by Tom Clancy
Feng threw his head back against the pillow and began to cry. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
Callahan spun on Caruso once they were outside the room. “I’m guessing you’re going to disappear now as well.”
He sighed. “Yep, into the sunset . . .”
“Seriously, Dom, I’m not a heartless bitch. I know your friend saved those kids, but that kind of stuff is . . . it’s just old-school.”
“That it is,” Caruso said.
“Someone just came in with a writ of habeas corpus and waltzed him outta here,” she said. “Did you know his fingerprints don’t come back to anyone?”
Caruso shrugged.
“Come on, Dom, tell me who he is. It would be nice to know what he’s all about.”
“Oh, Kelsey,” Caruso said. “Some things are nice to know—and some things are just nuts to know.”
• • •
Yuki’s credentials had enough juice to get her and Ryan past security and into the business-jet departure lounge. The others had already cleared Japanese immigration and gotten the exit stamps on their passports. Reid and the other pilots were already waiting aboard the Gulfstream.
Chavez stood at the door leading out to the tarmac with a duffel in his hand.
“Sure you don’t want to fly back with us?” Ding prodded. “It’s more comfortable than commercial—even business class.”
“I’m good,” Ryan said. Yuki stood right beside him. She wasn’t holding his hand, but she may as well have been. “You know I’ve been wanting to work on a second language. Think I’ll start with Japanese.”
“I am glad you stayed, Jack-san,” Yuki said as they walked out to her car. They’d considered taking the train, but Yuki had decided she wanted to take him for a drive, into the mountains. It was still raining, and they shared an umbrella, which, Jack realized, was even better than holding hands.
“Me too,” Ryan said. “Can I ask you something?”
They stopped and she turned to face him under the umbrella. She was half a head shorter than him, and looked up, blinking dark lashes. Mist from the rain dampened her face, despite the umbrella. He considered asking about the scratches on her cheek but decided this wasn’t the time. Too heavy.
She continued to peer up at him. “Yes?”
“When did you know that my dad was the President of the United States?”
“When I saw you in the sewers,” she said.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I,” Yuki said. “I am, after all, an intelligence officer. I have a trained eye.”
“And you didn’t say anything about it?”
She stood and looked at him for a long moment and then, seeming to come to a serious conclusion, said, “We have a saying here in Japan.”
“Oh, really?” Ryan said. “And what’s that?”
She was on tiptoe now, her lips just inches from his, her voice hoarse and breathy.
“Sometimes,” she said, “it is better to shut the hell up.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Thirty-five years ago Tom Clancy was a Maryland insurance broker with a passion for naval history. Years before, he had been an English major at Baltimore’s Loyola College and had always dreamed of writing a novel. His first effort, The Hunt for Red October, sold briskly as a result of rave reviews, then catapulted onto the New York Times bestseller list after President Reagan pronounced it “the perfect yarn.” From that day forward, Clancy established himself as an undisputed master at blending exceptional realism and authenticity, intricate plotting, and razor-sharp suspense. He passed away in October 2013.
Marc Cameron is a retired Chief Deputy U.S. Marshal and twenty-nine-year law enforcement veteran. He is the author of the New York Times–bestselling Jericho Quinn thrillers, and his short stories have appeared in The Saturday Evening Post and Boys’ Life magazine. Cameron is a certified law enforcement scuba diver and a man-tracking instructor, and holds a second-degree black belt in jujitsu. An avid sailor and adventure motorcyclist, he lives in Alaska with his beautiful bride and BMW motorcycle.
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