Cover image for Scimitar SL-2
Scimitar SL-2
Robinson, Patrick, 1939-
Personal Author:
First edition.
Publication Information:
New York : HarperCollins Publishers, [2004]

Physical Description:
vii, 420 pages : maps ; 24 cm
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Amid the Canary Islands lies the massive crater of thevolcano Cumbre Vieja. Scientists theorize that one day the volcano will erupt, triggering a series of events that will lead to a tsunami higher than any in recorded history. This mega-tsunami, with waves of more than 150 feet in height, would ravage Europe, Africa, and ultimately the East Coast of the United States, causing immeasurable loss of life and destruction ...

After Professor Paul Landon, the world's most prominent geophysicist, is found with a bullet in his head, it is discovered that Ravi Rashood -- America's nemesis and the former SAS officer who is now the head of Hamas -- has hatched a diabolical plot against the West: to fire a nuclear-tipped guided cruise missile -- Scimitar SL-2, named for the curved sword of the Muslim warrior Saladin -- into Cumbre Vieja.

United States Admiral Arnold Morgan, the retired National Security Adviser, and the Pentagon know it's not a joke when Rashood, accompanied once again by his wife, the Palestinian Shakira, explodes Mount St. Helens. Morgan knows something even more horrific is to come.

But stopping them won't be easy.

Rashood and his Hamas crew are deep in the ocean, in an undetectable sub, which he managed to procure from Russia via communist China. Perhaps worse, a new President, a weak-willed liberal in the White House, worries about taking a stand. As the terrorists' deadline approaches, the newly implemented and unseasoned National Security team must consider the unthinkable. They must assume the daunting task of organizing a mass relocation of major population centers along the East Coast to safer ground.

Morgan once again finds himself at the center of a desperate cat-and-mouse chase, battling his greatest enemy yet as he races against time to locate the silent underwater marauder and stop Rashood before the unimaginable happens.

With his trademark authentic research and grasp of military hardware, geopolitics, and cutting-edge science, Patrick Robinson is at the top of his game with this new tale.

Author Notes

Patrick Robinson was a journalist for many years before becoming a full-time writer of books. His non-fiction books were bestsellers around the world and he was the co-author of Sandy Woodward's Falklands War memoir, One Hundred Days.

(Bowker Author Biography)

Reviews 2

Publisher's Weekly Review

Ravi Rashood, the arch-villain of Robinson's 2003 adventure, Barracuda 945, returns for another round with Adm. Arnold Morgan, national security adviser for the former U.S. president, a militaristic Republican. Rashood and Morgan's showdown takes on some of the aura of the Holmes/Moriarty duel Rashood has even named his new submarine Barracuda II thanks, in part, to Robinson's rather plummy prose; not even Clive Cussler would have a character utter "Streuth" as an expletive. At 64, the crusty Morgan has earned his retirement and married his longtime love (and longer-time secretary), Kathy O'Brien. The recently elected Democratic president, "peacenik" Charles McBride, has little use for Morgan's services; Morgan's sidelining gives Hamas General Rashood the opening he needs to hatch another nefarious plot. Robinson builds the story's tension slowly; the lesser lights newly installed in federal security positions are slow to put together the pieces of seemingly unrelated events including the murder of the world's leading geophysicist in London and the surprising eruption of Mount St. Helens. Rashood's plan, which tangentially includes evergreen Western foes Russia, North Korea and China, involves triggering an apocalyptic mega-tsunami via volcanic eruptions caused by a nuclear-tipped guided cruise missile launched from the aforementioned Barracuda... whew! Robinson's full-bodied, measured prose has a retro feel, and his narrative, studded with informative historical and political tidbits, turns every new setting into its own short story. Agent, Ed Victor. (Aug.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

Library Journal Review

If the crater of the volcano Cumbre Vieja off the Canary Islands ever blows, tsunamis more than 150' high will swamp the East Coast. Now Robinson bad-guy Ravi Rashood is planning to nudge Cumbre Vieja with a nuclear missile. (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.



Scimitar SL-2 Chapter One Thursday, January 8, 2009 The White House, Washington, D.C. The brand-new Democratic Administration, fresh from a narrow election victory, was moving into the West Wing. With the exception of the President, who knew he was going anyway at the end of his second term, every hour of every day was a trauma for the outgoing Republicans. For the big hitters of the military and government, handing over the reins to what most of them believed to be a bunch of naive, inexperienced, half-assed limousine liberals led by an idealistic young President from Rhode Island, who would have been pushed to hold down a proper executive job -- well, anywhere -- was appalling. And today was probably the worst day of all. Adm. Arnold Morgan, the retiring President's National Security Adviser, was about to leave the White House for the last time. His big nineteenth-century Naval desk had already been cleared and removed, and now there were only a few good-byes left. The door to his office was wide open, and the Admiral, accompanied by his alarmingly beautiful secretary Kathy O'Brien, was ready to go. In attendance was the Secretary of State Harcourt Travis; the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, Gen. Tim Scannell; the Chief of Naval Operations, Adm. Alan Dickson; the Director of the National Security Agency, Adm. George Morris; and Morris's personal assistant, Lt. Comdr. James Ramshawe, American by birth, with Australian parents. As the great man took his leave, they all stood in a small "family" huddle, veterans in the last half-dozen years of some of the most brutal secret operations ever conducted by the United States Military. Their devotion to Arnold had grown from the series of great triumphs on the international stage due, almost entirely, to the strengths of the Admiral's intellect. Like Caesar, Admiral Morgan was not lovable -- except to Kathy -- but his grasp of international politics, string-pulling, poker-playing, threats and counterthreats, Machiavellian propaganda, and the conduct of restricted, classified military operations was second to none. At all of the above he was a virtuoso, driven by an unbending sense of patriotism. During his reign in the West Wing he intimidated, cajoled, outwitted, and bullied some of the most powerful men on earth. His creed was to fight and fight, and never to lower his blade short of victory. Gen. Douglas MacArthur and Gen. George Patton were his heroes. And now the Admiral was departing, leaving his Washington confi- dants devastated, convinced that another heaven and another earth must surely pass before such a man could be again. Many of the high-ranking civilians would themselves go within a few short weeks of the incoming Democrats, but none so utterly ignominiously as Admiral Morgan himself. Called on the telephone by a Miss Betty-Ann Jones, a Southern liberal who had never been to Washington, he was told, "President McBride thinks it would be better if y'all resigned raht now, since he dun't think you and he's gonna get along real well." Arnold Morgan had needed no second bidding. Five minutes later, he had dictated his short letter of resignation to Kathy, and ten minutes later, they were working on their wedding date, the colossal job of National Security Adviser no longer standing between them. At Arnold's farewell dinner, at a favorite Georgetown restaurant, Secretary Travis, always the voice of irony and sly humor, had arrived at the table humming theatrically and loudly the tune of "Those Wedding Bells Are Breaking Up That Old Gang of Mine." Shortly he would return to Harvard to take up a professorship. The military members of Arnold's inner circle would remain at their posts, more or less, under a new Commander in Chief. And now Admiral Morgan stood at the great oak door to his office. He hesitated briefly, and nodded curtly to the empty room. Then he strode outside to the corridor, where his former colleagues waited. He smiled with some difficulty. "I'd be grateful," he said, "if each one of you would come and take me by the hand." And so they said their farewells, each consumed by the private sense of trust they all shared with the National Security Chief. The last handshake was with the youngest of them, Lieutenant Commander Ramshawe, with whom Admiral Morgan had a near father-son relationship. "I'll miss you, Jimmy," he said. "And I'll miss you, sir," replied the young officer. "I don't suppose you'll ever know how much." "Thanks, kid," said the Admiral informally. And then he turned on his heel, immaculately tailored in a dark gray suit, gleaming black leather lace-up shoes, blue shirt, and Naval Academy tie. He walked resolutely, shoulders back, upright, full of dignity, with Kathy, his bride-to-be, at his side. He walked among the portraits of Presidents past, nodding sharply to General Eisenhower, as he always did. He walked like a man not departing but like a young officer recently summoned to the colors. In his mind a lifetime of thoughts, a lifetime of service to his country. The different people he had been ... the Commanding Officer of a surface ship and then of a nuclear submarine out of Norfolk, Virginia ... the Intelligence Tsar, head of the National Security Agency in Maryland ... and finally the right hand of a faltering Republican President who ended up knowing neither loyalty nor patriotism. That never mattered. Arnold had enough for both of them. Walking along the familiar corridors, the Admiral heard once more the swish of the waves on a ship's hull heading out of a threatened harbor and into the great rolling swells of the ocean, the metallic scream of the anchor chain, the terse instructions of the COB, and in the deepest recesses of his mind, the shouts and commands of far-lost U.S. Navy SEALs whom he had never seen, never met, obeying his orders. Always obeying. As he himself obeyed his. Mostly. He heard again the bells of the watch, tolling off the hours. And the smooth slide of his submarine's periscope ... Scimitar SL-2 . Copyright © by Patrick Robinson. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold. Excerpted from Scimitar SL-2 by Patrick Robinson All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.