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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?

Paul slowed to a near stop and eased the sedan onto a rutted dirt road.

“Kill the lights.”

“Okay.”

They bounced along in first gear for another fifteen minutes, inching along through the ruts in the dark.

“Stop here,” Rhodes said. “See it?”

Paul squinted through the filmy windshield. A quarter-mile away, a small rustic farmhouse stood in a clearing, a few lights burning in the windows. A black ZiL-117 was parked out front, the Soviet version of a luxury four-door sedan.

“That’s Zvezdev.” Rhodes checked his watch. “Excellent. We’re ten minutes early.” He checked all around them. “No one followed us here, and I don’t see anyone around.”

“That’s good, right?”

“It’s just supposed to be me and Zvezdev and the man we’re picking up.”

“What about me?”

“You’re not supposed to be here. I was told to come alone.” Rhodes grinned and patted Paul on the shoulder. “I don’t always do what I’m told.”

Paul nodded. “Where do you want me to park?”

Rhodes pointed away from the farmhouse. “Over there in that stand of trees. Keep your lights off.”

—

Paul pulled in behind a couple thick pines and killed the engine as Rhodes reached into a coat pocket. He handed Paul a pistol.

“You know how to shoot one of these?”

“My dad was a cop.” Paul weighed the 9x18mm Makarov in his hand as Rhodes checked the mag on his full-sized Beretta 92. “Why do I need it?”

“You probably don’t.” Rhodes snatched it back out of Paul’s hand. “You’d probably just shoot yourself anyway.” Rhodes pocketed the Makarov and reholstered his Beretta. “Just stay in the car and keep quiet until I return. It’ll only be a few minutes. Understood?”

Paul nodded, still fidgety.

Rhodes frowned. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. I’ll be here, ready to roll, when you get back.”

Rhodes patted Paul on the shoulder again. “Good man.” He carefully opened his door and closed it gently, avoiding making any noise.

Paul watched Rhodes pick his way through the trees and cut over to the road, and then march up to the front door of the farmhouse. Rhodes knocked and a man’s shape appeared in the doorway. Paul couldn’t hear anything from this far away, but everything must have been okay because he shook hands with the man and the two entered into the farmhouse.

Paul rolled down his window. The car was stuffy and smelled like stale cigarette smoke. His bladder screamed. Paul looked around again. Nothing, except the trees and the sound of the breeze in the pine needles.

He had to pee.

Paul carefully pulled on the handle and used both hands to open the door to keep it from squeaking, just the way Rhodes had done.