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Chapters (83)
  1. Cover
  2. ALSO BY TOM CLANCY
  3. PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. 77
  81. 78
  82. 79
  83. What’s next onyour reading list?

Jack rinsed his dishes and put them in the dishwasher, then scrambled upstairs. He changed into a pair of black jeans and a dark blue T-shirt, a pair of boots with thick laces, a dark raincoat, and a black-and-purple Baltimore Ravens ball cap. He checked his watch. It was 7:18 p.m. According to Google, sunset tonight would be at 7:21 p.m., and a glance outside his window told him much the same thing. It also confirmed his two Dalfan handlers were in their Range Rover, parked against the curb.

Time to get going.

Jack headed back downstairs and into the kitchen, where he found Paul at the stove, scrambling eggs. That was a good sign.

“Smells good,” Jack said.

“Want some?”

“Already ate, but thanks.” Jack put his hand on the back door, the busted doorjamb recently repaired.

“Where you headed?”

“Back to the warehouse. I need to see what’s inside.”

“I thought they wouldn’t let you in.”

Jack smiled. “I made the mistake of asking for permission the first time.”

“Be careful—and don’t get caught.”

“I will, on both counts. First thing I need to do is ditch our friends out front.”

Paul spooned his scrambled eggs onto a plate. “And call me if there’s a problem.”

“Okay, Mom.”

Paul glowered at Jack. Something violent stirred behind those pale gray eyes. It caught Jack off guard, but he ignored it.

Too much to do.

43

Jack dashed for the garage, careful not to make too much noise. Gerry had told him this was a strictly white-side mission and that he wouldn’t need any tools of the trade for his black-side work, but tonight he felt the need to take a few things along. He found a toolbox and quietly rifled through it, pulling out a couple pieces and pocketing them.

He suddenly got the feeling he was being watched, and he checked the corners of the garage for remote cameras but didn’t see any. The Dalfan security team was making him jumpy. He shrugged it off.

Jack stepped outside, closing the door behind him as quietly as possible, just in case the crew out front had their window down and might hear the noise in the backyard and get curious.

He scaled the painted concrete wall facing the property in the rear. He crossed through the neighbor’s yard onto Goodman Street, which ran perpendicular to Crescent Road, where the Dalfan team was parked and, he hoped, still oblivious of his movement.

Jack headed west along Goodman, past a series of beautifully maintained homes, a blend of traditional, modern, and ultramodern middle-class dwellings, all fronting a tree-lined school of some sort. He could’ve been in a suburb of Los Angeles or Dallas—only the occasional Buddha statue, Singapore national flag, or cars driving on the other side of the road would have told him otherwise.