A Russian plot to seize the Panama Canal plunges President Jack Ryan into a desperate fight for his life in the latest entry in the #1 New York Times bestselling series. For a century, the Panama Canal has served as the path between the seas. Control of this vital waterway is the difference between free trade and chaos in world markets. So when Panamanian President Rafael Botero asks for a show of support against the socialist opposition, his old friend President Jack Ryan can’t turn down an invitation to visit the country, but what seems like an ordinary opportunity to preach the values of democracy quickly turns into a nightmare when a full-blown coup d’état erupts. President Ryan and his Secret Service team are cut off and out of communication. In Washington, the Vice President is coordinating a military response, but there's still one more obstacle. One of the main forces behind the coup is the ruthless criminal organization known as the Camarilla. They’ve had their tentacles deep inside the plot to overthrow the government. All of their hard work has just presented them with an unexpected opportunity they can’t resist—the chance to kill President Jack Ryan. A little more than thirty years ago, Tom Clancy was a Maryland insurance broker with a passion for naval history. Years before, he had been an English major at Baltimore's Loyola College and had always dreamed of writing a novel. His first effort, The Hunt for Red October , sold briskly as a result of rave reviews, then catapulted onto the New York Times bestseller list after President Reagan pronounced it "the perfect yarn." From that day forward, Clancy established himself as an undisputed master at blending exceptional realism and authenticity, intricate plotting, and razor-sharp suspense. He passed away in October 2013. A native of Texas, Marc Cameron spent almost thirty years in law enforcement. He served as a uniformed police officer, mounted (horse patrol) officer, SWAT officer, and US Marshal. Cameron is conversant in Japanese, and travels extensively researching his New York Times– bestselling Jericho Quinn novels. Cameron's books have been nominated for both the Barry Award and the Thriller Award. 1 A hushed commotion fluttered outside Vice President Mark Dehart's ceremonial office-like birds escaping the path of an oncoming truck. Dehart glanced toward the door, smiling broadly to show the young reporter who was sitting on the other side of the Roosevelt desk that he was still paying attention to her questions. Fresh out of Penn State journalism school with a new job at the Philadelphia Inquirer, she was still unjaded enough to be a little starry-eyed about Washington politics. Poor kid. Cub reporter or not, she'd had enough moxie to ask her editor if she could try for an interview with the vice president. That alone was enough to earn her points with Dehart. He was tall and trim with just enough silver at the temples of his dark hair to make him look like that favorite uncle who showed up with interesting stories at Thanksgiving. His deep farmer's tan must have been hereditary because he hadn't had more than a few moments on his old John Deere for over a decade. Dehart wasn't crazy about it, but being the kind of politician that journalists loved to photograph worked well for the man who held the office that was often described as the "spare tire" of the United States government. Still smiling at the reporter, he cocked an ear toward the sounds outside-sotto voce whispers that virtually screamed to be heard, the telltale squeak of his secretary's chair as she got to her feet to race whomever it was to the door. The Eisenhower Executive Office Building was normally a sleepy place compared to the frenetic atmosphere of the West Wing just a short walk away across the White House campus. The wide tiled halls had a way of swallowing up the building's inhabitants, where the White House felt as if it were about to burst at the seams. Dehart pushed away from the Roosevelt desk. He'd signed his name inside the lap drawer like every vice president since Lyndon Johnson. And like every VPOTUS since the 1940s, he used his ceremonial digs in the EEOB when he needed a more picturesque backdrop than his utilitarian office in the West Wing for photo ops, greeting foreign officials, interviews with journalists, etc. As far as he could tell, this was going to be a complimentary piece from his home-state paper, easy, but devoid of much substance. Unlike most politicians, Dehart despised talking about himself and, frankly, would welcome the interruption. He'd never wanted the job of vice president-or the one he'd had before it, for that matter. He and his wife, Dee, had lived in blissful happiness when he served as the senior United States senator from Pennsylvania, that is until Jack Ryan swooped in and asked him to be the secretary of homeland security. Dehart liked to be ahead of the curve, so he stood abruptly as the noise at the d