Breaking Point Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgements

  Epigraph

  PART ONE - All Politics Are Local

  PROLOGUE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  PART TWO - All Problems are Personal

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  EPILOGUE

  Other titles by Steve Pieczenik

  The Bestselling Novels of

  TOM CLANCY

  RAINBOW SIX

  John Clark is used to doing the CIA’s dirty work. Now he’s taking on the world...

  “ACTION-PACKED.”

  —The New York Times Book Review

  EXECUTIVE ORDERS

  The most devastating terrorist act in history leaves Jack Ryan as President of the United States ...

  “UNDOUBTEDLY CLANCY’S BEST YET.”

  —The Atlanta Journal-Constitution

  DEBT OF HONOR

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

  “A SHOCKER.”

  —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.”

  —The 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.”

  —The 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

  CL

  EAR 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.”

  —The 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.”

  —The Dallas Morning News

  WITHOUT REMORSE

  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.”

  —The 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

  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

  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 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 NET FORCE®: BREAKING POINT

  A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with

  Netco Partners

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley edition / October 2000

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2000 by Netco Partners

  NET FORCE is a registered trademark of Netco Partners,


  a partnership of Hollywood.com, Inc., and C.P. Group.

  The NET FORCE logo is a registered trademark of Netco Partners,

  a partnership of Hollywood.com, Inc., and C.P. Group.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be

  reproduced in any form 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 : 978-1-101-00247-6

  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’d like to acknowledge the assistance of Martin H. Greenberg, Larry Segriff, Denise Little, John Helfers, Robert Youdelman, Esq., and Tom Mallon, Esq.; Mitchell Rubenstein and Laurie Silvers at Hollywood.com, Inc.; the wonderful people at Penguin Putnam Inc., 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, as well as Jerry Katzman, Vice Chairman of the William Morris Agency, and his television colleagues. But most important, it is for you, our readers, to determine how successful our collective endeavor has been.

  “And who wrote the tune, you dare to ask? You know who wrote it— it’s the Devil’s own music, hot and sweet, and surely damned will be the man who turns his ear toward it. ”

  —SEAN PATRICK O’MAHONEY

  PART ONE

  All Politics Are Local

  PROLOGUE

  Wednesday, June 1st, 2011

  Daru, China

  The sun rose from the gray sea and cast a fitful light upon the wrinkled features of Old Zang where he sat on the weathered bench outside the house, leaning forward slightly on his cane. He was often up with the sun these days to enjoy the dawn, knowing he would not have so many more he could afford to waste them. But instead of making him sad, the thought made him angry.

  This day seemed somehow sharper than normal. His clouded sight was clearer, his hearing keener, and even the wan rays upon his skin felt somehow more intense than usual.

  Old Zang had but recently moved to the village of Daru. A mere dozen years or so ago, a blink of an eye for a man his age, he had been forced to leave his real home, which was flooded by the monstrous dam project that forever altered the face of China’s rivers. At ninety-four, he had outlived his wife, several of his children, and even a few of his grandchildren, and he did not like it here, staying with one of the grandchildren he had not outlived. Oh, his room was comfortable enough, the bed soft—not an inconsequential thing when one’s bones were as old as his—but the village was a mud hole of a place and not where one wished to depart from the Earth to join one’s ancestors.

  On the mainland across the stormy Formosa Strait from Taiwan, on the coast just north of Quanzhou, Daru was peopled with many elderly residents, some victims of the cursed dam, such as himself, some who had actually lived and grown old here. Save for a few younger souls, fishermen mostly, it was a place of old men and women waiting to die.

  Thinking about his forced relocation brought Zang to anger again, and this time, the rage seemed to fill him with a hot glow, from his feet to his face, staining red even his thoughts. How dare they do such a thing? The foolish communists who saw everything in terms of their immoral philosophy had ruined the country in but half a lifetime. He had hoped to live long enough to see the children of Mao plowed under, but he was beginning to realize it was not to be. And this angered him even more. He was old, old! He had worked hard all his long life, and what was his reward? To be shunted to a half-wit grandson’s home in a mud hole village unfit for pigs? It was not right.

  Zang gripped the heavy cane tightly, and the veins in his hands stood out to join the tendons and gnarled arthritic joints under paper-thin and brown-spotted skin. His rage enveloped him like a silkworm’s cocoon, warming his chilly flesh. No, it was not right!

  His sow of a granddaughter, only thirty-four and already so fat she could hardly waddle, lumbered up the graveled path to stand in front of him, her doughy hands on her massive hips, blocking the sun. She said, “Why are you out here again, Grandfather Zang? You will catch pneumonia! I would be happy if you did and died, but Ming-Yang would be distressed, and I will not have it! Get up and come inside, right now!”

  The sow seemed fairly angry herself, which was unlike her. Usually she was merely torpid. Dense as a post and twice as stupid, Zang reflected, and the best his idiot grandson Ming could do for himself. A shame.

  “You are blocking the sun,” Zang said. “Stand aside.”

  “Are you grown deaf as well as stupid, you ancient fart-maker? I said, ‘Get up!’ ” And with that, she reached out, as if to grab him and physically drag him into the house.

  This was a mistake. With a speed and strength that surprised him, Zang snapped the cane up and jabbed it into the sow’s belly.

  “Oof!” she said, as she leaned forward, grabbing at her stomach.

  Zang stood, pulled the cane back as if it were an axe, and delivered a mighty blow to the side of her head. The bone made a wet, but satisfying crack! and the sow went down in a heap.

  Ha-ha!

  Zang leaned over and smashed the cane into the sow’s body with all the strength he possessed. Ah, this was good. He hit her again. Better. And again. Better still!

  He was not the man he had been, but there were still a few moves left in him, and the sense of rage he felt continued to burn as he beat upon the prostrate and unresponsive sow. Block his sun, would she? He would show her!

  He grew tired after a while, and decided to rest before resuming his chore. As he stood there contemplating the sow, he chanced to look up, and thus saw his idiot grandson charging toward him, a three-tined pitchfork in hand.

  Amazing, since his grandson was the meekest of men, who would step around a beetle to avoid crushing it, who let others prepare his chum for him because he could not stand to hurt the bait fish, and who had never in Zang’s memory uttered even a harsh word in anger at another human being.

  “Old fool! I will kill you!” Ming-Yang screamed.

  Old Zang smiled wolfishly. “Yes? Come and try, wiper of asses!” He raised his cane to meet the charge.

  Zang was paying attention to how he planned to dance around the fork’s tines to strike Ming, but even so, with his heightened senses, he was aware of his great-grandson Cheng, aged thirteen, rushing up behind his father, a gleaming fish gaff lifted over his head.

  Now, who was Cheng planning to skewer?

  Well. It did not matter, did it? Zang would deal with him in due course, just as he would deal with every other person in this mud hole of a village.

  He would kill them all.

  Finally, a happy thought. He laughed aloud.

  1

  Thursday, June 2nd

  Quantico, Virginia

  Alex Michaels pedaled his recumbent trike along the wide bike path between Net Force HQ and the Chinese restaurant where he sometimes had lunch, pumping hard. The day was hot and muggy, despite a cloudy overcast, and sweat had already drenched his T-shirt and spandex shorts. He shifted up another gear as he zipped past a trio of Marine officers from the base, jogging along at a pretty good clip themselves. Ordinarily, he enjoyed riding the trike, feeling the burn in his legs and lungs, knowing he was working his muscles and cooking off that half carton of Häagen-Dazs he’d eaten the night before. Ordinarily, the commander of Net Force enjoyed a lot of things, but like his feet toe-clipped into the pedals, a lot of what he had been doing lately had been no more than
going through the motions.

  Work was pretty good. Aside from the ten thousand usual small fish Net Force had to school and round up, there weren’t any major problems in the world of computer crime just at the moment. Nothing like the mad Russian who’d wanted to take over the planet, or the senator’s aide who wanted to buy up the world bit by bit, or even the dotty English lord who’d wanted to bring back the glory days of the Empire. Congress hadn’t cut him off at the knees lately, and his boss, the new FBI director, was sometimes hardheaded, but basically not too bad, and she mostly left him alone.

  Work was fine. It was his personal life that was an absolute wreck.

  He guided the trike to the right, to make sure the two bicyclers coming from the other direction side-by-side had plenty of room to get by. The couple, an older man and woman, waved as he went by. He gave them a quick lift of his hand in return.

  His ex-wife, Megan, had gotten engaged, and was petitioning the courts in Idaho for sole custody of their daughter, Susie. Her new love wanted to adopt the girl. Susie liked her mom’s new friend, which was more than Michaels could say. That he had decked the man at a family Christmas gathering had not helped the situation any—even though it had felt pretty good at the time.