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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
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  58. 55
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  60. 57
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  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
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  80. 77
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  82. 79
  83. What’s next onyour reading list?

Having nothing to declare, Paul and Jack proceeded swiftly through the green corridor at customs, then headed for the Terminal 3 baggage area. Jack was stunned by the architecture in the wide and open space. The gray-and-white stone floors were patterned like an IBM punch card, complementing the cantilevered panels that opened in the high ceiling like silver windows. But the cold modernity was offset by soaring walls covered in a green hanging garden and stately palm trees planted in the floor. It felt more like a space station biodome than an airport terminal.

The added bonus was that their luggage was already rumbling along on the wide rubber plates of the conveyor belt.

“How is that even possible? I’m usually waiting for my luggage longer than the flight lasts, back in the States,” Jack said.

Paul stood with his rent-free luggage cart—unheard-of in American airports. “I read online that they used to have a rule at Changi Airport—no longer than twelve minutes for the first bag on the airplane to reach the belt. I guess it’s still in effect.”

“If Singapore runs the rest of their country like their airport, they’ll soon run the world.”

They gathered up their bags and headed for the exit, where they saw a cluster of black-suited limousine drivers holding placards and tablets in a wide variety of languages and scripts. But it was a woman about Jack’s age that caught his eye. She wore an open-collared white shirt, a powder-gray suit jacket and slacks, and a near frown on her beautiful but serious face. No jewelry. Obviously Asian, but taller than most, and also mixed race. Stunning.

Standing to her side and slightly behind her was an Asian man about as wide as Jack but not as tall, in a pair of slacks, a polo shirt, and a tight-fitting sport coat, the seams strained by a muscled torso. Jack guessed the square-jawed security man was Korean. His dark eyes bored into Jack’s.

The woman stepped forward, extending her hand. “You must be Jack Ryan.”

Jack took her firm grip. “And you’re Lian Fairchild, head of Dalfan security.”

She tried to hide her surprise. “You did your homework.”

“It was a long flight and I had good Wi-Fi.”

She extended her hand to Paul. “Mr. Brown, I hope you had a pleasant trip.”

“Very much so, thank you.”

“This is Park, one of my senior security staff.”

Park nodded curtly.

“What branch of service?” Jack asked, curious if the stone-faced hulk would answer.

“Marine Corps,” Park said. “Republic of Korea.”

No one to screw around with, Jack noted.

Lian pointed toward the exit. “We should get going. Traffic is heavy this time of day.”

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