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Back Point of Contact Save as PDF
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 checked his watch. Two minutes until midnight.

Two minutes until the end of the world.

65

Jack freed Paul’s other arm and tried to help him to his feet, but the big man’s knees buckled. Paul’s good hand gripped Jack’s forearm like a vise to keep from falling. His hand strength surprised Jack, but he filed that away as he helped Paul lie down on the floor.

Lian bolted back into the room with a medical kit on her shoulder. She dropped down next to Paul and examined each of his wounded fingers. Even though she’d been a cop for several years, the gruesome sight sickened her.

Jack saw the damage, too. The bastard with the pencil mustache had pulled out Paul’s fingernails. Jack felt guilty as hell that he didn’t get there sooner.

“I’m sorry about all of this,” Jack said.

Paul shook his head and moved his mouth but nothing came out.

“I’m worried he might be going into shock,” Lian said, cleaning the wounds and stanching the blood.

Jack flipped the office chair over and raised Paul’s legs, setting them on the support strut about twelve inches off the floor, then pulled off his coat and laid it across his heaving chest. Wind rattled the windows.

“Jack—”

“Buddy, just take it easy.”

Paul’s face beaded with sweat. “We’ve got to stop that virus.”

“How? It’s already loaded.”

Paul pointed his good thumb weakly at his dead torturer. “Chuckles the Clown over there told me it wouldn’t activate until Dalfan stock begins early trading at seven a.m. tomorrow. If we can call the CIO at the Hong Kong exchange before then, he can isolate it, clean it out—at least, not activate it.”

“Phones are down. The storm is beating the hell out of everybody and everything around here until ten a.m. tomorrow, according to the BBC.”

“What about your embassy?” Lian asked, taping Paul’s fingers. “We can try and drive there.”

“Even if we reached it, and if anybody in authority is still there, they probably can’t call out, either.”

“The weather service said the storm was stalling,” Lian said. “There are still flights out of Kuala Lumpur, north of here.”

“Which means Malaysia cell phones and other services are probably still up.” Jack knew there were a U.S. embassy and a CIA station located there. That’s where he needed to go. “How long is the drive?”

“On a normal day? Three and a half hours, four with traffic.”

Jack checked his watch. “There’s just under seven hours left.” He glanced back out the window at the raging storm. “I have to try.”

Lian saw the storm, too. “Of course we have to try.”

“We? There’s no we here,” Jack said. There was a slim chance of making it in weather like this. Maybe even less chance of surviving it.