Mitch Rapp faces an Iranian foe bent on destabilizing the Middle East in this “bloody, electrifying adventure” ( The Real Book Spy ) from Vince Flynn’s #1 New York Times bestselling series, now written by the “worthy successor to Tom Clancy” ( Publishers Weekly ) Don Bentley. April 2011: On a remote mountaintop overlooking the remains of the Iranian nuclear weapons program, Azad Ashani witnesses the successful demonstration of a new weapons system meant to upend the American-led war in Afghanistan. Ashani, director of the Iranian Ministry of Intelligence and Security and Irene Kennedy’s former back channel to the Iranian government, recognizes the demonstration’s true significance, and the nation-ending conflict it will provoke. Alone, Ashani stands no chance of preventing this rush to madness. But with the help of one man, he just might. In Washington, DC, CIA director Irene Kennedy briefs the president that the operational window to kill or capture Osama bin Laden at his recently discovered compound in Abbottabad, Pakistan is rapidly closing. But before he’ll authorize a commando raid on Pakistani soil, the president demands irrefutable proof of bin Laden’s presence. Proof he trusts just one man to provide. Preventing a looming war in the Middle East while delivering justice for the nearly 3,000 Americans killed on 9/11 would be a big ask for anyone but Mitch Rapp isn’t just anyone in this high-octane thriller that is perfect for “action junkies” ( Kirkus Reviews ). #1 New York Times bestselling author Vince Flynn (1966–2013) created one of contemporary fiction’s most popular heroes: CIA counterterrorist agent Mitch Rapp, featured in thirteen of Flynn’s acclaimed political thrillers. All of his novels are New York Times bestsellers, including his stand-alone debut novel, Term Limits . Don Bentley is the New York Times bestselling author of multiple books in several series including the Matt Drake novels, the Tom Clancy Jack Ryan Jr. series, and now the Vince Flynn Mitch Rapp series. Don is a former FBI Special Agent, SWAT team member, and Army Apache helicopter pilot. Learn more at DonBentleyBooks.com. Chapter 1 CHAPTER 1 FRIDAY, APRIL 29, 2011 ISLAMABAD, PAKISTAN “I’M taking this chair.” The muscular Pakistani man grabbed the chair in question and dragged it across AstroTurf-coated concrete to the far side of the patio. He didn’t wait for a reply from the table’s occupant. The Pakistani’s companion, a pretty brunette, frowned at her date’s boorish behavior. Though the sun had long since set and the evening’s unseasonably muggy air settled on the shoulders of her robin-egg blue shalwar kameez like a thick cotton blanket, she still shivered. Sunrise Café was a trendy spot, and its outdoor courtyard was much in demand. The patio was populated by white wicker tables and matching chairs adorned with plush red cushions. Potted plants surrounded the seating area and hung from wooden adornments while cooling electric fans provided a semblance of a breeze. The breeze had not caused the woman’s shiver. Something about the slim man seated alone at the far side of the café gave her pause. Though there was nothing about his manner to suggest that he’d understood what her boyfriend had said, or taken offense at her date’s rude actions, the woman could not shake her sense of unease. The man had an olive complexion and thick, black hair that had begun to gray at the temples. He could have passed for a half a dozen nationalities, but his expensive linen slacks, tailored sport coat, and silk dress shirt worn open at the collar had a European flair. He hadn’t so much as looked up from his paper during the earlier interaction, but as if he could feel her gaze, he did so now. The woman swallowed. Though the man’s face bore no malice, his eyes made her stomach tremble. The black orbs stared through her, and she shivered a second time. “Sorry,” the woman said, mouthing the word. The man gazed at her for a beat longer. Then, he slowly nodded. “Sorry for what?” her date said. “Him? He’s nothing.” The woman smiled at her companion as he settled into his chair. “I’m sure you’re right,” she said. Her boyfriend was not right. The man had gone back to his paper and a sense of calm settled over the patio, though the woman couldn’t help but think that it was the calm before a storm. Mitch Rapp was accustomed to being underestimated. To be fair, Rapp made a practice of appearing as something other than he was. This was not so much because he was embarrassed about his vocation as that what he did for a living wasn’t often discussed in polite company. Rapp was a professional killer. “FAIRBANKS confirmed. I say again, FAIRBANKS confirmed, over.” Rapp fought the urge to grind his teeth at the radio transmission, choosing instead to vent his frustration on his espresso. Selecting the unsuspecting spoon lying adjacent to the ceramic cup, he stirred the dark contents with an alt