An excerpt from our upcoming new novel Command and Control.

As a string of unexplained attacks push superpowers to the brink, the clock is ticking toward the start of World War III.

Don Riley, head of the CIA’s Emerging Threats Group, has never seen anything like this.

Riley and his team are tasked with identifying national security threats before they become tomorrow’s bad news. But shortly after an Iranian vessel delivers a surprise attack to a US Navy Warship in the Arabian Gulf, a series of seemingly unrelated attacks crop up around the globe.

The US military is rapidly being drawn into full-fledged shooting wars on multiple fronts. Now Riley must sift through the layers of deception in time to discover who—or what—is behind these events…

…before the clock reaches zero hour.

Command and Control is the explosive first book in a brand new series co-written by former submarine officer, David Bruns, and retired naval intelligence officer, J.R. Olson. Dive into this nail-biting techno-thriller today, and brace yourself for an electrifying dose of military action, political intrigue, twist-filled espionage.

Available in ebook, print, audio, and Kindle Unlimited on January 11, 2022

Chapter One

Pyongyang, North Korea

Ian Thomas despised North Korea.

In his thirty-eight years, he had lived in some dark places, but the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea was hands down his least favorite country on Earth. A cult of personality masquerading as a nation-state—with nuclear weapons.

If the Minister were here, he would most assuredly endow Ian with some bit of ancient wisdom that boiled down to the simple fact that he wasn’t in Pyongyang to pass judgment on their quality of governance. He was there to deliver a pointed message to the leader of this godforsaken country and get back to Vladivostok before his cover was blown.

Ian hadn’t seen his mentor in person in years and wondered how the old man was doing. In fact, if he tried to picture the man’s face now, the details washed away in his memory.

It had been that long.

But that was the life of a deep cover agent. He was an instrument of the State, the tip of the spear, the knife-edge of a scalpel, so sharp that the victim often failed to sense the first cut.

Enough daydreaming. He drew his fingers away from the missing chunk of flesh on his right earlobe, the reminder of a fight from his very first mission as an operative for the Minister. The first of many injuries in his work for the Minister, but certainly the most visible.

The defect manifested as a slight imbalance to his face, not enough to be off-putting, but it gave the viewer the sense that something was vaguely wrong with Ian’s appearance.

When deep in thought or under stress, Ian had a habit of tugging that earlobe as if trying to lengthen it enough to hide the imperfection.

This task from the Minister was different in a way that was difficult to quantify. It was the simplicity of the task itself that bothered him. When was the last time the Minister used his premier deep cover operative as a messenger boy?

Outside the warm car, a cold spring rain streamed down the windows.

The drive from the airport was like a trip through time. From a distance, the city of Pyongyang appeared to be thriving, a model city. But cracks in the façade could be found anywhere you looked. The streets were scrupulously clean, but the maintenance was poor and the wide boulevards were empty of cars save official vehicles like the one Ian rode in now. Behind the bright storefronts, Ian spied empty shelves.

None of those externalities bothered him. The worth of a country was not in its economy; it was in the people.

The North Korean people were afraid, Ian decided. There was no other word for their actions. The way their eyes scanned his car, then immediately dropped to the wet pavement. Their shoulders hunched involuntarily, the way a dog that has been beaten too many times flinches at a sudden movement.

Ian shivered and snapped up the collar of his overcoat in sympathy to the sodden pedestrians. Only twenty-four hours ago, he had been poolside in his Singapore apartment, drenched in sun and far from this icy dampness.

The alert had arrived via an X-rated internet solicitation in his email spam folder. The email triggered him to log in to a secure server to retrieve the details of his next assignment from the Minister.

Proceed to Vladivostok. Pick up the contents of a dead drop and deliver them to the North Korean leader.

It was simple to arrange a visit to Vladivostok. His role as a risk assessment manager for Global Risk Ltd, a massive multinational shipping insurance firm, required Ian to inspect client ships all over the world.

Further instructions had awaited him at the Lotte Hotel in Vladivostok. Within fifteen minutes of checking in, Ian had met a limousine in the alley behind the building and was en route to the border crossing with North Korea.

On the back seat of the limo was a slim leather valise containing a new 5G mobile phone, a dated list of shipments assigned to various North Korean freighters beginning in two weeks and extending six months into the future, an oversized sealed envelope, typed instructions for Ian on a single sheet of flimsy paper, and a cheap plastic lighter.

He memorized the instructions, including the Dubai bank account number, and burned the sheet of paper.

The Minister had plans, he decided as the black limousine swept through the open wrought iron gates in front of the mansion of the Supreme Leader of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. This errand was the beginning of something much, much bigger.

He took a deep breath, rehearsing the upcoming encounter in his head.

Be firm, be clear, be merciless. In the mind of the Supreme Leader of North Korea, the color gray was not in the decision-making palette.

The limo drew to a halt, and Ian waited for the driver to open the door. He stepped into the rain and accepted the proffered umbrella from the man. Carefully raked pea gravel crunched beneath the soles of his loafers as he made his way past the manicured shrubs and up the wide stone steps. The rain made a soft pop on the skin of the umbrella, and the air smelled of the coming spring growth.

The tall bronze double doors at the entrance of the palace were open, and a man waited to greet Ian. Chairman Kim’s private secretary had thinning hair combed straight back from his broad forehead, hollow cheeks, and hooded eyes. He bowed, and Ian returned the honor. Park Yong-nam had first served as the Supreme Leader’s tutor and then as his personal secretary for decades, which made him one of the most influential men in this troubled country. He was also, Ian suspected, on the Minister’s payroll.

“The Chairman will see you immediately, sir,” Park said in perfect English.

“The Chairman’s sister should join us,” Ian replied. He watched the man’s face for a reaction. Park was unflappable, but no one in this country was that good. His right eyelid ticked.

Park cleared his throat. “Madame is not available—”

“The Chairman’s sister will join us,” Ian said firmly. “I insist.”

Ian knew Kim’s younger sibling was in the palace because the Minister’s instructions had said so—and the Minister was never wrong. He had long seen the younger sister as a backstop to her unhealthy and often erratic brother. A sudden heart attack—or an assassination—of the Hermit Kingdom leader could prove catastrophic to global stability. That was not a risk the Minster was willing to take.

“As you wish, sir.” The secretary bowed again. “I will see to it myself.”

Park led Ian through the wide entrance hall and up richly carpeted stairs. Pausing outside a set of gold-inlaid double doors, he nodded at the uniformed guard to open the door.

“The Chairman will see you,” he said, his brow creased in worry lines. “I will summon the mistress.”

As the door opened, Ian saw Park hurry down the hall at a half run.

The interior of the Leader’s office was richly styled in gold and mirrors, like a drawing room in the Palace of Versailles. An enormous self-portrait adorned the wall behind the great man’s desk, flanked on either side by his father and grandfather. The desk itself was stacked with neat piles of official-looking documents, but the Leader’s attention was on a Chinese-made iPhone knockoff. He was laughing when he looked up.

Ian entered at a brisk pace and paused before the desk to offer a half bow. “Your Excellency, thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

Ian caught a glance of the mobile phone screen. Internet cat videos.

The Supreme Leader of North Korea stood, his fleshy face wreathed in a smile. He led Ian to a sitting area, two gold-threaded sofas flanking a gold-lacquered coffee table. An enormous bowl of fresh fruit occupied the center of the table.

Ian set the attaché case on the floor and took a seat while the younger man collapsed into the opposite settee. He plucked a grape from the bowl of fruit and tossed it into his mouth, closing his eyes in rapture as he chewed.

“California grapes,” he said without opening his eyes. “The best in the world. Have one.”

“No, thank you,” Ian replied.

The Chairman opened his eyes. “I said have one.”

Ian stared at him with dead eyes. “And I said no, thank you. That’s how a conversation works.”

The Chairman struggled to sit up. His complexion darkened.

“You are in my home—”

“We are waiting for your sister to join us,” Ian interrupted him. “Then we’ll get started.”

Ian was taking a calculated risk. Kim’s lack of self-control was legendary, but Ian was betting that even the leader of the DPRK would not harm a messenger from the Minister.

Of course, Ian could be wrong, too. He mentally cataloged the number of armed guards he had passed since he’d entered the palace. The math was not in his favor. Of course, that was probably why the Minister had decided to send Ian in the first place.

A discreet knock at the door interrupted their staring contest.

Park stepped into the room and announced, “Your Excellency, your sister is here. Shall I show her in?”

Kim plucked another grape, then nodded.

The young woman who entered was the exact opposite of her brother. Trim, composed, professional. She bowed to her older brother first, then offered Ian a Western-style handshake. Whereas her brother sprawled in his seat, legs agape, his sister seated herself primly on the edge of the sofa cushions, her hands folded in her lap.

Ian admired Kim Yo-jong’s reserved nature. Her outward demure pose disguised an understated personal charisma and a razor-sharp intellect.

Right bloodline, wrong gender. A pity.

Still, the Minister was not a man to waste time on lost causes. She was more than just a backup plan, Ian decided.

“You have something for me?” the Chairman snapped at Ian.

Ian opened the valise and extracted an oversized envelope that he knew the Chairman so admired.

The look on Kim’s face changed from annoyance to a wide smile. “Is it from him?” he asked, the hope evident in his voice.

Ian nodded.

Kim snatched the letter from Ian’s grip and raced back to his desk. He seized a gold-plated letter opener with an ivory handle and sliced the envelope open with one stroke. The envelope contained a single sheet of heavy parchment. His expression tightened as he scanned the page.

Ian did not know the exact contents of the letter, but he could make an educated guess. Someone had just told this man-child to behave.

Ian waited for the Chairman’s next move. On an emotional level, the big man was just barely holding it together. The next sixty seconds would tell the full story. Ian was unarmed, save for the short stabbing blade that was hidden in his belt buckle. If things went sideways, he had no intention of being taken prisoner in this country.

The woman kept her gaze on the floor, watching from the corner of her eye as her brother stomped back to the sofa and crashed into a sitting position. He leaned across the table, stripped a handful of grapes from their stems, and crammed them into his mouth. He chewed noisily, his mouth flapping open.

“What do you want from me?” he said finally. “The letter said you had detailed instructions.”

“You will rejoin the global community as a trusted ally,” Ian said. He paused, waiting for a reaction from Kim.

The chewing slowed, eyes narrowed.

“Next month,” Ian continued, “you will make a trip to the United Nations where you will make a speech—in English—proposing a peace deal with a multilateral group of nations. You will renounce all nuclear weapons development activities and say to the world that North Korea is pursuing a strategy of cooperation with the global community.

“Effective immediately, you will cease all testing of nuclear weapons or enrichment of nuclear fuel. You will cease all inflammatory rhetoric against South Korea, Japan, and the United States. You will reopen the border and welcome South Korean investment.”

Kim’s jaw hung open, mashed grapes on full display. His sister’s frame had gone rigid during Ian’s speech. She stared at a spot on the table as if her gaze might burn a hole through the lacquered surface. Ian wondered how many men she had seen her brother murder for lesser reasons.

“Do you have any questions?” Ian asked. “A week should be enough time to make the necessary arrangements, I think.”

The Chairman’s jaw snapped shut. His throat rippled as he swallowed the contents of his mouth. He smoothed a stray hair back into place and smiled at Ian, his teeth stained red by the grapes.

“Why would I do all those things?” he said. “It would destroy my family’s legacy, put my country at grave risk to invasion by the Americans.”

“You do not need to know why,” Ian said coldly. “You just need to follow the instructions I have given you.”

The Chairman’s face flushed dark. His jowls trembled.

Ian allowed his gaze to rest on the man’s younger sister. It was only a glance, but it was enough to remind the Chairman that even he was expendable. Ian paused to make sure the point landed, then he smiled.

“Also, there will be compensation,” Ian said.

He withdrew the list of shipments from the valise and slid it across the table. The North Korean leader’s eyebrows ticked up when he unfolded the paper.

Ian’s smile broadened. Lead with the stick, finish with the carrot.

“These shipments require experienced captains who are able to evade the prying Americans,” Ian said. He drew his new mobile phone from his breast pocket. “Payment terms are half now, half on delivery. I’m ready to transfer funds now.”

Millions of dollars moved in the blink of an eye, but still the Supreme Leader was not satisfied. “Tell me what’s going on,” he said.

Ian shrugged and told him the truth. “I am just a lowly messenger. I know nothing.”

The other man nodded his head slowly, as if considering his options—of which he had none. “And when this is all over, I can go back to the work of the Kim dynasty? The Democratic People’s Republic of Korea will be a nuclear power. I have promised it shall be done.”

Ian stood. He walked to the great man’s desk and plucked the letter from the leather blotter. He spooled the paper and lit it using the plastic lighter. Flames flared. The paper was impregnated with a compound to make it burn fast and clean—the Minister was a man who left no detail to chance.

When the letter had burned down to the last few centimeters, Ian dropped the remnants onto the bowl of fruit. As he bowed at the Supreme Leader, Ian shot a glance at the sister. She nodded at him ever so slightly.

“Of course, Mr. Chairman.”

From Command and Control. Available in ebook, print, audio, and Kindle Unlimited on January 11, 2022

Copyright 2022 by David Bruns and J.R. Olson