Enemy Action

by Leo J. Maloney

Genres: Spy Thrillers; Terrorism & Assassination Thrillers; Vigilante Thrillers

Synopsis

The newest installment in acclaimed Black-Ops thriller author Leo J. Maloney’s spin-off series featuring Alex Morgan, daughter of Zeta operative Dan Morgan.

ENEMY ACTION

Defend freedom. Prevent Armageddon. That’s the Zeta maxim when the nefarious Ares organization plots to destabilize world powers on triple fronts across the globe. In Antarctica, Dan Morgan goes on a very personal mission and finds something in the ice that he never expected. In the deceptive calm of the Caribbean, Dan’s daughter Alex is hunting a mysterious figure with nuclear ambitions. In the Indian Ocean, Dan’s partner Peter Conley confronts a deep-sea mining operation set to unleash worldwide devastation.

Three Zeta teams risking everything on do-or-die missions. Three worst-case scenarios that can obliterate millions of lives in the blink of an eye. Three Ares conspiracies ingeniously designed to seize control by any means. Zeta’s limits of endurance and survival are about to be challenged like never before. Because doomsday is coming. The clock is ticking. The final countdown has begun.
 
Praise for Leo J. Maloney and His Novels

“Fine writing and real insider knowledge.” —Lee Child

“A ripping story!”—Meg Gardiner

“Utterly compelling.” —Jeffery Deaver

“The new master of the modern spy game.”—Mark Sullivan

“Rings with authenticity.”—John Gilstrap

Release date: November 26, 2024

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 400

Sample

Highest Praise for Leo J. Maloney

and His Thrillers

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

Twenty-Seven Years Ago

“Is it me,” Peter Conley said, “or is it chilly out?”

Dan Morgan checked the thermometer built into the arm of his parka. It read: -88F. “Must be you.”

“You have to factor in the wind chill,” Conley said. “That makes it feel colder.”

Morgan didn’t think it could ever feel colder. After this mission, he resolved never to complain about Boston winters again. Of course, they could have made the trip through the station itself, but Morgan had insisted that they start spending time outside as soon as possible.

If the mission suddenly turned hot (metaphorically, if not literally) and they had to operate outside tactically, he didn’t want that to be their first real experience outdoors in the cold. Plus, they could be here a week, or three months, and he figured the sooner they acclimated, the better.

The trade-off was that the time necessary to put on and then take off their parka, gloves, face mask, and goggles was much longer than the three- or four-minute walk through the hallways.

Since it challenged his sense of efficiency, Conley had complained, but not much. Besides getting used to the cold, it was good practice getting in and out of their cold-weather gear.

Entering the south doorway, Morgan and Conley were met by Walter, the young physicist who had been assigned to orient the partners to the base. Though he looked impossibly young to Morgan, at twenty-five or -six, he was a couple of years older than Morgan and Conley themselves.

But as Morgan had learned from his work with cars, it’s not the years, it’s the mileage. Walter had likely spent very little of his life outside of a lab. Morgan thought that was a good thing. People like himself and Peter did the high-mileage/high-wear-and-tear work so people like Walter could do the kind of research that they were doing in places like Antarctica.

“Have you talked to Dr. Russell yet?” Walter asked.

“No, but we’ve read up on him,” Conley offered.

“So you know that his work made this research possible. In fact, he largely designed our equipment,” the young man said, a clear air of respect in his voice.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Morgan replied.

As they approached the open door to Russell’s office, Morgan could hear movement inside. By the time they entered, Russell was at the door to meet them.

Russell was maybe sixty years old, trim, with salt-and-pepper hair and glasses. “Walter, thank you for bringing our guests,” he said, holding out his hand.

Morgan shook first and said, “Dan Morgan.” Conley repeated the procedure.

“Good to meet you, and I’m glad to have you here. Come in.” The office was spacious and Russell led them to a small round conference table.

“Again, I’m grateful that your . . . employer sent you to us,” Russell said, letting that hang in the air for a few seconds. “Even though we’ve been getting along fine without a pilot or a helicopter, I know we’ve been lucky in that we haven’t had an emergency that required either.”

“Then for as long as we’re here, you can rest easier,” Conley said.

“And though I appreciate having you both here,” Russell said to Morgan, “I have to say that we really don’t need an electrical systems technician.”

“My attitude is that technicians are a lot like flamethrowers; better to have one and not need it than need one and not have it,” Morgan said.

Russell laughed heartily.

“We hardly ever need a flamethrower down here, but we do have them, so I take your meaning; and I am truly grateful to your employer for offering your special security expertise,” Russell said.

“The Agency is happy to help,” Morgan said. That was as close as he would come to saying “the CIA,” and that was fine in this company. Russell had a relatively high security clearance, as did Walter—who had done some graduate work with lasers for a Department of Defense project.

“Why do you think the Russians have taken such an interest in you?” Conley said.

“I’m not sure. Our work in neutrino detection is pure theoretical physics. It doesn’t have the sort of practical or military applications that seem to drive Russian physics research.” Russell said practical and military with some distaste, but Morgan didn’t begrudge the man his feelings given what he was doing out here.

It must have been unnerving to know that the Russian intelligence agencies had been watching your work for months and that the Russian military had just made the largest troop deployment in the history of Antarctica in your neighborhood.

“Do you think they might want to steal your research?” Morgan offered.

“Unlikely. We’re looking into fairly esoteric and cosmic questions here. Again, I can’t see them actually caring about our work.”

“If they were up to something, say, a secret nuclear reactor in Antarctica, could your system detect it?” Conley asked.

Morgan could see that the man respected the question, but Russell shook his head. “There’s no need. If you wanted to secretly generate massive amounts of power—presuming you had something you wanted to do with that much power—there are better ways.”

“Better than a nuclear reactor?” Conley asked.

“Of course. Mt. Erebus is an active volcano and is one of hundreds under our feet. If you wanted to generate power in secret, you could build a geothermal plant that would give you as much power with less trouble and less chance of being detected.”

“For now,” Morgan said, “let’s just assume the Russians are just being nosy, and the troop deployment is a show of force unrelated to your work. Perhaps they are thinking about renegotiating the treaty that says no single country owns this continent. There is petroleum underneath the ice here. Perhaps they have designs there and just happen to have chosen your neighborhood for their base.”

Even as Morgan said it, his gut told him it wasn’t true. In his experience, the Russians were strategic thinkers, and with them, unlikely events happening in proximity to one another were never a coincidence.

However, it wouldn’t pay to panic the civilians. If something came up, he and Conley would have to handle it. In fact, if something was going to happen, Morgan would prefer that it happen sooner rather than later.

He had business of another sort with a Russian back in the States. Natasha Orlov was ready to defect, but she wouldn’t do it unless he was there to see to the details personally.

She didn’t trust anyone else at the Agency, and the fact was that Morgan wanted to be there. He also wanted to make sure she was safe, and she definitely wanted him to be there when she was debriefed.

And when all of that business was finished, they could continue the personal business they had begun at the Russian Embassy in Washington.

“As I said, I’m glad you are here, but there are only two of you. What happens if the Russian troops become aggressive? I have thirty people to worry about here,” Russell said.

“I want you to leave that to the both of us. I’m a very good technician, and Mr. Conley is an excellent pilot. And there are barely two hundred of them. We’ll do our job so you can concentrate on yours,” Morgan said.

That seemed to satisfy Russell. It helped that the man wanted to believe him. It helped even more that Morgan meant it. Heisenberg Base was their mission now. He and Conley would do whatever it took to keep it safe.

“While you are here, I hope you will take advantage of our facilities. We do our best to make everyone comfortable. Walter can show you around,” Russell said, his tone politely indicating the meeting was over.

“Actually, I wanted to get right to work and visit the Stack,” Morgan said.

“You want to see the equipment?” Russell asked.

“Yes, I’ve seen the specs and I’m not happy with the failure rate of some of the sensors,” Morgan said.

“You suspect sabotage?” Russell said.

“Not at all. I have some concerns about the power system,” Morgan said.

Russell’s mouth hung open, and Walter was looking at Morgan like he had just waltzed into the Vatican and challenged the pope to an arm-wrestling match.

Russell recovered quickly and said, “We have over five hundred individual sensors and less than a 2 percent failure rate. That is well within our design tolerances.”

“No,” Morgan corrected him. “It was less than 2 percent for the first six months. Now it’s over 4 percent. It’s been climbing since you added wind power to supplement your diesel generators.”

“I supervised that upgrade myself. Again, we’re still within tolerances. In addition, you are here for security,” Russell said.

“True, but we like to make ourselves useful,” Morgan replied. “We’ll bring Walter along for the survey, and I won’t make any repairs unless you approve. However, it will keep us busy and maybe we can get some more of your sensors working.”

“It’s not really necessary . . .” Russell began, appearing unsure for the first time since the meeting started.

Conley chimed in. “Not necessary for your current work where you are back-tracing neutrinos to their source. However, if we can get your numbers up, you can start looking at neutrino interactions. Your work identifying neutrino origins is merely confirming accepted theory. But if I read your papers correctly, you have bigger ambitions.”

For a second, Morgan didn’t know what Russell was going to do. Then the man did the last thing Morgan expected: he laughed.

It took Walter an uncomfortable moment to process that his boss wasn’t in a rage, and the young man smiled in relief.

“If you can do that, I’ll buy you both a drink,” Russell said.

A few minutes later, they had loaded the equipment they needed into the helicopter that Morgan and Conley had taken from McMurdo Base to Heisenberg.

Once they were inside the aircraft, Morgan noticed that Walter had put his safety belt on before Morgan was even seated.

“You know, we usually just take a Snowcat out to the detector. It’s a short trip,” Walter said.

“I want to get some hours on this bird,” Conley said.

Morgan understood. Part of Conley’s motive was similar to Morgan’s own desire to get up to speed on their new environment and equipment, and part of it was the fact that Conley was excited about this particular helicopter.

Conley knew aircraft the way that Morgan knew cars. He had requested the JetRanger 206 for this mission, and the Agency had obliged. All that Morgan knew about it was that it was a Canadian civilian aircraft based on a military design.

Morgan liked that it was relatively spacious inside, with room for four plus a fair amount of cargo. He noticed that Walter did not seem impressed. In fact, he looked downright nervous.

“You okay to fly?” Morgan asked.

“I’ve never been in a helicopter before,” Walter said.

“Just like a plane, but softer on the landing,” Morgan said. “Plus, you are in good hands,” he added, gesturing to Conley.

Walter watched Conley studying the controls and asked, “How long have you had your license?”

“Years, I got my pilot’s license when I was in high school,” Conley said as he started up the chopper.

“Helicopter license?” Walter said. Morgan was impressed. The kid was sharp and had good intuition.

“That’s just a formality,” Conley said, and before Walter could respond, the helicopter rose off the ground. Morgan could see that Conley had made it a soft takeoff, partly to show off and partly to avoid panicking their passenger.

Once they were in the air, Walter silently clutched the armrests of his seat and watched the horizon.

It took them less than five minutes to get to the Stack, and Conley touched down softly. He turned to give Walter a reassuring smile. “See, piece of cake.”

To Walter’s credit, he grinned back and seemed to relax.

Once they were on the ground outside, Walter gestured to the snow in front of them and said, “What do you think?”

Honestly, it looked like most of the flat snow plains they had seen in Antarctica. The only difference was that there was some sort of waist-high metal box every twenty yards or so.

“You don’t have to say it. It doesn’t look like much on the outside, but you are looking at the largest sensor system in the world. The Stack has a half-square-mile footprint and goes about a half mile down, making it effectively a twenty-eight-hundred-foot cube. Each of those boxes is the control panel for a string that holds sixty evenly spaced digital optical sensors on a half-mile-long cable, giving us over five thousand individual sensor units. And that’s what allows us to see nearly invisible, charge-less, mass-less particles.”

Morgan had read the briefing material and knew most of this, but he let the young scientist talk.

“Do you really think you can improve the system, Mr. Morgan?” Walter said.

“First, you can call me Dan, and second, yes I can,” Morgan said, heading into the field. The control boxes were numbered, and it didn’t take him long to find one that was on the list of strings with bad sensors. “I’m just going to pop it open and check the capacitor,” he said.

On Walter’s nervous nod, Morgan opened the panel on top of the box and quickly found the capacitor. “Okay if I pull it? I brought a replacement,” Morgan said.

After another even more nervous nod from Walter, Morgan pulled a new capacitor from his backpack, installed it, and turned the panel back on. There was a quick reboot procedure and then the sensor string was back online.

Walter studied the numbers on the panel readout and then his eyes went wide. “Five of the eight inoperative sensors are back on. How . . .”

“I won’t pretend to understand your equipment but you made two classic mistakes. First, you ran all of your current on a single line. That means that each sensor attaches to the current at only one point. If there’s corrosion, you lose a good connection to the sensor. Easy mistake to make. It’s still a problem with Chryslers.”

“Chryslers?” Walter asked.

“The cars, any mechanic you ask will tell you stories about Chrysler electrical systems. Also, you have too much variation in your amperage and it degrades your capacitors. Even though the current stays within specs, you get too many ups and downs. It’s like having a poor performing alternator; it wreaks havoc on electronics. And the more sophisticated the electronics, the more consistent the power needs to be. Based on what they cost, your sensors are pretty sophisticated. Upgrading your capacitors will help there. I brought enough to replace all of them. Get approval from your boss and we can knock the work out in a couple of days.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Walter said. “Cars . . .”

“Are well-engineered combinations of mechanical, electrical, and electronic systems,” Morgan said. “Come on, give us the tour.”

Walter walked them through the field of control boxes to a junction box of some kind. Next to that was a four-foot satellite dish on a steel post about a dozen feet high.

“The data goes to the junction and then the dish sends it back to us at Heisenberg Base,” Walter said.

Morgan could see that Conley was impressed.

“When we have some time, you’ll have to explain what neutrinos tell you . . .” Conley said.

Before Conley could finish, Walter became fixated on the satellite dish. “That’s odd,” he said.

“What is?” Morgan replied, hearing something he didn’t like in the young man’s voice.

When Walter was less than six feet from the dish, he raised a gloved hand and pointed at the new addition. “That box. It wasn’t there before,” Walter said. “And no one could have requisitioned new equipment without me seeing it, let alone created a work order. And they definitely couldn’t have installed said new equipment.”

The rectangular box was green, easily standing out against the white pole and dish. It was attached to the pole just under the dish. When Morgan noticed that the box had a slight curve, alarm bells started going off in his head.

“Down!” he called out, knowing that that would be enough for Conley. Walter, on the other hand, was still apparently hypnotized by the strange device.

Morgan didn’t have to take the extra seconds to read the Russian words on the back of the green box to know what it was: a MON-50 mine—a Russian knockoff of the Claymore. It was attached to a small box that Morgan assumed was an electronic trigger.

At that precise instant, Walter took another step forward, and before a plan had formed in his head, Morgan flung himself into the air, tackling the man.

The explosion followed less than a second later, and Morgan felt the pressure wave pass over him as something solid hit him, hard, in the back.

As his hearing started to clear, Morgan heard Conley calling to him. “I’m okay,” Morgan called back, rolling off Walter.

“What about you?” Morgan asked, getting into a kneeling position and pulling Walter up. The man was moving, shaking his head to clear it, and Morgan couldn’t see any injuries.

“Can you get to your feet?” he asked, as he stood and continued to pull on Walter, who was soon standing himself.

“I’m okay,” he said. “What was that?”

“A landmine,” Morgan said.

“What? Why?” Walter said.

“I think it’s safe to say that Heisenberg Base is now under attack,” Conley said.

Morgan heard his partner sputter and say, “Dan, are you sure you are all right?”

Then Conley was pulling at Morgan’s backpack. When it was off him, Morgan saw what had caused the thump on his back. A six-inch spike of metal was sticking out of the pack.

A quick swipe of his hand over his back told Morgan that the spike hadn’t touched him. “Like I said, good capacitors . . .”

“Come on, let’s get back to Heisenberg,” Morgan said. The three men hurried as much as they could.

It was awkward trying to run in the snow but they managed pretty good time to the helicopter, and Conley had them in the air quickly as Morgan got on the radio to Heisenberg. They were halfway back before he had Russell on the line.

“Dr. Russell, this is Dan Morgan. I’d like you to run that lockdown drill we talked about,” he said.

“Lockdown drill?” Russell asked.

“Yes, please start the drill now. It’s a good time to practice lockdown procedures. We’ll be back at the base shortly, and you and I can review the results in detail—there’s no point in discussing it now,” he said.

To Russell’s credit, there was only a brief second of silence before the man said, “I understand. I look forward to our meeting.”

“How long, Peter?” he asked.

“We’ll be at the base and on the ground in five minutes,” Conley said.

“You couldn’t tell Dr. Russell what was really going on because you’re afraid the Russians are monitoring high-frequency radio channels?” Walter said.

Morgan decided that he liked this bunch of scientists. If you were working with civilians, best if they were smart.

“Actually, I’m sure they are monitoring all radio channels and I wouldn’t trust satellite phones either,” Morgan said.

“But the base could come under attack at any time,” Walter said. It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes, but I don’t think it will. This was an attack on your equipment, not a wide-scale attack on personnel, not yet,” Morgan said.

Before Walter could ask, Morgan raised his hand and said, “We’ll tell you what we think is going on when we get to the base. In the meantime, do you even have a lockdown procedure?”

Walter shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’m not even sure the exterior doors have locks. You don’t want anyone to get stuck outside.”

“If the Russians had waited another day, we would have started our security evaluation,” Conley said. “We could have fixed that.”

“Why did this have to happen when you were both off the base?” Walter said.

“That is our good luck. I don’t think anyone was supposed to survive the explosion,” Morgan said.

Even though Morgan was confident the base was safe for now, he was relieved to see that it looked normal on their approach. On the ground, they secured the helicopter and w. . .