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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?

He passed a silver Toyota minivan parked at the curb, facing in the opposite direction. He saw the driver’s face when a bolt of lightning flashed across the Toyota’s windshield as the big wipers cleared away the rain. Dark, scowling eyes beneath a thick unibrow tracked him as he passed. A Turk? Maybe. Hardly worth noting, except the Turk tracking him sat next to a blond man in his mid-thirties who was shouting into a cell phone.

His eyes also caught the bright black-and-white license plate bolted to the front. Easy to read, at least part of it. SAM 00 was all he caught. It reminded of a dead friend, Sam Driscoll. It stuck in his brain.

But the mini movie scene in the front seat of the Toyota was over in a flash—literally—and Jack didn’t think any more about it as he turned left onto Upper Changi Road North.

—

The AYE was mostly clear of traffic at this hour, but especially so in this weather. There were a few semi trailers whizzing along, their big tires spraying plumes of water off the asphalt, but few cars. Jack couldn’t make out the make or model of the vehicle several hundred yards behind him, but the halogen headlights had tracked with him for twenty kilometers now. Hard to believe it was a Dalfan surveillance team. Lian made it clear to her team he was never to shake them again. If that was a Dalfan vehicle following him, they’d make themselves known to him and keep close. More likely it was just a commuter coming home late from work in a storm.

Jack’s high-profile van rocked violently as a sudden burst of gusting wind buffeted his vehicle. He wasn’t interested in slowing down. A few kilometers farther, his spine tingled when the tires hydroplaned; he could almost feel the Nissan lifting off the pavement and skimming along on a thin sheet of water. A moment later he regained control easily enough and backed off his speed just a bit, only to have a big rig roar past him, spraying his windshield with even more water than the storm was throwing at him.

But Jack noticed that when he slowed down, so did the car behind him. Isn’t that what a tail would do? he asked himself. Jack chuckled. But so would a cautious commuter if he saw the idiot in front of him nearly lose control.

Jack turned on the radio and hit the scan button. Most of the stations were in English. When he heard a melodious British voice announce “BBC World Service,” he locked in the number.