by Tom Clancy
The crowd did not exult. In fact, there was no noise at all. Perhaps a collective intake of breath, a few murmured prayers from the more devout among those present; for whose souls the prayers were offered only they and their God could say. At once those in the front row began to depart. A few from inside the crowd who’d been denied a view came to the fence line, but they stayed there for only a moment before going about their business. After the prescribed interval, the body parts would be collected and given a proper burial in accordance with the religion that each of them had defiled.
Jack didn’t know what emotion he was supposed to feel. He’d seen enough death. He knew that much. But these deaths did not touch his heart at all, and now he wondered and worried a little about that.
“You asked me how history is made, Jack,” Ali said. “You have just seen it.”
“What do you mean?”
“You do not need us to tell you,” Golovko said.
The men who started a war, or tried to, executed like criminals in the market square, Jack thought. Not a bad precedent.
“Maybe you’re right, maybe it will make people think twice before the next time.” That’s an idea whose time has come.
“In all our countries,” Ali said, “the sword is the symbol of justice ... an anachronism, perhaps, from a time when men acted as men. But a sword still has a use.”
“Certainly it is precise,” Golovko observed.
“So, Jack, you have fully left government service?” Ali asked after a moment. Ryan turned away from the scene, just as everyone else had done.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“And those foolish ‘ethics’ laws no longer apply. Good.” Ali turned. The Special Forces officer appeared as though by magic. The salute he gave Prince Ali was the sort to impress Kipling. The sword came next. The scabbard was wrought gold encrusted with jewels. The hilt was gold and ivory, and you could see where parts of it had been worn down by generations of strong hands. Manifestly the weapon of a king.
“This is three hundred years old,” Ali said, turning to Ryan. “It has been carried in peace and war by my ancestors. It even has a name—Breeze of Evening is the best I can do in English. It means more than that, of course. We wish you to have it, Dr. Ryan, as a reminder of those who died—and those who did not, because of you. It has killed many times. His Majesty believes that the sword has killed enough.”
Ryan took the scimitar from the Prince’s hand. The gold scabbard was nicked and abraded by generations of sand-storms and battles, but Ryan saw that his reflection was not so terribly distorted as he might have feared. The blade, he saw, on drawing it partway, was mirror-bright, still rippled from the Damascus smith who’d shaped the steel into its fearful and effective purpose. Such a dichotomy, Ryan thought, smiling without knowing it, that something so beautiful could have so terrible a purpose. Such irony. And yet—
He’d keep the sword, hang it in a place of honor, look at it from time to time to remind himself of what it and he had done. And just maybe—
“Killed enough?” Ryan slid the sword back into its sheath and let it fall to his side. “Yes, Your Highness. I think we all have.”
Afterword
Now that the tale is told, a few things need to be made clear. All of the material in this novel relating to weapons technology and fabrication is readily available in any one of dozens of books. For reasons which I hope will be obvious to the reader, certain technical details have been altered, sacrificing plausibility in the interests of obscurity. This was done to salve my conscience, not in any reasonable expectation that it matters a damn.
The Manhattan Project of World War II still represents the most remarkable congregation of scientific talent in human history, never equaled, and perhaps never to be exceeded. The vastly expensive project broke new scientific ground and produced numerous additional discoveries. Modern computer theory, for example, largely grew from bomb-related research, and the first huge mainframe computers were mainly used for bomb design.
I was first bemused, then stunned, as my research revealed just how easy such a project might be today. It is generally known that nuclear secrets are not as secure as we would like—in fact the situation is worse than even well-informed people appreciate. What required billions of dollars in the 1940s is much less expensive today. A modern personal computer has far more power and reliability than the first Eniac, and the “hydrocodes” which enable a computer to test and validate a weapon’s design are easily duplicated. The exquisite machine tools used to fabricate parts can be had for the asking. When I asked explicitly for specifications for the very machines used at Oak Ridge and elsewhere, they arrived Federal Express the next day. Some highly specialized items designed specifically for bomb manufacture may now be found in stereo speakers. The fact of the matter is that a sufficiently wealthy individual could, over a period of from five to ten years, produce a multistage thermonuclear device. Science is all in the public domain, and allows few secrets.
Delivery of such a device is child’s play. I could base that statement on “extensive conversations” with various police and security agencies, but it doesn’t take long for a person to say, “Are you kidding?” I heard that phrase more than once. Probably no country—certainly no liberal democracy—can secure its borders against such a threat.
So that’s the problem. What might be the solution? For starters, international controls over the traffic in nuclear materials and technology ought to be made something more than the joke they currently are. Nuclear weapons cannot be un-invented, and I personally think that nuclear power is a safe and environmentally benign alternative to the use of fossil fuels, but any tool must be used with care, and this tool admits of abuses too fearful for us to ignore.
—Peregrine Cliff, February 1991
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1 - Enfant perdu
Chapter 2 - Encounters
Chapter 3 - Captivity
Chapter 4 - First Light
Chapter 5 - Commitments
Chapter 6 - Ambush
Chapter 7 - Recovery
Chapter 8 - Concealment
Chapter 9 - Labor
Chapter 10 - Pathology
Chapter 11 - Fabrication
Chapter 12 - Outfitters
Chapter 13 - Agendas
Chapter 14 - Lessons Learned
Chapter 15 - Lessons Applied
Chapter 16 - Exercises
Chapter 17 - Complications
Chapter 18 - Interference
Chapter 19 - Quantity of Mercy
Chapter 20 - Depressurization
Chapter 21 - Possibilities
Chapter 22 - Titles
Chapter 23 - Altruism
Chapter 24 - Hellos
Chapter 25 - Departures
Chapter 26 - Transit
Chapter 27 - Insertion
Chapter 28 - First In
Chapter 29 - Last Out
Chapter 30 - Travel Agents
Chapter 31 - Home Is the Hunter
Chapter 32 - Home Is the Prey
Chapter 33 - Poisoned Charm
Chapter 34 - Stalking
Chapter 35 - Rite of Passage
Chapter 36 - Dangerous Drugs
Chapter 37 - Trial by Ordeal
EPILOGUE
“For sheer narrative punch and emotional impact,
Without Remorse is Mr. Clancy’s best.”
—The Dallas Morning News
“A nonstop emotional roller coaster.”
—The San Diego Union-Tribune
WITHOUT REMORSE
The epic bestseller in the Tom Clancy tradition. Its hero is a man very familiar to Clancy’s readers. His code name is Mr. Clark. And his work for the CIA is brilliant, cold-blooded and efficient . . . But who is he really?
In a harrowing tour de force, Tom Clancy shows how an ordinary man named John Kelly crossed the lines of justice and morality—to become the CIA
legend, Mr. Clark.
It is an unforgettable journey into the heart of darkness. Without mercy. Without guilt. Without remorse.
“Highly entertaining.”
—The Wall Street Journal
“Clancy’s writing is so strong that readers feel
they are there, in the middle
of the action . . . satisfying and engrossing.”
—Boston Sunday Herald
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
THE BEAR AND THE DRAGON
RED RABBIT
THE TEETH OF THE TIGER
SSN: STRATEGIES OF SUBMARINE WARFARE
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
SPECIAL FORCES: A GUIDED TOUR OF U.S. ARMY SPECIAL FORCES
INTO THE STORM: A STUDY IN COMMAND
(written with General Fred Franks, Jr., Ret., and Tony Koltz)
EVERY MAN A TIGER
(written with General Charles Horner, Ret., and Tony Koltz)
SHADOW WARRIORS: INSIDE THE SPECIAL FORCES
(written with General Carl Stiner, Ret., and Tony Koltz)
BATTLE READY
(written with General Tony Zinni, Ret., and Tony Koltz)
Created by Tom Clancy
TOM CLANCY’S SPLINTER CELL
TOM CLANCY’S SPLINTER CELL: OPERATION BARRACUDA
TOM CLANCY’S SPLINTER CELL: CHECKMATE
TOM CLANCY’S SPLINTER CELL: FALLOUT
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’S OP-CENTER: LINE OF CONTROL
TOM CLANCY’S OP-CENTER: MISSION OF HONOR
TOM CLANCY’S OP-CENTER: SEA OF FIRE
TOM CLANCY’S OP-CENTER: CALL TO TREASON
TOM CLANCY’S OP-CENTER: WAR OF EAGLES
TOM CLANCY’S NET FORCE
TOM CLANCY’S NET FORCE: HIDDEN AGENDAS
TOM CLANCY’S NET FORCE: NIGHT MOVES
TOM CLANCY’S NET FORCE: BREAKING POINT
TOM CLANCY’S NET FORCE: POINT OF IMPACT
TOM CLANCY’S NET FORCE: CYBERNATION
TOM CLANCY’S NET FORCE: STATE OF WAR
TOM CLANCY’S NET FORCE: CHANGING OF THE GUARD
TOM CLANCY’S NET FORCE: SPRINGBOARD
TOM CLANCY’S NET FORCE: THE ARCHIMEDES EFFECT
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
TOM CLANCY’S POWER PLAYS: BIO-STRIKE
TOM CLANCY’S POWER PLAYS: COLD WAR
TOM CLANCY’S POWER PLAYS: CUTTING EDGE
TOM CLANCY’S POWER PLAYS: ZERO HOUR
TOM CLANCY’S POWER PLAYS: WILD CARD
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are 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.
WITHOUT REMORSE
A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with
Jack Ryan Limited Partnership.
PRINTING HISTORY
Copyright © 1993 by Jack Ryan Limited Partnership.
All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced
in any form without permission.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
eISBN : 978-1-101-00231-5
BERKLEY®
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It never happens without help:
Bill, Darrell, and Pat, for “professional” advice;
C.J., Craig, Curt, Gerry, and Steve, for more of the same:
Russell for unexpected expertise
And for some ex post facto help of the highest magnitude:
G.R. and Wayne, for finding it;
Shelly, for doing the work;
Craig, Curt. Gerry, Steve P., Steve R.,
and Victor, for helping me to understand:
Think where man’s glory most begins and ends.
And say my glory was I had such friends.
—William Butler Yeats
In loving memory of Kyle Haydock, July 5, 1983-August 1, 1991
In the original hardcover edition of Without Remorse are the words of a poem which I found by accident and whose title and author I was unable to identify. I found in them the perfect remembrance for my “little buddy,” Kyle Haydock, who succumbed to cancer at the age of eight years and twenty-six days—to me, he will never really be gone.
Later, I learned that the title of this poem is “Ascension” and that the author, who penned these magnificent words, is Colleen Hitchcock, a poet of rare talent living in Minnesota. I wish to take this opportunity to commend her work to all students of the lyric phrase. As her words caught and excited my attention, I hope they will have the same effect on others.
Ascension
And if I go,
while you’re still here. . .
Know that I live on,
vibrating to a different measure
-behind a thin veil you cannot see through.
You will not see me,
so you must have faith.
I wait for the time when we can soar together again,
-both aware of each other.
Until then, live your life to its fullest.
And when you need me,
Just whisper my name in your heart,
. . .I will be there.
© 1989 Colleen Corah Hitchcock
Spirit Art International, Inc.
P.O. Box 39082
Edina, Minnesota 55439
U.S.A.
In earlier editions of Without Remorse, this poem inadvertently appeared without attribution to its author.
Arma virumque cano
—Publius Vergilius Maro
Beware the fury of a patient man
—John Dryden
PROLOGUE
Meeting Places
NOVEMBER
Camille had either been the world’s most powerful hurricane or the largest tornado in history. Certainly it had done the job to this oil rig, Kelly thought, donning his tanks for his last dive into the Gulf. The superstructure was wrecked, and all four o
f the massive legs weakened—twisted like the ruined toy of a gigantic child. Everything that could safely be removed had already been torched off and lowered by crane onto the barge they were using as their dive base. What remained was a skeletal platform which would soon make a fine home for local game fish, he thought, entering the launch that would take him alongside. Two other divers would be working with him, but Kelly was in charge. They went over procedures on the way over while a safety boat circled nervously to keep the local fishermen away. It was foolish of them to be here—the fishing wouldn’t be very good for the next few hours—but events like this attracted the curious. And it would be quite a show, Kelly thought with a grin as he rolled backwards off the dive boat.
