Read Jack Ryan 8 - Debt of Honor for Free Online Page A

helicopter circled carefully, illuminating the ground with lights.
    “B
    IRD
    -D
    OG
     O
    NE
    , this is
    
    
     B
     AG
    
    
    
    
     M
     AN
     .
    
    
    ”
    “Good evening, B
    AG
     M
    AN
    , B
    IRD
    -D
    OG
     O
    NE
     has the situation under control. Come on down!”
    
     Clark
    
     chuckled into the radio.
    The first chopper down was well outside the lighted area. The Rangers appeared out of the shadows like ghosts, spaced out five meters apart, weapons low and ready.
    “
    
     Clark
    
    ?” a loud, very tense voice called.
    “Yo!” John called back with a wave. “We got 'im.”
    A captain of Rangers came in. A young Latino face, smeared with camouflage paint and dressed in desert cammies. He'd been a lieutenant the last time he'd been on the African mainland, and remembered the memorial service for those he'd lost from his platoon. Bringing the Rangers back had been
    
     Clark
    
    's idea, and it had been easy to arrange. Four more men came in behind Captain Diego Checa. The rest of the squad dispersed to check out the “policemen.”
    “What about these two?” one asked, pointing to Corp's two personal bodyguards.
    “Leave 'em,” Ding replied.
    “You got it, sir,” a spec-4 replied, taking out steel cuffs and securing both pairs of wrists in addition to the plastic ties. Captain Checa cuffed Corp himself. He and a sergeant lifted the man off the ground while Clark and Chavez retrieved their personal gear from the Rover and followed the soldiers to the Blackhawk. One of the Rangers handed Chavez a canteen.
    “Oso sends his regards,” the staff sergeant said. Ding's head came around.
    “What's he doing now?”
    “First Sergeants' school. He's pissed that he missed this one. I'm Gomez, Foxtrot, Second of the One-Seventy-Fifth. I was here back then, too.”
    “You made that look pretty easy,” Checa was telling
    
     Clark
    
    , a few feet away.
         “Six weeks,” the senior field officer replied in a studiously casual voice. The rules required such a demeanor. “Four weeks to bum around in the boonies, two weeks to set the meet up, six hours waiting for it to happen, and about ten seconds to take him down.”
    “Just the way it's supposed to be,” Checa observed. He handed over a canteen filled with Gatorade. The Captain's eyes locked on the senior man. Whoever he was, Checa thought at first, he was far too old to play games in the boonies with the gomers. Then he gave
    
     Clark
    
    's eyes a closer look.
    “How the fuck you do this, man?” Gomez demanded of Chavez at the door to the chopper. The other Rangers leaned in close to get the reply.
    Ding glanced over at his gear and laughed. “ Magic!”
    Gomez was annoyed that his question hadn't been answered. “Leaving all these guys out here?”
    “Yeah, they're just gomers.” Chavez turned to look one last time. Sooner or later one would get his hands free—probably—retrieve a knife, and cut his fellow “policemen” free; then they could worry about the two with steel bracelets. “It's the boss we were after.”
    Gomez turned to scan the horizon. “Any lions or hyenas out here?”   Ding shook his head. Too bad, the sergeant thought.
    The Rangers were shaking their heads as they strapped into their seats on the helicopter. As soon as they were airborne,
    
     Clark
    
     donned a headset and waited for the crew chief to set up the radio patch.
    “C
    APSTONE
    , this is B
    IRD
    -D
    OG
    ,” he began.
     
     
    The eight-hour time difference made it early afternoon in
    
    
     Washington
    
    
    . The UHF radio from the helicopter went to USS Tripoli, and then it was uplinked to a satellite. The Signals Office routed the call right into Ryan's desk phone.
    “Yes, B
    IRD
    -D
    OG
    , this is C
    APSTONE
    .”
    Ryan couldn't quite recognize
    
     Clark
    
    's voice, but the words were readable through the static:  “In the bag, no friendlies hurt. Repeat, the duck is in the bag and there are zero friendly casualties.”
    “I understand, B
    IRD
    -D
    OG
    .