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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
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  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
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  62. 59
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  64. 61
  65. 62
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  67. 64
  68. 65
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  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?

The grille of an unlit semi tractor slammed into the rear of his van. Jack heard the sickening crunch of sheet metal and glass behind him and the shotgun blast of the airbag in front of him. The seat belt cinched across his chest like a hangman’s noose as the polyester fist of the exploding airbag slammed his face, snapping his head against the headrest and crushing his body back into his seat.

And then things got interesting.

His ass lifted slightly into the air as it followed his strapped body when the entire van careened forward several feet at an oblique angle. His face punched the half-deflated airbag again when the vehicle smashed to a stop as it plowed into something immovable up front. What, he couldn’t tell, because he was blinded by the airbag.

It all happened in about a second and a half, maybe less. It seemed like forever.

Dazed from the double blow to his head, he instinctively clawed at the deflating airbag to tear it away from his face, clearing his view just enough to see that his van was smashed against one of the majestic trees looming over the street. He turned in time to see the hulking, boxy shape of a big-rig tractor racing away. Its headlights were still off but, thankfully, not the light illuminating the license plate. His mind managed to capture the letters and numbers.

Just before he blacked out.

48

He woke to the sound of rain drumming on the roof, his eyes still tightly shut.

For a moment, Jack thought he was in a tin-roofed bungalow on a beach in Aruba, where he had once spent a week with a blonde who had laughing green eyes. He couldn’t remember her name. Maybe he’d never known it.

But the splitting headache throbbing inside of his skull killed the dream and opened his eyes. The spattering raindrops sparkled in the lamplight against the spiderweb of the cracked windshield.

He woke fully now, and cursed, remembering what happened.

What the hell time is it? He glanced at his watch. He’d been out for about ten minutes, maybe more. As his mind cleared, the pain intensified. Mostly his headache, but also his face and neck, and his chest, still strapped tightly against the seat. He twisted around as best he could, expecting to see an ambulance or a police car, or at least a concerned civilian racing to his aid. He hurt like hell, on the verge of serious. He had no idea if he’d sustained internal injuries. But his momentary lapse of self-pity melted away. He couldn’t be found here. Technically, he’d stolen the van. More important, he needed to stay out of the newspapers, and certainly the police blotters.