Sam Bourne - To Kill the President - The most explosive thriller of the year

HarperCollins Publishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Published by HarperCollins Publishers 2017

Copyright © Jonathan Freedland 2017

Cover design layout by

Cover photographs ©

Jonathan Freedland asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

This is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books

Source ISBN: 9780007413720

Ebook Edition © 2015 ISBN: 9780007413751

Version: 2017-09-12

For my sister Dani: funny, warm and always good company. A devoted mother to her boys, her determination knows no limits. This is for her, with a brother’s love.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About Sam Bourne

By Sam Bourne

About the Publisher

Alexandria, Virginia, Monday, 3.20am

It began the night the President sought to bring about the end of the world.

The first Robert Kassian knew of it was when his phone started vibrating on the nightstand. He woke with a start, his heart thumping. It took him a second to understand where the sound was coming from: he wondered if he had dreamed it. He reached for the nightstand, fumbling to make the vibrations stop. The task was urgent: his wife was a light sleeper who, once stirred, stayed awake.

Only then did he realize this was no alarm, but an incoming call. He took in the next two facts at once: it was 3.20am and the call was from the White House switchboard.

‘Mr Kassian?’

‘Yes,’ he whispered, peeling the duvet back and moving towards the bathroom, the phone jammed against his ear. He had barely opened his eyes.

‘Please hold for the Situation Room.’

So it was happening. The three am call Washington folks always talked about. He’d only been Chief of Staff for four months and this was the first call of its kind. Sure, there had been late-night crises – plenty of those – and urgent meetings just after dawn. The pace had been relentless and round the clock since the inauguration in January. In the last week, that had only intensified. But a bona fide emergency in the middle of the night? This was the first.

A couple of clicks and he was put through. Instantly he could hear a commotion; there was a banging sound. A voice came on. A woman, young and nervous.

‘Mr Kassian. This is Lieutenant Mary Rajak. We have a situation, sir. I think you need to get down here right away.’

Now he could hear shouting. He wondered if this woman had been taken hostage. Maybe the White House was under siege. He blinked hard, his brain now revving.

‘What kind of situation?’

Kassian was sure he heard the woman dip her voice. ‘It involves the President.’

Jesus Christ. Had the President been taken hostage? How would anyone … ‘What’s happened?’

‘Please, sir. Just come.’

‘I’m on my way. But can you—’ He stopped himself. He could hear someone shouting. A man. It sounded as if his voice was coming from the next room.

‘Hold on, sir.’ He guessed she was putting her hand over the receiver. ‘Yes, I’m speaking to Mr Kassian right now. He’s on his way.’

In the second that followed, he could hear it clearly. It was unmistakable. There couldn’t be a soul on the planet who didn’t recognize it. Over the last two years, that voice had been heard every day, once at least, whether on the news or in a video that went viral, sometimes mocking an opponent or taunting a heckler at a rally, sometimes being impersonated by a TV comic or a precocious kid in a school playground. But no one had heard the voice like this, bellowing with rage – real, not confected. Get out of my way. I’m your Commander in fucking Chief and this is an order.

As he listened, Kassian grabbed a shirt and reached for the first suit his hand could find. ‘What the hell is going on there, lieutenant?’

‘It’s difficult to explain on the phone, sir.’

‘This is a secure line.’

‘I don’t think we have much time, sir.’ Her voice was trembling.

‘In a nutshell, lieutenant.’

She spoke quietly, as if fearful of being overheard. ‘North Korea, sir. The President wants to order a nuclear strike.’

‘Jesus fuck.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Has something happened? Is there an imminent attack on the United States?’

‘No, sir.’

‘So, what the—’

‘A statement, sir. From Pyongyang.’

‘A what?’

‘Please, sir. This is very urgent.’

‘A statement? You mean, this is because they said something?’

‘That’s right, sir.’

‘OK. OK. What’s he doing now?’

‘He’s demanding to be put through to the Pentagon War Room, sir.’

Kassian felt his stomach lurch. He’d had upwards of sixty handover meetings, briefings from every branch of the US government before the inauguration, cramming his head with more information than he had learned in all his previous fifty years. But only one session had struck the fear of God into him. It came when he, the soon-to-be President and the Defense Secretary were instructed in the procedure for launching a nuclear strike.

It was so simple, it was terrifying. The President had merely to call the War Room at the Department of Defense, state the secret codes that confirmed he was indeed the President and give the order. That was it. No process, no meetings, no discussion. And no one with any authority to say no. That was the whole point. The system had stayed that way since Truman, enabling the Commander in Chief to act within seconds of an all-out attack on the country.