From the bestselling author of The Circle, The Med, The Gulf, The Passage, Tomahawk, China Sea, Black Storm , and The Command . . . a heartstopping thriller of danger and conspiracy at the highest levels of command and government. Medal of Honor winner Commander Dan Lenson wonders who proposed that he be assigned to the White House military staff. It's a dubious honor---serving a president the Joint Chiefs hate more than any other in modern history. Lenson reports to the West Wing to direct a multiservice team working to interdict the flow of drugs from Latin America. Never one to just warm a chair, he sets out to help destroy the Cartel---and uncovers a troubling thread of clues that link cunning and ruthless drug lord Don Juan Nuñez to an assault on a nuclear power plant in Mexico, an obscure Islamic relief agency in Los Angeles, and an air cargo company's imminent flight plan across the United States. Lenson has to battle civilian aides and his own distaste for politics to derail a terrorist strike over the Mexican border. His punishment for breaking the rules to do so is to be sent to the East Wing . . . as the military aide carrying the nuclear "football," the locked briefcase with the secret codes for a nuclear strike, for a president he suspects is having an affair with his wife. And something else is going on beneath the day-to-day turmoil and backstabbing. As his marriage deteriorates and his frustration with Washington builds, Lenson becomes an unwitting accomplice in a dangerous and subversive conspiracy. The U.S. military is responsible for its Commander in Chief's transportation and security. If someone felt strongly enough about it . . . it would be easy for the president to die. You'd think the phrase "slow-moving thriller" would be an oxymoron, or at least a criticism. But, in this case, it 's neither. For its first half, the latest Dan Lenson novel moves at a steady pace, establishing its setting (Lenson has taken a new White House job in "counternarcotics"), characters (of which there are many), and the threads of the plot (which involves a terrorist scheme and a plot to assassinate the U.S. president). Once the scene is set, Lenson accelerates the pace, though never to the nail-biting level of some thrillers. This one's more like an episode of The West Wing blended with traditional thriller elements, and readers of political novels will enjoy the author's revealing portrayal of the backroom goings-on at the White House. Poyer's more interested in story and character than in slam-bang action, and that's a good thing because when the action does kick in, we care enough about the characters to follow them into danger. Recommended especially for fans of Robert Ludlum's political thrillers (although Poyer is a superior writer). David Pitt Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved "Terrific suspense...perfect authenticity...powerful storytelling and compelling characters...David Poyer is our finest military novelist and The Threat is simply superb. Buy it, read it - and tell your friends." --Ralph Peters, author of New Glory and Never Quit the Fight Captain David Poyer's twenty-five books make him the most popular living author of American sea fiction. His career included service in the Atlantic, Mediterranean, Arctic, Caribbean, Persian Gulf area, and Pacific. The Threat is the ninth book in his continuing novel-cycle of the modern Navy and Marine Corps, following The Command, Black Storm, China Sea, Tomahawk, The Passage, The Circle, The Gulf, and The Med (all available as St. Martin's Press mass-market paperbacks). He lives with his wife and daughter on Virginia's Eastern Shore. Visit Poyer's Web site at www.poyer.com. Chapter One Washington, D.C. The corner of Seventeenth and Pennsylvania, early, but the Starbucks across the street was already walled in by secretaries, interns, lobbyists, and Hill rats. The air smelled of exhaust, perfume, latte, and fresh croissants. It was the end of summer, and the morning heat promised a scorching afternoon. Dan Lenson glanced at his watch as he paced along the black wrought-iron fence. On the other side, camera crews were setting up satellite feeds on the putting-green smoothness of the North Lawn. His gray two-button suit felt loose, baggy, after so many years of wearing a uniform. He straightened his back to ease what felt like high-voltage shocks shooting up his arms. The year before, he'd intercepted a nondescript trawler in the eastern Mediterranean. The nuclear weapon in its hold, intended for Israel, had instead detonated a mile away from his ship. He'd hoped for another command after USS Horn. Instead, an office in the Pentagon had called with an offer he'd thought hard about before accepting. He checked his Seiko again. Early, as he was for everything. A habit that didn't drive his wife as nuts as it might, since she was the same way. A woman holding a camera in one hand and a Doberma