Highest Praise for Leo J. Maloney and his thrillers
For Duty and Honor
“Leo Maloney has a real winner with For Duty and Honor—Gritty and intense, it draws you immediately into the action and doesn’t let go.”
—Marc Cameron
Arch Enemy
“Utterly compelling! This novel will grab you from the beginning and simply not let go. And Dan Morgan is one of the best heroes to come along in ages.”
—Jeffery Deaver
Twelve Hours
“Fine writing and real insider knowledge make this a must.”
—Lee Child
Black Skies
“Smart, savvy, and told with the pace and nuance that only a former spook could bring to the page, Black Skies is a tour de force novel of twenty-first-century espionage and a great geopolitical thriller. Maloney is the new master of the modern spy game, and this is first-rate storytelling.”
—Mark Sullivan
“Black Skies is rough, tough, and entertaining. Leo J. Maloney has written a ripping story.”
—Meg Gardiner
Silent Assassin
“Leo Maloney has done it again. Real life often overshadows fiction and Silent Assassin is both: a terrifyingly thrilling story of a man on a clandestine mission to save us all from a madman hell bent on murder, written by a man who knows that world all too well.”
—Michele McPhee
“From the bloody, ripped-from-the-headlines opening sequence, Silent Assassin grabs you and doesn’t let go. Silent Assassin has everything a thriller reader wants—nasty villains, twists and turns, and a hero—Cobra—who just plain kicks ass.”
—Ben Coes
“Dan Morgan, a former black-ops agent, is called out of retirement and back into a secretive world of politics and deceit to stop a madman.”
—The Stoneham Independent
Termination Orders
“Leo J. Maloney is the new voice to be reckoned with. Termination Orders rings with the authenticity that can only come from an insider. This is one outstanding thriller!”
—John Gilstrap
“Taut, tense, and terrifying! You’ll cross your fingers it’s fiction—in this high-powered, action-packed thriller, Leo Maloney proves he clearly knows his stuff.”
—Hank Phillippi Ryan
“A new must-read action thriller that features a double-crossing CIA and Congress, vengeful foreign agents, a corporate drug ring, the Taliban, and narco-terrorists… a you-are-there account of torture, assassination, and double-agents, where ‘nothing is as it seems.’”
—Jon Renaud
“Leo J. Maloney is a real-life Jason Bourne.”
—Josh Zwylen, Wicked Local Stoneham
“A masterly blend of Black Ops intrigue, cleverly interwoven with imaginative sequences of fiction. The reader must guess which accounts are real and which are merely storytelling.”
—Chris Treece, The Chris Treece Show
“A deep-ops story presented in an epic style that takes fact mixed with a bit of fiction to create a spy thriller that takes the reader deep into secret spy missions.”
—Cy Hilterman, Best Sellers World
“For fans of spy thrillers seeking a bit of realism mixed into their novels, Termination Orders will prove to be an excellent and recommended pick.”
—Midwest Book Reviews
Chapter 1
As soon as he stepped off the elevator, Dan Morgan knew that something was different in the hallway. His hand found the butt of his Walther PPK as his brain registered what it was: perfume.
He could smell a few distinctly different brands lingering in the air. That meant the women they had booked had arrived.
The models were necessary for their cover. American arms dealers operating in their particular corner of the business would have a parade of attractive women coming in and out of their suite.
Peter Conley had been making those arrangements with local modeling agencies. He had a knack for it, though the task was tougher in Turkey now than it had been in years past. It was a sign of the ways things were going in that country.
First they came for the swimsuit models, Morgan thought.
The smile died as it reached his lips when he heard the cries from inside the room. His Walther was in his hand and he was running down the hallway before the sound had fully registered.
As he got closer, he heard more cries and shouting. Though the sound was muffled by the door, he could definitely hear female voices. Something was going on in the suite.
Morgan’s key card was in his free hand by the time he reached the door. There was no time for a stealthy entrance. As soon as the light on the lock turned green, he pushed the door open and threw himself inside.
What he saw stopped him cold. He’d run a dozen scenarios in his head as he’d raced to the room and he wasn’t even close.
This is new, he thought.
Peter Conley was sitting at the small dining table that had been moved to the center of the living area of the suite. Four very attractive young women in cocktail dresses were sitting around him, laughing loudly.
There was a small pile of cash in the middle of the table and everyone there was holding playing cards.
All sound had ceased in the room and five pairs of eyes were now on him. Morgan holstered his gun and said, “Sorry, I heard some noise outside and thought there might be a problem in here.”
“There is, these women are robbing me blind,” Conley said.
The girls laughed as Morgan simply looked on, still baffled by what he was seeing. Peter Conley was in a room full of professional models and was playing cards…
“Sorry ladies, that is all of my money that you will get for today,” Conley said. There were disappointed sighs from the women. “I’m afraid my partner and I have got to get to work. It will be time to go in a few minutes anyway; our clients will be arriving soon.”
The women got up and headed to the other room to get themselves ready to leave.
As Morgan and Conley moved the table and chairs back against the wall, Morgan said, “Who are you and what have you done with my partner?”
“Run of bad luck. And one of those women is a graduate student in math. She was unstoppable. But give me another hour and I could have won it all back.”
“Right,” Morgan said.
Morgan hadn’t been referring to the card game and Conley knew it. Something had been different about Conley since he’d met a former Chinese agent named Danhong Guo, or Dani—who was now part of Zeta. They’d had some sort of vacation romance and now there was something complicated going on between them.
And whatever was going on between them had stopped Conley from calling the three women he knew and occasionally saw in Istanbul. That was not only interesting, it was unprecedented.
If they’d had more time, Morgan would have ribbed his friend a bit more. But Conley was right, they did have a meeting.
They neatened the room, making sure that it wasn’t too neat. After all, the penthouse “Sultan” suite, the beautiful women, and the expensive suits they were wearing were all designed to paint a picture—a picture that would attract the right kind of attention.
They had also spent money like rich idiots for the last two weeks in Istanbul. Their cover had been good enough to get them their first client meeting, which was now minutes away.
Right on time there was a call from the concierge, telling them that their guests had arrived. He added that the men appeared to be good businessmen. That was a code that meant they didn’t appear dangerous.
That was as close to security as Morgan and Conley would get on this mission. No guards, no pat downs. The lax atmosphere would fit their cover as dilettante arms dealers.
The men arrived at the door and Morgan let them in. He recognized them from their photographs and ushered them into the suite.
The two Kurds wore Western suits. The senior partner was middle-aged and bald with a greying beard. He introduced himself as Barnas. He was with a thin, nervous young man named Hilmi.
“We spoke on the phone. I’m Dan and this is my partner Peter,” Morgan said as they all exchanged handshakes.
“Can I offer you a drink?” Conley asked pleasantly.
Just then, the four women came bursting out of the other room. The two Kurds nearly jumped out of their skin and then looked in shock at the women.
“Excuse me,” Conley said. “Ladies, thank you for coming. I regret that we have to do some business now.”
Conley led them to the door and the women made a show of kissing him good-bye. Morgan saw two of them press slips of paper into Conley’s hand.
That would be their private phone numbers, Morgan thought, shaking his head.
Whatever was going on with Dani, Conley had not lost his touch. Maintaining a cover was as much stagecraft as it was spycraft, and Peter Conley excelled at both.
He returned to the men and said, “Where were we? Can I get you a drink?”
The two men didn’t respond, watching as the last of the women left the room.
“A drink?” Conley repeated.
“No thank you,” Barnas said. “We would . . .
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