The key thing about a techno-thriller is that the technology should be
plausible and that it should be thrilling. This novel fails by both
criteria. The key conceit, that a laser operated by a co-opted employee
of
CERN
on the Côte d'Azur could project lifelike holographic images
of the Blessed Virgin Mary and the Prophet Mohammed by bouncing them off
the lunar ranging retroreflectors placed on the lunar surface is
laugh-out-loud absurd. A moment's calculation of the energy required
to return a visible signal to the Earth will result in howls of
laughter, and that's before you consider that holograms don't work
anything like the author presumes they do.
Our high-end NSA and special forces heroes communicate using a
“double
Playfair cipher”.
This is a digraph substitution cipher which can be broken in
milliseconds by modern computers.
Danny brings the MH-6H Little Bird “just a few feet off the high
desert floor”, whereupon Devlin “rappelled down, hit the ground,
and started running” if it were just a few feet, why didn't he just
step off the chopper, or why didn't Danny land it?