

  Extreme Measures

  Protect and Defend

  Act of Treason

  Consent to Kill

  Memorial Day

  Separation of Power

  The Third Option

  Transfer of Power

  Term Limits

  Atria Books

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  New York, NY 10020

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2003 by Vince Flynn

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Atria Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  This Atria Books paperback edition June 2010

  ATRIA and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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  ISBN 978-1-4391-8965-8

  ISBN 978-0-7434-7127-5 (ebook)

  To Sloan Harris




  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26<
br />
  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76


  Preview: Pursuit of Honor

  About the Author

  About Emily Bestler Books

  About Atria Books

  Ask Atria


  To my lovely wife, Lysa, for once again keeping things together. To my editor, Emily Bestler, who came up with some great ideas that made this novel better than it would have been without her. To Sarah Branham for all of her hard work. To Jack Romanos and Carolyn Reidy of Simon & Schuster for all of their support. To Paolo Pepe and the art department at Atria Books for coming up with a great cover. To Larry Norton and the Simon & Schuster sales force for all of their tireless work. To Judith Curr of Atria Books and Louise Burke of Pocket Books, and all of the other folks who fall under the S&S umbrella who helped put this book together and get it out the door.

  To my agent, Sloan Harris, and Katherine Cluverius at ICM for all of your hard work and candid advice. To Carl Pohlad for all of your generosity and friendship, and for providing me with a quiet place to write. To Larry Johnson for once again being an endless source of information. To Sean Stone for backstopping me on a few ideas. To Bill Harlow, the director of public affairs for the CIA, for once again patiently answering an endless stream of questions. To Paul Evancoe, a retired SEAL commander, who was kind enough to offer me his wisdom. To FBI Special Agent Brad Garrett, who has devoted an entire career to locking up the bad guys. And as always to all of my sources who wish to remain anonymous. Any mistakes in this novel are mine and mine alone.


  The sleek gray craft sliced through the warm water and humid night air of the Philippine Sea at twenty-five knots, its twin engines rumbling toward its destination with a guttural moan. The boat was in violation of international law and at least one treaty, but the men on board didn’t care. Technicalities, legalities and diplomacy were for other people to sort out, people who sat in comfortable leather chairs with Ivy League degrees matted and framed on their office walls. The men standing on the deck of the Mark V special operations craft were here to get a job done, and in their minds, it was a job that should have been taken care of months ago.

  The low profile Mark V special operations craft was designed to sneak in under radar. It had been designed specifically for the United States Navy SEALs, and it was their choice of platform when running maritime insertions. It was eighty-two feet in length but the boat only drafted five feet when it was fully loaded and dead in the water. Instead of the standard screw it was propelled by two waterjets. All of this allowed the boat to maneuver very close to the beach with great precision.

  Five men wearing black flight helmets and night vision goggles manned four .50-caliber machine guns and a 40mm grenade launcher. Eight other men dressed in jungle BDUs and floppy hats sat on the gunwales of the rubber combat raiding craft they would soon launch off the Mark V and went over their equipment for at least the tenth time. Their faces were smeared with warlike green and black camouflage paint, but their expressions were calm.

  Lieutenant Jim Devolis looked down at his SEAL squad and watched them go through their last check. He’d observed them doing it countless times before and for some reason it always reminded him of baboons picking bugs from each other at the zoo. They meticulously examined their H harnesses to make sure every snap was secure and all grenades taped. The communications gear was checked and rechecked. Fresh batteries had been placed in everyone’s night vision goggles, and along with backup batteries the expensive optical devices were stowed in waterproof pouches attached to their H harnesses. Weapons were sandproofed with condoms secured over the muzzles and a bead of silicone sealant around the magazines and bolt covers. The only person wearing a rucksack tonight would be the squad’s medical corpsman, and Devolis sincerely hoped they wouldn’t be needing his expertise. The group was traveling light tonight. No MREs, only a couple of Power Bars for each man. The plan was to be in and out before the sun came up. Just the way the SEALs liked it.

  The tension grew as they neared the demarcation point. Devolis was glad to see that the jaw-jacking had subsided. It was time to get serious. Turning his head to the right and down, his lips found the tube for his neoprene camel water pack and he sucked in a mouthful of fresh water. The men had been drinking all the water they could hold for two days. Hydration before an op in this part of the world was crucial. Even at night the temperature was still in the mid-eighties and the humidity wasn’t far behind. The only thing that was keeping them from sweating through their BDUs was the breeze created by the boat as it cruised at twenty-plus knots. Once they hit the beach, though, that would change. They had a two-mile hike ahead of them through the thick tropical jungle. Even with all the water they’d drunk in the last two days, each man on the team would probably lose five to ten pounds just hiking in and out.

  A firm hand fell on Devolis’s shoulder. He turned to look at the captain of the boat.

  “Two minutes out, Jim. Get your boys loaded up.”

  Devolis nodded once and blinked, his white eyes glowing bright against the dark camouflage paint spread across his face. “Thanks, Pat.” The two men had practiced this drill hundreds of times back in Coronado, California, at the headquarters for Naval Special Warfare Group One.

  “Don’t go wandering off on me now,” Devolis said with a wide grin.

  The captain smiled in the manner of someone who’s confident in his professional ability. “If you call, I’ll be there guns a’blazin’.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.” Devolis nodded and then turned to his men. With his forefinger pointed straight up he made a circular motion and the SEALs instantly got to their feet. A moment later the boat slowed to just under five knots.

  The Mark V, in addition to being extremely fast, also came with a slanted aft deck that allowed it to launch and receive small craft without stopping. Without a word the men grabbed the sides of their black CRRC with the forty-horsepower outboard leading and walked down the aft ramp. The men stopped at the end of the ramp just shy of the Mark V’s frothy white wake and set the rubber boat on the nonskid deck, the lower unit of the outboard hanging in the water. A crew member from the Mark V held on to the rubber boat’s bow line and looked for each man to give him a thumbs-up. All eight men were low in the boat clutching their handholds. One by one they returned the sign.

  The call came over the headset that the launch was a go and the crewman tossed the bow line into the boat. A second crewman joined the first and together they shoved the black rubber boat down the ramp and into the relatively warm water. The small rubber boat slowed instantly, the SEALs hanging as far to the aft as possible to prevent the bow from subm
arining. The boat rocked gently in the wake of the Mark V and no one moved a muscle. The men lay perfectly still, listening to the ominous moan of the Mark V as it sped away. Not one of them had any desire for the boat to return until they needed it. They eagerly looked forward to carrying out their mission. Unfortunately, they were unaware that thousands of miles away they’d already been fatally compromised by someone from their own country.


  Anna Rielly drifted in and out of sleep, the warm sun enveloping her in a hazy dream. Her bronzed skin glistened with a mixture of sweat and sunscreen. A slight afternoon breeze floated in off the ocean. It had been the perfect week. Nothing but food, sun, sex and sleep. The ideal honeymoon. A small resort on a remote Caribbean island with their own secluded cabana, gravity pool and beach. Total privacy, no TV, no phones, no pagers, just the two of them.

  She opened her eyes a touch and looked down at her wedding ring. She couldn’t help but smile. She was like a schoolgirl again. It was a perfect diamond set in an elegant platinum Tiffany setting. Not too big, not too small, just right. Most important, though, it was from the right man. The man of her dreams.

  She was now officially Mrs. Anna Rapp. He had been a little surprised that she’d taken his name without so much as a word of debate. She was a feminist, after all, with definite liberal leanings, but she could also be an old-fashioned romantic. She could think of no other man she respected more. It was an honor to share his name and she wanted the world to know that they were now a family. In addition, she could also be pragmatic. She had no desire to one day see her grandchildren running around with four last names. Professionally though, she would keep her maiden name. As the White House correspondent for NBC she already had name recognition and a solid career. It was a good compromise and Mitch didn’t object.