Without Remorse Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  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

  “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

  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.

  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.

  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®

  Berkley Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY and the “B” design

  are trademarks belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  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 virumquc 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 of 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.

  It was eerie underneath. It always was, but comfortable, too. The sunlight wavered under the rippled surface, making variable curtains of light that trained across the legs of the platform. It also made for good visibility. The C4 charges were already in place, each one a block about six inches square and three inches deep, wired tight against the steel and fused to blow inward. Kelly took his time, checking each one, starting with the first rank ten feet above the bottom. He did it quickly because he didn’t want to be down here that long, and neither did the others. The men behind him ran the prima-cord, wrapping it tight around the blocks. Both were local, experienced UDT men, trained almost as well as Kelly. He checked their work, and they checked his, for caution and thoroughness was the mark of such men. They finished the lower level in twenty minutes, and came up slowly to the upper rank, just ten feet below the surface, where the process was repeated, slowly and carefully. When you dealt with explosives, you didn’t rush and you didn’t take chances.

  Colonel Robin Zacharias concentrated on the task at hand. There was an SA-2 site just over the next ridge. Already it had volleyed off three missiles, searching for the fighter-bombers he was here to protect. In the back seat of his F- 105G Thunderchief was Jack Tait, his “bear,” a lieutenant colonel and an expert in the field of defense-suppression. The two men had helped invent the doctrine which they were now implementing. He drove the Wild Weasel fighter, showing himself, trying to draw a shot, then ducking under it, closing in on the rocket site. It was a deadly, vicious game, not of hunter and prey, but of hunter and hunter—one small, swift, and delicate, and the other massive, fixed, and fortified. This site had given fits to the men of his wing. The commander was just too good with his radar, knowing when to switch it on and when to switch it off. Whoever the little bastard was, he’d killed two Weasels under Robin’s command in the previous week, and so the colonel had drawn the mission for himself as soon as the frag order had gone up to hit this area again. It was his specialty: diagnosing, penetrating, and destroying air defenses—a vast, rapid, three-dimensional game in which the prize of winning was survival.

  He was roaring low, never higher than five hundred feet, his fingers controlling the stick semiautomatically while Zacharias’s eyes watched the karsk hilltops and his ears listened to the talk from the back seat.

  “He’s at our nine, Robin,” Jack told him. “Still sweeping, but he doesn’t have us. Spiraling in nicely.”

  We’re not going to give him a Shrike, Zacharias thought. They tried that the last time and he spoofed it somehow. That error had cost him a major, a captain, and an aircraft ... a fellow native of Salt Lake City, Al Wallace ... friends for years .... damn it! He shook the thought off, not even reproving himself for the lower-case profanity.

  “Giving him another taste,” Zacharias said, pulling back on the stick. The Thud leaped upwards into the radar coverage of the site, hovering there, waiting. This site commander was probably Russian-trained. They weren’t sure how many aircraft the man had killed—only that it had been more than enough—but he had to be a proud one because of it, and pride was deadly in this business.

  “Launch ... two, two valid launches, Robin,” Tait warned from the back.

  “Only two?” the pilot asked.

  “Maybe he has to pay for them,” Tait suggested coolly. “I have them at nine. Time to do some pilot magic, Rob.”

  “Like this?” Zacharias rolled left to keep them in view, pulling into them, and split-S-ing back down. He’d planned it well, ducking behind a ridge. He pulled out at a dangerous low altitude, but the SA-2 Guideline missiles went wild and dumb four thousand feet over his head.

  “I think it’s time.” Tait said.

  “I think you’re right.” Zacharias turned hard left, arming his cluster munitions. The F-105 skimmed over the ridge, dropping back down again while his eyes checked the next ridge, six miles and fifty seconds away.

  “His radar is still up,” Tait reported. “He knows we’re coming.”

  “But he’s only got one left.” Unless his reload crews are really hot today. Well, you can’t allow for everything.

  “Some light flak at ten o’clock.” It was too far to be a matter of concern, though it did tell him which way out not to take. “There’s the plateau.”

  Maybe they could see him, maybe not. Possibly he was just one moving blip amid a screen full of clutter that some radar operator was striving to understand. The Thud moved faster at low level than anything ever made, and the camouflage motif on the upper surfaces was effective. They were probably looking up. There was a wall of jamming there now, part of the plan he’d laid out for the other Weasel bird, and n
ormal American tactics were for a medium-altitude approach and steep dive. But they’d done that twice and failed, and so Zacharias decided to change the technique. Low level, he’d Rockeye the place, then the other Weasel would finish things off. His job was killing the command van and the commander within. He jinked the Thud left and right, up and down, to deny a good shooting track to anybody on the ground. You still had to worry about guns, too.

  “Got the star!” Robin said. The SA-6 manual, written in Russian, called for six launchers around a central control point. With all the connective paths, the typical Guideline site looked just like a Star of David, which seemed rather blasphemous to the Colonel, but the thought only hovered at the edge of his mind as he centered the command van on his bombsight pipper.

  “Selecting Rockeye,” he said aloud, confirming the action to himself. For the last ten seconds, he held the aircraft rock steady. “Looking good ... release ... now!”

  Four of the decidedly un-aerodynamic canisters fell free of the fighter’s ejector racks, splitting open in midair, scattering thousands of submunitions over the area. He was well beyond the site before the bomblets landed. He didn’t see people running for slit trenches, but he stayed low, reefing the Thud into a tight left turn, looking up to make sure he’d gotten the place once and for all. From three miles out his eyes caught an immense cloud of smoke in the center of the Star.