{"product_id":"tom-clancy-point-of-contact-isbn-9780735215887","title":"Tom Clancy Point of Contact","description":"\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003eJack Ryan Jr. finds himself on the front lines of cyber war and in the eye of a killer storm in this thriller in Tom Clancy's #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling series.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA former U.S. senator and defense contractor needs someone to look over the books of Dalfan Technologies, a Singapore company--quickly. He turns to Jack Ryan, Jr., and Paul Brown, two employees of one of the best financial analysis firms in the country, which also happens to be the cover for The Campus, a top secret American intelligence agency.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBrown has no idea that Jack works for The Campus. Jack has no idea that the awkward accountant has been tasked with uploading a cyberwarfare program into the highly secure Dalfan Technologies mainframe on behalf of the CIA. On the verge of mission success, Brown discovers a game within the game, and the people who now want to kill him are as deadly as the cyclone bearing down on the island nation. Together Ryan and Brown race to escape both the dangerous storm and a team of trained assassins in order to prevent a global catastrophe, even at the cost of their own lives.\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eTom Clancy Point of Contact\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e“[A] taut, exciting thriller...Clancy fans can rest assured that the state of the franchise is strong.\"—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “[Maden] proves that he knows the ins-and-outs of an action story and can certainly take readers to the edge of their seats when it comes to thrills. It’s nice to know that Tom Clancy’s creation will have more adventures ahead.”—\u003ci\u003eSuspense Magazine\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“Sure to satisfy the legend's longtime fans.”—\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eFt. Worth Star-Telegram\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eMore Praise for the Jack Ryan Jr. Series\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Will satisfy the craving of the audience for more Ryan family adventures”—\u003ci\u003eBooklist \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003c\/i\u003eA tour de force of the kind Clancy practically invented, a tale beautifully envisioned and realized.”—\u003ci\u003eProvidence Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Mixes nail-biting suspense with hard-hitting action to deliver a blockbuster hit.”—The Real Book Spy\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A high-octane, high stakes novel of international intrigue and military action, involving global brinksmanship, espionage, and romance.”—The Huffington Post\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Continue[s] the intense, thrilling, and realistic plots that Tom Clancy was known for...riveting and gripping.”—Elise Cooper for Military Press, Crimespree Magazine, and Blackfive.netA little more than thirty years ago \u003cb\u003eTom Clancy\u003c\/b\u003e was a Maryland insurance broker with a passion for naval history. Years before, he had been an English major at Baltimore's Loyola College and had always dreamed of writing a novel. His first effort, \u003ci\u003eThe Hunt for Red October\u003c\/i\u003e—the first of the phenomenally successful Jack Ryan novels—sold briskly as a result of rave reviews, then catapulted onto the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestseller list after President Reagan pronounced it “the perfect yarn.” From that day forward, Clancy established himself as an undisputed master at blending exceptional realism and authenticity, intricate plotting, and razor-sharp suspense. He passed away in October 2013.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eMike Maden \u003c\/b\u003eis the author of the critically acclaimed Drone series. He holds both a master's and Ph.D. in political science from the University of California at Davis, specializing in international relations and comparative politics. He has lectured and consulted on the topics of war and the Middle East, among others. Maden has served as a political consultant and campaign manager in state and national elections, and hosted his own local weekly radio show for a year.\u003cb\u003e1\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e The North Sea\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e Albuskjell Oilfield, Norway\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e Latitude 56¡ North, Longitude 3¡ East\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Freeze or drown.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He wasn't sure which one would come first. It didn't really      matter. Either way, Jack Ryan, Jr., knew he was going to die in      the next two minutes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The F470 Zodiac rubber raiding craft pounded through the chopping      waves beneath a storm-shrouded moon. Jack clutched the safety      ropes in both fists to keep from getting thrown overboard. So did      Adara Sherman, seated in front of him. She was getting it worse      than he was. Every bounce threw more spray in their faces. Jack's      NVGs were spattered with ice. He couldn't risk wiping off the      night-vision lenses while he was riding this bucking bronco. But a      half-mile ahead he could still barely make out the oil rig, lights      off, its hulking frame a black shadow above the surging sea. That      was fine by Jack. The darkness shielded their approach.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Jack's teeth chattered and his mind clouded in the numbing cold.      The freezing North Sea wind seemed to slice right through his      five-millimeter wetsuit, and the stinging sleet felt like a broken      beer bottle being dragged across his exposed skin.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Despite their misery, Bartosz \"Midas\" Jankowski gunned the engine      full throttle, his goggled eyes fixed on his GPS. They were      supposed to run quiet, but they got off late. At least the howling      wind swept away most of the noise from the baffled      fifty-five-horsepower outboard motor in back.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The high winds also meant a helicopter landing was out of the      question, and fast-roping out of it—Jack's favorite new skill—even      more so. All three of them were getting beat to hell, and time      wasn't their friend. If they didn't reach the oil platform ladder      in the next two minutes, they would fail the mission.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003eAssuming we survive for the next two minutes,\u003c\/i\u003e Jack reminded      himself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And then there were the gunmen on the oil rig to deal with. But      right now, armed killers seemed like the least of their problems.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e As if on cue, a rogue wave swelled beneath the speeding craft,      lifting the port side out of the water. Jack had shoved the toes      of his boots through the safety rope along the rubber deck for      purchase but felt himself pitching over the side anyway. Midas      grabbed the drag handle of Jack's vest with a sure hand at the      last second, saving him from a headlong dive into the angry black      sea.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Jack glanced to his right at the other Zodiac just a few yards      away. In the green haze of his iced NVGs, he saw Dom Caruso flash      him a quick \"Okay?\" with his gloved thumb. Jack thumbed him back.      No time for chitchat. Ding Chavez drove Dom's boat, his eyes fixed      on the GPS locator.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The five special operators of The Campus were a close-knit team,      the tip of the spear of the private \"off-the-books\" intelligence      agency known only to President Ryan and a select few of his      closest advisers. They were a small organization, but they punched      hard-and far above their weight. This mission was proof of that.      They did the jobs the CIA or other government intelligence      services couldn't do. Or wouldn't.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Tonight was no exception.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Jack ran through the schematics of the oil rig platform in his      mind again, particularly the control room and machine shop—his two      targets. Gavin Biery's webmaster magic had come through again. If      it weren't for him, they'd be going in totally blind.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Gavin's intel brief confirmed seven hostages and six Green Army      Faction eco-terrorists, armed and trained. But intel on a      hostage-rescue operation like this was always sketchy. John      Clark's warning echoed in his head. \"Stay frosty out there. You      don't know what you don't know.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003eTrue that.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"It's time,\" Ding whispered in everyone's comms.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Roger that,\" Midas confirmed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Jack watched Ding's boat veer off at a sharp angle, its      bulletproof Armorflate rubber skin shredding water into the turn.      The small drilling platform had two access ladders. Jack's boat      would take the front; Ding and Dom would scramble up the back. On      training runs with the Norwegian MJK (Marinejegerkommandoen) this      past week, the weather had been cold but calm and they'd been able      to get the timing down perfectly. But out here tonight on a raging      North Sea, everything was up for grabs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The mission had two goals: save the hostages and kill or capture      the tangos. The Green Army Faction threatened not only to kill the      captured oil workers but also to blow the rig, causing another      catastrophic oil-spill disaster like Deepwater Horizon, if their      ransom demands weren't met. American policy had always been to      ignore ransom demands from terrorists. Meeting them inevitably led      to more terror. Any student of history knew that. But some      governments and corporations apparently didn't read history.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Those were the people Green Army Faction targeted. Profitably.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But in this case, intel from an informant indicated that the group      on the rig had no intention of surrendering after the money      transfer. In their sick minds, they planned on \"saving the earth\"      by poisoning the sea in order to fuel more public outrage at the      oil industry. Killing the oil rig workers was a sacred bonus, like      ISIS butchering captive infidels.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The decommissioned oil rig stood in an abandoned field dead center      in the North Sea and in international waters. The Texas      wildcatting team was developing new fracking-style technology to      revive dead underwater wells. The GAF got wind of it and struck.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When it became clear that the hostages would be killed, the      company's desperate security chief called his friend John Clark,      hoping Clark could mobilize some of his old Rainbow Six      connections. But with only a four-hour window remaining, there      weren't any options.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Except one.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e By sheer coincidence, John Clark had arranged for The Campus      operators to train with MJK operators for exactly this kind of      mission just two hours away. The Norwegian government wouldn't      allow the MJK to aid in the assault, but Clark called in a few      chits and arranged for the \u003ci\u003eMøvik—\u003c\/i\u003ea Swedish-built CB90-class      fast-assault craft—to drop the team off. After that, they were on      their own.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The hastily devised plan was that both Campus teams would scale      the ladders at the same time and make a simultaneous assault on      three of the four buildings on the rig, taking out bad guys along      the way. Jack's team would take the front of the platform. Midas      and Adara would go for the crew's quarters, where the hostages      were probably being kept, while Jack cleared the control room,      after which he'd drive toward the machine shop. On the back side      of the rig, Ding's two-man team would first assault the drilling      and process modules, where the explosives were undoubtedly      positioned. After clearing them, they would support the assault on      the crew's quarters or machine shop as needed. Each team would      drive toward the center of the facility, herding any surviving GAF      fighters into the middle and forcing them to surrender—or die.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e At least, that was the plan.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They all agreed that clear and constant communication was key to      their success. No telling what the real situation was on the rig      or the precise number of either terrorists or hostages.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Their biggest challenge tonight beyond the hellish weather was      their limited firepower. Each team member carried the same two      suppressed weapons systems: short-barreled SIG Sauer MPX      submachine guns and SIG Sauer P229 pistols, both in      nine-millimeter. They couldn't use larger calibers for fear of      overpenetration, and explosives or even flash-bang grenades were      out of the question in the highly flammable environment. Brains,      brawn, and steady hands were their only force multipliers. Given      the makeup of the team, Jack figured that was good enough.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The bow of the Zodiac dipped as Midas throttled down. That told      Jack they were close. The rolling swells kept the boat rocking      violently, but not so badly that Jack couldn't raise his hands to      finally clear his NVGs. The boat was just a few yards away from      the platform ladder now. He could barely make out the other Zodiac      on the far side of the rig. The sleet turned to thick flakes of      snow, reducing the value of the NVGs to nearly zero now.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Ten seconds,\" Midas whispered in the comms.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Rog . . . Go . . . op,\" Ding replied.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Say . . .\" Midas whispered.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e No reply.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"What's wrong?\" Jack spoke into his comms.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He saw Midas's lips move but didn't hear anything in his earpiece.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003eComms down!\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e As soon as Jack thought it, Midas was already switching to hand      signals.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e This was going to be an old-school op for sure.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The Zodiac slowed further. Adara reached down for the rope and its      hard rubber grapple as Midas cut the engine. The boat was lifted      by another high wave and crashed violently into one of the thick      steel piers supporting the platform, but the inflated rubber      bounced harmlessly off in the direction of the nearby ladder.      Adara tossed the grapple and hit a ladder rung on the first try,      then she and Jack pulled hard on the rope until the Zodiac was      close enough to tie off and secure.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The problem now was the other boat. It was critical that both      teams scale the ladders at the same time. Jack pulled his tactical      light and flashed it twice in Ding's direction. A moment later      someone flashed back.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Jack signaled \"good to go\" to Midas and Adara. They both      acknowledged and Adara took the lead, lifting one boot from the      heaving deck to the top of the gunwale, then timing her next step      onto the ladder with her other boot to the rising swell, pulling      herself up with one hand as the boat lifted to its apogee, all in      a singular motion of effortless grace. She instantly began the      arduous hundred-foot climb.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Jack watched her in the flickering green glow of his goggles. From      down here in the rocking boat it looked like Adara was climbing up      into the blackened portal of a rusted steel hell.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The boat pitched down again as Midas took position next. At the      top of the next swell Midas stepped up. He landed a heavy boot on      a rung and pulled his broad frame up by his strong arms, then      began his swift, wordless climb.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The boat plummeted down again, and Jack's stomach with it, hitting      the bottom of the swell so hard that Jack's knees nearly buckled.      The waves were getting worse.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Jack tugged on his MPX to verify the sling was still snug as he      stood back up and planted his right boot on the gunwale. A moment      later he felt the massive surge beneath him and the boat rocketed      upward, but the hull crashed hard against the steel ladder just as      Jack stepped off, throwing him forward. He barely managed to grab      an icy rung with both gloved hands as his knees slammed against      the sharp steel, boots dangling in midair. A moment later his feet      found a rung and he was secure. His eyes tracked the fleeing swell      as it crashed against another steel pylon.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e His heart raced. \u003ci\u003eThat was close.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Jack paused just long enough to take a deep breath and gather his      wits.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Big mistake.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Out of the corner of his eye he saw another rogue wave suddenly      breaking over him in a white-capped fury.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He braced himself against the ladder just as the wave hit.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Too late.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e2\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e All Jack could do was hold on grab-ass tight. The wave hit him      like a great gray bull, smashing the side of his helmeted face      against the ladder's steel, but somehow he hung on.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A second passed and the furious gray monster sped away into the      forbidding dark.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Jack couldn't believe his luck. He didn't wait for the next one.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He untangled himself as quickly as he could and began the ascent,      spitting and coughing up briny seawater through his mouth and      nose. He scrambled as fast as he dared on the frozen steel, driven      upward by John Clark's raspy voice ringing in his brain: \"Shit      happens in threes.\" Comms going down and a big-ass rogue wave      counted for two. He didn't want to think about what the third      might be.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The first few soaking-wet steps were easy, but his left foot      slipped badly on the next ice-coated rung. Once again his heart      raced, but his fast reflexes secured him tightly to the ladder.      His mind was clearer now—running from death had that effect on a      man's brain—and in a moment he was in his stride, carefully but      swiftly alternating hands and feet in the dangerous ascent.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He climbed several rungs before glancing up to locate the rest of      his team. They were already near the top and scrambling fast,      unaware of his near-death experience. The gunshot to Adara's leg      in Chicago last year clearly hadn't slowed her down.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Gaining confidence in his stride, Jack picked up the climbing      tempo. The adrenaline was fueling him now, which helped cut the      cold, even though he was drenched, and the exertion was warming      him up despite the blasting snow. The burning in his thighs was a      good sign that he was still alive. Even the seawater still      stinging his sinuses helped clear his mind.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e So far, so good.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He slowed as he entered the guardrail cage near the top of the      ladder, expecting Adara's gloved hand in the open hole to signal      him to hold. The plan was for the three of them to rally at the      entrance, then split up and assault their respective targets some      ninety feet apart. He popped his head up quickly to scan the      platform.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Adara and Midas were gone. \u003ci\u003eWhat the hell?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e So much for the plan.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Jack cleared the hole and the guardrails and assumed a crouching      position on the steel-grated deck, designed to keep seawater from      accumulating. Most of the snow fell through, so there were no      clear boot prints for Jack to follow. He glanced to his left,      where the crew's quarters were located. He didn't see either Midas      or Adara, but according to the plan that's where they were headed.      The schematics indicated that the entrance door was around the      corner from where he was, so if the two of them were positioning      there, he wouldn't be able to see them anyway.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Jack checked his watch. If the other team was in place, they'd hit      their door in the next thirty seconds.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Time to get to work.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Jack racked the charging handle of his MPX. The terrorists would      all be inside in weather like this. Of course they'd be. He smiled      to himself. \u003ci\u003eWhat moron would be outside in this shit? \u003c\/i\u003eThe snow      fell heavier now in the fierce wind—near-blizzard conditions. Jack      brushed away the ice crusting on the back of his gloves.","brand":"G.P. 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