subtleties of English prose, he mostly talked to me as if I were a petty officer third class wrestling with the conn.
But the admiral and I have sailed difficult literary waters before, and somehow we made our way around the course. I am deeply indebted to him for his insights, incomparable knowledge of the operation of a submarine, and, in this case, his knowledge of nuclear physics. He’s pretty good on the construction of a plot too — radar-alert to the weak, the unlikely, and, to quote him again, “the grotesquely impossible.”
The highlight of writing one of these novels is, for me, the moment the admiral concludes months and months of scheming, criticizing, and checking with a curt nod and the words, “That’ll do.” I am sure his commanders in the 1982 Falklands War saw that decisive finality many times.
It’s reassuring, of course, to have an ex-Battle Group commander, and the Royal Navy’s former Flag Officer Submarines, in your corner. But no one ever said it was supposed to be easy.
For this book I also required expert guidance from officers who had commanded Special Forces. For obvious reasons, none of them ought to be named. However, I am profoundly grateful for their advice and insights into a large-scale assault action.
I thank also Anne Reiley for her eagle-eyed appraisal of certain Washington landmarks. And also my friend Ray McDwyer of Cavan, Ireland, for providing me with a haven on the south side of Dublin City, where I annually carry out the lonely task of writing a 400-page novel.
About the Author
Patrick Robinson lives in Dublin, Ireland, and on Cape Cod, Massachusetts. He is the bestselling author of three novels:
Books by Patrick Robinson
