Net Force - Tom Clancy [0]
by
Tom Clancy
Acknowledgments
Wed like to thank Steve Perry for his creative ideas and his invaluable contributions to the preparations of the manuscript. We would also like to acknowledge the assistance of Martin H. Greenberg, Larry Segriff, Denise Little, John Heifers, Robert Youdelman, Esq., Richard Heller, Esq., and Tom Mallon, Esq.; Mitchell Rubenstein and Laurie Silvers at BIG Entertainment; the wonderful people at The Putnam Berkley Group, including Phyllis Grann, David Shanks, and Tom Colgan; our producers on the ABC mini-series, Gil Cates and Dennis Doty; the brilliant screenwriter and director Rob Lieberman; and all the good people at ABC. 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.
1
Tuesday, September 7th, 2010, 11:24 p.m. Washington, D.C.
Okay, Commander, Boyle said. Were clear.
Steve Day stepped out into the muggy autumn night from the cooler air-conditioned restaurant, surrounded still by the wonderful odors of exquisite Italian cooking. Already on the sidewalk, Boyle, Days chief bodyguard, spoke into his link. The limo was there, but Boyle was a very careful young man, one of the FBIs finest. Only after he spoke did the limos electrically locked rear door click open. The whole time, Boyle looked everywhere but at Day.
Day nodded at the driver, the new guy. Larry? Lou? Something like that. As he slid across the cloned-leather seat, he was feeling pretty good. Nothing like a seven-course meal and three kinds of excellent wine to put a man in a good mood. Umbertos was new, but it was at least a four-star eatery-or would be as soon as somebody got around to ranking it, though Day hoped that wouldnt be anytime soon. It never failed. As soon as he found a new out-of-the-way place with decent food, it was quickly discovered and reservations were impossible to get.
True, he was the Commander of the recently established Net Force, still the flavor of the month in Washington power circles, but that didnt cut much ice when rich Senators or even richer foreign diplomats were in line ahead of you. Even restaurant owners in this town knew which backsides to kiss first, and top of the list sure wasnt a political appointee as far down the food chain as Day was. For now, anyway.
Still, the meal had been great: al dente pasta and artery-clogging sauce and shrimp, and salad and palate-cleansing ices. Day was both pleasantly full and slightly tipsy. Good thing he didnt have to drive.
His virgil cheeped at him.
Boyle slid in next to Day, closed the door, then tapped on the bullet-proof Lexan partition with one knuckle.
The driver started the car as Day unclipped the virgil from his belt and looked at it.
His Virtual Global Interface Link-virgil for short-had a flashing telephone icon in the upper right corner of the small LCD screen. He touched the icon and a number blinked onto the screen. Marilyn, calling from home. He looked at the timesig. Just after eleven. She must have gotten back from her DAR meeting early. Those gab sessions usually ran past midnight. He grinned, tapped the phone number twice and waited for the connection.
Not much bigger than a pack of cigarettes-hed given those up twenty years ago, but he hadnt forgotten how big a pack was-the virgil was a terrific toy. It was a computer, a GPS unit, phone, clock, radio, TV, modem, credit card, camera, scanner and even a little weavewire fax, all in one. The GPS could tell you where you were anywhere on the planet-and because he was a ranking FBI officer, it didnt have the fudge-factor that commercial civilian units came with, so it was accurate to within five meters. You could link to anybody with a phone or computer, via a scrambled hyperdigital channel so dense they called it a pipe and that would take an