The Lazarus Moment

FROM USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR J. ROBERT KENNEDY

AIR FORCE ONE IS DOWN

BUT THEIR FIGHT TO SURVIVE HAS ONLY JUST BEGUN!

USA Today bestselling author J. Robert Kennedy delivers another action-packed thriller in The Lazarus Moment.

When Air Force One crashes in the jungles of Africa, it is up to America’s elite Delta Force to save the survivors not only from rebels hell-bent on capturing the President, but Mother Nature herself.

From South Africa to Moscow, from Washington to Dubai, J. Robert Kennedy delivers an action-packed adventure torn from today’s headlines, leading readers on a roller coaster ride of adrenaline, certain to leave you breathless. A deftly-crafted novel, in true Kennedy style, The Lazarus Moment is an exciting, stunning tale with laughter, romance, heartbreak and hope, along with breakneck action, as only he can deliver.

USA Today bestselling author J. Robert Kennedy has been ranked by Amazon as the #1 Bestselling Action Adventure
novelist based upon combined sales. He is the author of over twenty-five international bestsellers including the smash hit James Acton Thrillers series of which the first
installment,
The Protocol
, has been on the bestseller lists since its release, including occupying the number one spot for three months.
He lives with his wife and daughter and writes full-time.

"If you want fast and furious, if you can cope with a high body count,
most of all if you like to be hugely entertained, then you can't do much better than J Robert Kennedy."

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For a true hero, Xiang Liujua, one of the many parents who have sacrificed
themselves to save their children.

“Our concern with hacking into our planes, our concern with
terrorism, dates back to the early development days of the 380. Ever since then
we've taken particular precautions to make our aircraft as safe as possible. If
you ask me today, I'm
fairly confident
that our aircraft are
secure from hacking.”

Airbus Group CEO Tom Enders

June 2015

Air Force One is arguably the most important aircraft in the world,
certainly one of the most famous. Air Force One is actually a designation for
whatever plane happens to be carrying the President of the United States. There
are two Boeing 747-200s in the fleet that carry the President, built in 1986
for Ronald Reagan.

They are
overdue for replacement.

Security
is tight on this plane for obvious reasons, and the electronics on board are
cutting edge, even if the plane itself isn’t. Though that can’t be said for the
replacement aircraft ordered that might be in service before the end of the
next President’s term should they be reelected.

That
plane will have all the state of the art equipment we’ve come to expect.

And
we’ve come to be concerned about.

With
constant reports of devices being hacked and software errors causing planes to
crash or nearly crash, should we be concerned that the most powerful man in the
world will soon be flying on an aircraft that could be vulnerable?

Should
we be concerned that the existing aircraft has been continually upgraded,
perhaps introducing some of these potential risks?

We are
constantly assured by those who apparently know better than us that these
systems are safe because they are isolated. Someone on their laptop using the
airplane’s Wi-Fi service can’t crash the plane.

Yet as
with any security system, it is only as good as the people behind it.

And
perhaps America should ask itself what would happen when the very person meant
to protect the President from those who would do him harm is no longer on his
side.

For if
Air Force One is hacked, not only are those on board at risk, but so is the
entire world.

When
justice is demanded.

Over Mozambique

“Pull up! For the love of God, pull up!”

Lt. Commander
Joseph “Texas” Cartwright flipped his F/A-18E Super Hornet on its side, giving
him a clear view of the horror unfolding below. He was less than a thousand
feet off the deck, the jungles of Mozambique whipping past below, though none
of the natural, unspoiled beauty registered.

Instead,
his eyes focused on the white and blue 747 still losing altitude below him.
Something had gone wrong. Terribly wrong. What, nobody except those on board
knew. Hand signals from the pilot and co-pilot indicated full power failure and
they had been gliding her toward the ground as they fought for control.

They
knew they were going to crash.

They
knew they were going to die.

For there
was no place to land—no runway, no road, no clear area to bring the behemoth to
the ground.

Just
dense, unforgiving jungle.

The fuel
spilling out the back suddenly stopped, the dump in preparation for the crash
obviously complete.

Even
if they get their engines back, it’s no use.

The
plane continued to drop, the pilot suddenly banking slightly to the left, as if
trying to adjust where they would hit.

Does
he see something?

Texas scanned
ahead yet could see nothing but jungle.

Then the
tops of the trees hitting the wings just before the fuselage disappeared below
the treetops.

A
massive fireball suddenly erupted, a black and orange ball of hate bursting
above the trees, reaching out at the sky in a hellish fury as almost one
hundred souls met their end in what he could only imagine being the most
terrifying experience anyone could go through—knowing you were going to die for
almost half an hour.

He
straightened his plane and activated his comm, his chest tight with the
knowledge his nation had just suffered a tragic loss, and he was the bearer of
that horrible news.

“Castlekeep,
this is Eagle One, Air Force One is down, I repeat, Air Force One is down!”

Outside Donetsk, Ukraine

Russian separatist controlled sector

Six months earlier

Igor Khomenko peered through his binoculars across the Donets River.
The government positions known, his men pound them with everything they had,
but something new was at play. Their opponent’s targeting was too good.

Way too
good.

And he
was pretty sure why. He had just returned from a briefing in Kursk, just across
the border in Russia, their allies providing his forces with valuable,
continuous intel that gave his side a distinct edge. Mother Russia had been
preparing for this conflict for years, and when the plan had been activated,
everything had been in place from the get go, which had allowed his forces to
quickly seize much of Eastern Ukraine.

Russian
troops—volunteers on holidays of course—had been instrumental in gaining
control, thousands sent across, fully equipped, in uniforms with no insignia,
prepared months before the assault. Weapons and supplies had been smuggled into
position in the weeks before, leaving the government forces completely
unprepared.

It had
been almost too easy.

As
expected, the government forces had retreated then formed up their lines,
launching half-hearted counterattacks that his forces had been able to repel on
most occasions, and when things looked dire, Russia would provide more heavy
equipment, munitions and men.

They
would never lose this fight.

Not with
the Russian Bear to urge them on.

It had
only been a matter of time before the West woke up to the threat. Defensive
weapons were already arriving along with trainers and observers, though none of
that would help the Ukrainians. It was unfortunate some idiot had shot down the
Malaysian airliner. It had resulted in the Russians pulling back much of their
sophisticated weaponry. He wasn’t concerned; it just meant the war would last a
little longer.

But
eventually the Donetsk People’s Republic would be established, recognized by
Moscow, and regardless of what the impotent UN or Western European nations
said, it would be permanent.

Moscow
would never allow the territory to be retaken.

Especially
after they absorbed it into the Russian Federation.

He had
met the Russian President on several occasions. He was a great man, a strong
man, a man who knew what needed to be done, a man who feared no one, least of
all the United States. They both knew the Americans had no stomach for war, not
after Afghanistan and Iraq, and not over something as insignificant as the
Ukraine. There was no oil here, no resource wealth, no minorities to protect.

Ukraine
had nothing but a troubled history.

A shell
slammed into a position nearby, the ground shaking, plaster cracking overhead,
covering him and the men in his headquarters in a fine dust.

“Christ,
General, that was close!”

Khomenko
turned to his second-in-command, Alexander Orlov, as he slowly rose. “It’s
nothing.”

It’s nothing.

That’s
what he kept telling his men.

But
something more was going on. The briefing from Moscow had indicated some
advanced artillery had been smuggled into the Ukraine in recent days, stolen
from Iraq several years ago. The black market was teeming with weaponry,
advanced weaponry.

You just
needed to know who to call.

And a
bankroll.

Moscow
was their financier, and now the West was funding the Ukraine’s efforts,
including a lot of private financing, Ukrainian diaspora sending money to Kiev
in an effort to save their former homeland. And it was being put to good use,
Kiev buying the weapons the West refused to give them.

Including
artillery that could actually hit the broadside of a barn.

Several
of their positions had been hit today with near pinpoint accuracy.

But this
was war.

This was
the front line.

People
died.

Friends
died.

Family
died.

His
parents had been killed in the first weeks of the conflict, they refusing to
leave the family home of more than sixty years. It had been shelled, the two
found dead in their bed, holding each other tight. The horror of their final
moments sometimes caused him to lose himself, but they were old and they died
together.

As
Russians in a new Russia.

His
father had been fiercely pro-Russian, hating every minute he lived in the
Ukraine after it had split from the Soviet Union. His grandfather had settled
here almost seventy years ago, farmed the land since, handing it to his son,
and eventually to his grandson.

But Igor
Khomenko was no farmer.

He had
always known he was destined for greater things, and had instead turned to
politics.

Union
politics.

The
filthy capitalist ways of the West were taking over his country, and labor was
paying the price. He had made it his life’s work to fight back, to force the
foreign interests to respect the local workforce, demanding better deals for
his brothers and sisters in the union.

He had
quickly risen through the leadership ranks to eventually head one of the
largest labor unions in the Eastern Ukraine.