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Tom Clancy's Op-center Novels 7-12 (9781101644591)

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by Clancy, Tom




  Op-Center Novels 7-12

  Divide and Conquer

  Line of Control

  Mission

  Sea of Fire

  Call to Treason

  War of Eagles

  Tom Clancy

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgements

  ONE - Baku, Azerbaijan Sunday, 11:33 P.M.

  TWO - Camp Springs, Maryland Sunday, 4:12 P.M.

  THREE - Washington, D.C. Sunday, 6:32 P.M.

  FOUR - Baku, Azerbaijan Monday, 2:47 A.M.

  FIVE - Washington., D. C. Sunday, 8:00 P.M.

  SIX - Hellspot Station, the Caspian Sea Monday, 3:01 A.M.

  SEVEN - Camp Springs, Maryland Monday, 12:44 A.M.

  EIGHT - Baku, Azerbaijan Monday, 4:00 P.M.

  NINE - Washington, D.C. Monday, 11:55 A.M.

  TEN - Baku, Azerbaijan Monday, 9:21 P.M.

  ELEVEN - Washington, D. C. Monday, 3:00 P.M.

  TWELVE - Camp Springs, Maryland Monday, 3:14 P.M.

  THIRTEEN - Gobustan, Azerbaijan Monday, 11:56 P.M.

  FOURTEEN - New York, New York Monday, 4:01 P.M.

  FIFTEEN - Washington, D.C. Monday, 4:03 P.M.

  SIXTEEN - Baku, Azerbaijan Tuesday, 12:07 A.M.

  SEVENTEEN - Washington, D. C. Monday, 4:13 P.M.

  EIGHTEEN - Gobustan, Azerbaijan Tuesday, 1:22 A.M.

  NINETEEN - Baku, Azerbaijan Tuesday, 1:35 A.M.

  TWENTY - Washington, D.C. Monday, 6:46 P.M.

  TWENTY-ONE - Baku, Azerbaijan Tuesday, 3:58 A.M.

  TWENTY-TWO - Saint Petersburg, Russia Tuesday, 4:01 A.M.

  TWENTY-THREE - Washington, D.C. Monday, 7:51 P.M.

  TWENTY-FOUR - Khachmas, Azerbaijan Tuesday, 4:44 A.M.

  TWENTY-FIVE - Saint Petersburg, Russia Tuesday, 4:47 A.M.

  TWENTY-SIX - Washington, D. C. Monday, 9:00 P.M.

  TWENTY-SEVEN - Baku, Azerbaijan Tuesday, 5:01 A.M.

  TWENTY-EIGHT - Washington, D.C. Monday, 10:03 P.M.

  TWENTY-NINE - Baku, Azerbaijan Tuesday, 6:15 A.M.

  THIRTY - Baku, Azerbaijan Tuesday, 6:16 A.M.

  THIRTY-ONE - Washington, D.C. Monday, 11:11 P.M.

  THIRTY-TWO - Washington, D.C. Monday, 11:24 P.M.

  THIRTY-THREE - Baku, Azerbaijan Tuesday, 8:09 A.M.

  THIRTY-FOUR - Washington, D.C. Tuesday, 12:10 A.M.

  THIRTY-FIVE - Saint Petersburg, Russia Tuesday, 8:30 A.M.

  THIRTY-SIX - Washington, D.C. Tuesday, 12:30 A.M.

  THIRTY-SEVEN - Baku, Azerbaijan Tuesday, 9:01 A.M.

  THIRTY-EIGHT - Saint Petersburg, Russia Tuesday, 9:31 A.M

  THIRTY-NINE - Teheran, Iran Tuesday, 10:07 A.M.

  FORTY - Washington, D.C. Tuesday, 1:33 A.M.

  FORTY-ONE - Washington, D.C Tuesday, 1:34 A.M.

  FORTY-TWO - Saint Petersburg, Russia Tuesday, 9:56 A.M.

  FORTY-THREE - Baku, Azerbaijan Tuesday, 10:07 A.M.

  FORTY-FOUR - Washington, D.C. Tuesday, 2:08 A.M.

  FORTY-FIVE - Saint Petersburg, Russia Tuesday, 10:20 A.M.

  FORTY-SIX - Baku, Azerbaijan Tuesday, 10:31 A.M.

  FORTY-SEVEN - Washington, D.C. Tuesday, 2:32 A.M.

  FORTY-EIGHT - Baku, Azerbaijan Tuesday, 10:47 A.M.

  FORTY-NINE - Saint Petersburg, Russia Tuesday, 11:02 A.M.

  FIFTY - Washington, D.C. Tuesday, 3:06 A.M.

  FIFTY-ONE - Baku, Azerbaijan Tuesday, 11:09 A.M.

  FIFTY-TWO - Washington, D.C. Tuesday, 3:13 A.M.

  FIFTY-THREE - Baku, Azerbaijan Tuesday, 11:15 A.M.

  FIFTY-FOUR - Washington, D.C. Tuesday, 3:17 A.M.

  FIFTY-FIVE - Baku, Azerbaijan Tuesday, 11:22 A.M.

  FIFTY-SIX - Washington, D.C. Tuesday, 4:27 A.M.

  FIFTY-SEVEN - Washington, D.C. Tuesday, 4:41 A.M.

  FIFTY-EIGHT - Saint Petersburg, Russia Tuesday, 12:53 P.M.

  FIFTY-NINE - Washington, D.C. Tuesday, 5:04 A.M.

  SIXTY - Washington, D.C. Tuesday, 6:46 A.M.

  EPILOGUE

  THE BESTSELLING NOVELS OF Tom Clancy

  RAINBOW SIX

  Clancy’s shocking story of international terrorism—closer to reality than any government would care to admit.

  “GRIPPING . . . BOLT-ACTION MAYHEM.”

  —People

  EXECUTIVE ORDERS

  Jack Ryan has always been a soldier. Now he’s giving the orders.

  “AN ENORMOUS, ACTION-PACKED, HEAT-SEEKING MISSILE OF A TOM CLANCY NOVEL.”

  —Seattle Times

  DEBT OF HONOR

  It begins with the murder of an American woman in the backstreets of Tokyo. It ends in war. . .

  “A SHOCKER CLIMAX SO PLAUSIBLE YOU’LL WONDER WHY IT HASN’T YET HAPPENED!”

  —Entertainment Weekly

  THE HUNT FOR RED OCTOBER

  The smash bestseller that launched Clancy’s career—the incredible search for a Soviet defector and the nuclear submarine he commands . . .

  “BREATHLESSLY EXCITING!”

  —Washington Post

  RED STORM RISING

  The ultimate scenario for World War III—the final battle for global control . . .

  “THE ULTIMATE WAR GAME . . . BRILLIANT!”

  —Newsweek

  PATRIOT GAMES

  CIA analyst Jack Ryan stops an assassination—and incurs the wrath of Irish terrorists . . .

  “A HIGH PITCH OF EXCITEMENT!”

  —Wall Street Journal

  THE CARDINAL OF THE KREMLIN

  The superpowers race for the ultimate Star Wars missile defense system . . .

  “CARDINAL EXCITES, ILLUMINATES ... A REAL PAGE-TURNER!”

  —Los Angeles Daily News

  CLEAR AND PRESENT DANGER

  The killing of three U.S. officials in Colombia ignites the American government’s explosive, and top secret, response ...

  “A CRACKLING GOOD YARN!”

  —Washington Post

  THE SUM OF ALL FEARS

  The disappearance of an Israeli nuclear weapon threatens the balance of power in the Middle East—and around the world . . .

  “CLANCY AT HIS BEST . . . NOT TO BE MISSED!”

  —Dallas Morning News

  WITHOUT REMORSE

  The Clancy epic fans have been waiting for. His code name is Mr. Clark. And his work for the CIA is brilliant, cold-blooded, and efficient . . . but who is he really?

  “HIGHLY ENTERTAINING!”

  —Wall Street Journal

  Novels by Tom Clancy

  THE HUNT FOR RED OCTOBER

  RED STORM RISING

  PATRIOT GAMES

  THE CARDINAL OF THE KREMLIN

  CLEAR AND PRESENT DANGER

  THE SUM OF ALL FEARS

  WITHOUT REMORSE

  DEBT OF HONOR

  EXECUTIVE ORDERS

  RAINBOW SIX

  SSN: STRATEGIES OF SUBMARINE WARFARE

  Created by Tom Clancy and Steve Pieczenik

  TOM CLANCY’S OP-CENTER

  TOM CLANCY’S OP-CENTER: MIRROR IMAGE

  TOM CLANCY’S OP-CENTER: GAMES OF STATE

  TOM CLANCY’S OP-CENTER: ACTS OF WAR

  TOM CLANCY’ S OP-CENTER: BALANCE OF POWER

  TOM CLANCY’S OP-CENTER: STATE OF SIEGE

  TOM CLANCY’S OP-CENTER: DIVIDE AND CONQUER

  TOM CLANCY’ NET FORCE

  TOM CLANCY’S NET FORCE: HIDDEN AGENDAS

  TOM CLANCY’S NET FORCE: NIGHT MOVES

  Created by Tom Clancy and Martin Greenberg

  TOM CLANCY’S POWER PLAYS: POLITIKA

  TOM CLANCY’S POWER PLAYS: RUTHLESS.COM

  TOM
CLANCY’S POWER PLAYS: SHADOW WATCH

  Nonfiction

  SUBMARINE: A GUIDED TOUR INSIDE A NUCLEAR WARSHIP

  ARMORED CAV: A GUIDED TOUR OF AN ARMORED CAVALRY REGIMENT

  FIGHTER WING: A GUIDED TOUR OF AN AIR FORCE COMBAT WING

  MARINE: A GUIDED TOUR OF A MARINE EXPEDITIONARY UNIT

  AIRBORNE: A GUIDED TOUR OF AN AIRBORNE TASK FORCE

  CARRIER: A GUIDED TOUR OF AN AIRCRAFT CARRIER

  INTO THE STORM: A STUDY IN COMMAND

  (written with General Fred Franks)

  EVERY MAN A TIGER

  (written with General Charles Horner)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  TOM CLANCY’S OP-CENTER: DIVIDE AND CONQUER

  A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with

  Jack Ryan Limited Partnership and S & R Literary, Inc.

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley edition / June 2000

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2000 by Jack Ryan Limited Partnership and

  S & R Literary, Inc.

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. For information address:

  The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address is http://www.penguinputnam.com

  eISBN : 978-1-101-00366-4

  BERKLEY®

  Berkley Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York,

  New York 10014.

  BERKLEY and the “B” design are trademarks belonging to

  Penguin Putnam Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  Acknowledgments

  We would like to acknowledge the assistance of Martin H. Greenberg, Larry Segriff, Robert Youdelman, Esq., Tom Mallon, Esq., and the wonderful people at Penguin Putnam, including Phyllis Grann, David Shanks, and Tom Colgan. As always, we would like to thank Robert Gottlieb of The William Morris Agency, our agent and friend, without whom this book would never have been conceived. But most important, it is for you, our readers, to determine how successful our collective endeavor has been.

  —Tom Clancy and Steve Pieczenik

  PROLOGUE

  Washington, D.C. Sunday, 1:55 P.M.

  The two middle-aged men sat in leather armchairs in a corner of the wood-paneled library. The room was in a quiet corner of a Massachusetts Avenue mansion. The blinds were drawn to protect the centuries-old art from the direct rays of the early-afternoon sun. The only light came from a dull fire that was smoldering in the fireplace. The fire gave the old, wood-paneled room a faintly smoky smell.

  One of the men was tall, stout, and casually dressed with thinning gray hair and a lean face. He was drinking black coffee from a blue Camp David mug while he studied a single sheet of paper resting in a green folder. The other individual, seated across from him with his back to the bookcase, was a short bulldog of a man with a three-piece gray suit and buzz-cut red hair. He was holding an empty shot glass that, moments before, had been brimming with scotch. His legs were crossed, his foot was dancing nervously, and his cheek and chin bore the nicks of a quick, unsatisfactory shave.

  The taller man shut the folder and smiled. “These are wonderful comments. Just perfect.”

  “Thank you,” said the red-haired man. ”Jen’s a very good writer.” He shifted slowly, uncrossing his legs. He leaned forward, causing the leather seat to groan. ”Along with this afternoon’s briefing, this is really going to accelerate matters. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” the taller man said. He put his coffee mug on a small table, rose, and walked to the fireplace. He picked up a poker. “Does that scare you?”

  “A little,” the red-haired man admitted.

  “Why?” the taller man asked as he threw the folder into the flames. It caught fire quickly. “Our tracks are covered.”

  “It’s not us I’m worried about. There will be a price,” the red-haired man said sadly.

  “We’ve discussed this before,” the taller man said. “Wall Street will love it. The people will recover. And any foreign powers that try to take advantage of the situation will wish they hadn’t.” He jabbed the burning folder. “Jack ran the psychological profiles. We know where all the potential trouble spots are. The only one who’s going to be hurt is the man who created the problem. And he’ll recover. Hell, he’ll do better than recover. He’ll write books, give speeches, make millions.”

  The taller man’s words sounded cold, though the red-haired man knew they weren’t. He had known the other man for nearly thirty-five years, ever since they served together in Vietnam. They fought side by side in Hue during the Tet offensive, holding an ammunition depot after the rest of the platoon had been killed. They both loved their country passionately, and what they were doing was a measure of that deep, deep love.

  “What’s the news from Azerbaijan?” the taller man asked.

  “Everyone’s in place.” The red-haired man looked at his watch. “They’ll be eyeballing the target close-up, showing the man what he has to do. We don’t expect the next report for another seven hours or so.”

  The taller man nodded. There was a short silence broken only by the crackling of the burning folder.

  The red--haired man sighed, put his glass on the table, and rose. “You’ve got to get ready for the briefing. Is there anything else you need?”

  The taller man stabbed the ashes, destroying them. Then he replaced the poker and faced the red-haired man.

  “Yes,” he said. “I need you to relax. There’s only one thing we have to fear.”

  The red-haired man smiled knowingly. “Fear itself.”

  “No,” said the other. “Panic and doubt. We know what we want, and we know how to get there. If we stay calm and sure, we’ve got it.”

  The red-haired man nodded. Then he picked up the leather briefcase from beside the chair. “What was it that Benjamin Franklin said? That revolution is always legal in the first person, as in ‘our’ revolution. It’s only illegal in the third person, as in ‘their’ revolution.”

  “I never heard that,” said the taller man. “It’s nice.”

  The red-haired man smiled. “I keep telling myself that what we’re doing is the same thing the founding fathers did. Trading a bad form of government for a better one.”

  “That’s correct,” the other man said. “Now, what I want you to do is go home, relax, and watch a football game. Stop worrying. It’s all going to work out.”

  “I wish I could be as confident.”

  “Wasn’t it Franklin who also said, ‘In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes’? We’ve done the best we can, and we’ve done everything we can. We have to put our trust in that.”

  The red-haired man nodded.

  They shook hands, and the shorter man left.

  A young aide was working at a large, mahogany desk outside the library. She smiled up at the red-haired man as he strode down the long, wide, carpeted corridor toward the outside door.

  He believed that this would work out. He truly did. What he didn’t believe was that the repercussions would be so easy to control.

  Not that it matters, he thought as a security guard opened the door for him and he stepped into the sunlight. He pulled sunglasses from his shirt pocket and slipped them on. This has to be done, and it has to be done now.

  As he walked down the paved drive to his car, the red-haired man held tight to the notion that the founding fathers had committed what many considered to be treasonous acts when they forged this nation. He also thought of Jefferson Davis and the Southern leaders who
formed the Confederacy to protest what they considered repression. What he and his people were doing now was neither unprecedented nor immoral.

  But it was dangerous, not just for themselves but for the nation. And that, more than anything, would continue to scare the hell out of him until the country was firmly under their control.

  ONE

  Baku, Azerbaijan Sunday, 11:33 P.M.

  David Battat looked impatiently at his watch. They were over three minutes late. Which is nothing to be concerned about, the short, agile American told himself. A thousand things could have held them up, but they would be here. They would come by launch or motorboat, possibly from another boat, possibly from the wharf four hundred yards to his right. But they would arrive.

  They had better, he thought. He couldn’t afford to screw up twice. Not that the first mistake had been his fault.

  The forty-three-year-old Battat was the director of the Central Intelligence Agency’s small New York field office, which was located across the street from the United Nations building. Battat and his small team were responsible for electronic SOS activities: spying on spies. Keeping track of foreign “diplomats” who used their consulates as bases for surveillance and intelligence-gathering activities. Battat also had been responsible for overseeing the activities of junior agent Annabelle Hampton.

  Ten days before, Battat had come to the American embassy in Moscow. The CIA was running tests in the communications center on an uplink with a new high-gain acoustic satellite. If the satellite worked on the Kremlin, the CIA planned on using it in New York to eavesdrop more efficiently on foreign consulates. While Battat was in Moscow, however, Annabelle helped a group of terrorists infiltrate the United Nations. What made it especially painful was that the young woman did it for pay, not principle. Battat could respect a misguided idealist. He could not respect a common hustler.

 

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