1 University of Regensburg Regensburg, Germany "Entschuldigung-wo ist die Fakultät für Mathematik?" Jack Ryan, Jr., did in fact know the way to the mathematics department, but not because he was an aficionado of the Pythagorean theorem. In fact, Jack''s last math class had been under the tutelage of Father O''Neil, whose love of equations and variables was rivaled only by his adoration for the writings of St. Thomas Aquinas. Jack had escaped the class with a C-plus, much to the chagrin of his surgeon mother, who took a dim view of any mark less than a B. Jack''s familiarity with the University of Regensburg''s quaint campus was not the result of a newfound thirst for knowledge or a desire to right his past collegiate wrongs characterized by too much time on the football field and not enough in the library. Neither had Jack''s familiarity come from strolling along the campus''s network of pedestrian paths under the azure sky and brilliant German sunshine. No, Jack knew where the math building was for the same reason he was seated at a section of tables in the cobblestone-paved common area that formed the university''s heart.
Jack was running a surveillance operation. But he couldn''t say this to the cute blonde dressed in a white half-shirt, black Lululemon leggings, and white cross-trainers. While Jack hadn''t thought much of college math, there were certainly some aspects of the higher-education experience he''d found enjoyable. "Sorry," Jack said with a smile. "I''m not a student." The girl smiled back, and Jack''s grin widened. At six foot two and two hundred twenty pounds, Jack was a big boy. Now that he was closer to forty than twenty, he had to hit the gym harder to maintain his athletic build.
But his blue eyes were still bright, his face unwrinkled, and his brown hair thick and curly. Judging by the coed''s reaction, Jack must not be aging too terribly. He still had it. "Of course not," the girl said, laughing, as she switched to German-accented English. "You are much too old to be a student. I thought you might be visiting your child for parents'' weekend?" Or perhaps not. "Nope, no child," Jack said, fighting to keep his grin from withering. "Just here for a conference.
" "Oh," the girl said, her face reddening. "Sorry. Could you tell me where the mathematics building is located?" "Sure," Jack said. "Quickest way is through there." He turned in his chair to point to the doors of the University Student Office behind him. "It''ll be the first building you see on the other side." "Danke," the girl said. She offered Jack a final smile that reeked of pity before heading into the building.
Jack gritted his teeth as he waited for the other shoe to drop. As jolting as it had been to learn that he could no longer pass as a college student, he knew the worst was still to come. As if on cue, a feminine voice echoed from a Bluetooth-equipped combination transmitter/receiver lodged deep in the canal of his right ear. "Do we have a med kit?" "Why?" Jack said, instantly alert. "Thought you might need something for your bruised ego." The raspy tone engendered images of raven hair and vanilla-scented olive-toned skin. Unlike Jack, who was seated at a flimsy metal table with a doner kebab wrapped in aluminum foil for company, his coworker and girlfriend, Lisanne Robertson, was lounging in the grass on the south side of the University Student Office. In fact, if they''d been the only two operatives on the net, Jack might have broken protocol long enough to tell the Lebanese American woman how he''d accidentally mixed salt into his coffee after seeing her in "college attire.
" Jack didn''t. This was partly because he was still trying to navigate the pitfalls of working clandestinely with someone who was also a love interest and partly because he and Lisanne weren''t alone on the net. Not by a long shot. "Don''t sweat it, Jack. We all get old." The high-pitched voice belonged to Gavin Biery. Like Jack and Lisanne, Gavin was an employee of The Campus, an off-the-books intelligence agency. Unlike Jack and Lisanne, who were paramilitary officers, Gavin was The Campus''s director of information technology, and its resident hacker.
As such, he was perched in his comfortable chair at The Campus''s Alexandria, Virginia, headquarters rather than in Germany. Since the operation the three operatives were currently running had been billed as surveillance only, Gavin had asked to accompany his teammates. Jack had turned down the portly keyboard warrior. Gavin brought more to the fight ensconced in his climate-controlled IT labyrinth than he would deployed to the field. Not to mention that he looked far less appealing in summer wear. "First of all, I''m not old," Jack said. "Second, I need everyone focused on the task at hand. Coffee break is coming up.
" "Whatever you say, pops," Lisanne said, her husky voice raising goose bumps across Jack''s skin. Before catching his flight to Munich, Jack had been called in for a sit-down with his boss and The Campus''s director of operations, John T. Clark. Clark''s operational history was both long and distinguished, beginning with his time as a SOG veteran and Vietnam-era Navy SEAL. In the ensuing years, Clark had worked as a CIA paramilitary officer and served as the original Rainbow Six. He and Jack''s father had met in the jungles of Colombia during a CIA-helmed counter-drug operation gone wrong. Now Jack''s father was the President of the United States, and Clark was Jack''s boss. When John Clark talked, Jack listened, even on the rare occasions when he didn''t agree with what his boss had to say.
This had been one of those times. Jack and Lisanne had been honest with their brothers- and sisters-in-arms when their relationship had firmly left platonic territory. While this wasn''t a surprise to most of their compatriots, Clark had counseled the pair on what this meant from an operational sense. In short, it changed things. Contrary to the movies, operating with someone with whom you were romantically involved was difficult. Serving objectively as that person''s team leader was nearly impossible. Jack hadn''t disagreed with Clark''s assessment. Who was he to argue with someone who''d been hunting his nation''s adversaries while Jack had still been in diapers? Still, this was not an operation, per se, as much as a tactical test-drive.
A test-drive of Isabel Yang''s utility as well as a demonstration for a rather unique bit of software Gavin had been tinkering with for the last several months. It would also serve as a trial run for Jack''s ability to operate with Lisanne in the field. As Campus work went, you couldn''t get much more vanilla than an academic conference held in the sleepy German town of Regensburg. Milk run were the exact words Jack had used with Clark. "I''ve got movement on Socrates''s phone," Gavin said. Socrates was Isabel Yang''s call sign. Yang was a twenty-six-year-old Ph.D.
student who was being groomed as a Campus helper. The Campus''s black side numbered less than twelve people, and the flat organizational chart and lack of bureaucracy was one of the organization''s selling points. Unlike traditional members of the intelligence community, Campus operatives were not limited by findings, statutes, or authorities. Jack Ryan, Sr., and his friend and Campus founder, Gerry Hendley, were the North Stars when it came to deciding what was in and out of bounds as it pertained to sanctioned operations. Though not a history professor like his father, Jack Junior was an adept enough student of the antiquities to know that this arrangement was not a recipe for success. But that was a problem for another day. Jack''s near-term concern lay with The Campus''s manpower, or lack thereof.
Nimble organizations were great at the type of missions that required a scalpel, but more and more often, Campus work tended toward the sledgehammer variety. With multiple teams operating simultaneously around the globe, the lack of depth in nonoperational departments like logistics, recruiting, and human resources was beginning to show. Even among the door-kickers, Campus personnel were stretched painfully thin. To make matters worse, the entity had no formal accessions process. This meant The Campus had no standardized way to vet and onboard potential new talent. Enter Jack''s thought on helpers. The Mossad was a shining example of how to do more with less. As a country of only about nine million people, Israel was constantly required to punch above its weight.
The tiny nation''s intelligence service was no exception. As a way to even the scales against its much-better-funded and -manned counterparts, the Mossad had developed a network of helpers that spanned the globe. These men and women weren''t operatives as much as they were people in unique positions or with unique skill sets who could fill logistical or intelligence gaps for active Mossad operations. People like Isabel Yang. In addition to her qualifications as an academic who spoke three languages and could pass for half a dozen nationalities, Isabel was an Army brat. Her Chinese American father had been a Green Beret assigned to the 10th Special Forces Group when he''d been killed in Afghanistan. Isabel''s patriotism ran deep. Jack had first made her acquaintance during an operation in South Korea, and he'.