Genre Fiction
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Tom Clancy Target Acquired (A Jack Ryan Jr. Novel)
Jack Ryan, Jr., will do anything for a friend, but this favor will be paid for in blood in the latest electric entry in the #1 New York Times bestselling series.
Jack Ryan, Jr., would do anything for Ding Chavez. That's why Jack is currently sitting in an open-air market in Israel, helping a CIA team with a simple job. The man running the mission, Peter Beltz, is an old friend from Ding's Army days. Ding hadn't seen his friend since Peter's transfer to the CIA eighteen months prior and intended to use the assignment to reconnect. Unfortunately, Ding had to cancel at the last minute and asked Jack to take his place. It's a cushy assignment-a trip to Israel in exchange for a couple hours of easy work, but Jack could use the downtime after his last operation.
Jack is here merely as an observer, but when he hastens to help a woman and her young son, he finds himself the target of trained killers. Alone and outgunned, Jack will have to use all his skills to protect the life of the child.
Jack Ryan, Jr., would do anything for Ding Chavez. That's why Jack is currently sitting in an open-air market in Israel, helping a CIA team with a simple job. The man running the mission, Peter Beltz, is an old friend from Ding's Army days. Ding hadn't seen his friend since Peter's transfer to the CIA eighteen months prior and intended to use the assignment to reconnect. Unfortunately, Ding had to cancel at the last minute and asked Jack to take his place. It's a cushy assignment-a trip to Israel in exchange for a couple hours of easy work, but Jack could use the downtime after his last operation.
Jack is here merely as an observer, but when he hastens to help a woman and her young son, he finds himself the target of trained killers. Alone and outgunned, Jack will have to use all his skills to protect the life of the child.
Readers Top Reviews
Alex JinksKeith B
As usual tom Clancy has come up with another thrilling book, one of those authors that you just cant wait for his next offering.
BobVeeAlex JinksK
Very good story well told. The ending less impressive - somewhat garbled. But, overall, extremely, good read. Fully recommended for too class entertainment
Gary TSZQBill B.A
I have read every Clancy book as well as all books written by co authors since his death. I have always enjoyed the books and the various characters involved. However, they are all starting to get a bit stale. This particular book focusses on Jack Ryan (The president's son). Clearly, the author presents over the top and really hard to believe "plot lines" (if you want to call this a plot). Jack should have died 12 times in the book and unless he's Ironman in disguise, there was no way out of 11 of them. Really far fetched. There is little character development with the Clancy characters the past few books and the story writing seems just like a paycheck to me for the authors. Very disheartening. I would like to see a vast expansion of the character line up and a much more in depth analysis of these characters. By the way, by my reckoning, Ryan senior has been president for about 20 years now and John Clark is about 110 years old. Time to switch gears.
Short Excerpt Teaser
1
Shuk HaCarmel Open-Air Market
Tel Aviv, Israel
Jack Ryan, Jr., took another bite of falafel, hunching his broad shoulders to protect his prize against the press of hundreds of bodies. At six-foot-two and two hundred twenty pounds, Jack was a big man even by American standards. In Israel, he towered over most of the crowd. Even so, he still felt like a lion guarding its prey from a pack of circling wild dogs.
Jack smiled at the image, expertly using a thick forearm to guide a chattering trio of teenagers away from his dripping food. Wild dogs on the savannah would try to rob the lion of his food, despite their small size. But the crowd that ebbed and flowed up the narrow confines of HaCarmel Street was absent the malicious intent of an African predator, regardless of how small. Over the last decade or so, Jack had become adept at reading crowds, and this one radiated benevolence.
The Mediterranean sun shone from a sky the kind of perfect blue usually seen only in Photoshopped travel brochures, bathing the crowd in soothing light. The air was warm without the stickiness of the hot season, while the faint smell of salt water blowing in from the ocean just blocks away mingled with spicy scents of food cooking in the countless booths lining the street. Jack caught bits and pieces of a handful of languages as vendors and potential buyers argued over prices and wares.
Jack was no stranger to foreign locales, but there was something inherently magical about Tel Aviv. The city felt electric, full of entrepreneurs whose agile minds and unbounded dreams rivaled those of Silicon Valley. Here, in the Middle East's only democracy, the weather was excellent, the women beautiful, the people friendly, and the food fantastic. In short, the perfect vacation city.
But Jack wasn't on vacation.
As if on cue, a man settled into a plastic seat adjacent to a table at the opposite side of the alley. He was late forties to early fifties, with a full head of blond hair that was just beginning to gray at the temples. The man dusted off the table with the fastidious nature of someone unaccustomed to the grit and dirt common to open-air markets. Once he'd cleared the spot in front of him of all debris real and imaginary, he flagged down a waiter.
The proprietor came over with a smile and the man ordered a coffee in English before adding the obligatory toda, thank you. The waiter smiled again before leaving to fetch the man's order.
Just another foreigner in a diverse, multinational crowd.
But to Jack's practiced eye, the man still seemed out of place.
It wasn't so much his fair complexion in the sea of olive-toned skin or his attire. Though the majority of the shoppers were Israeli or Arab, plenty of Europeans mingled with the natives. And the man had done a fairly respectable job of incorporating local fashion. He wore a button-down shirt in the local style, open at the collar so that a tuft of chest hair poked through, and jeans and sensible shoes.
No, it wasn't the man's wardrobe or genetics. His actions were the problem. Rather than the laissez-faire attitude coupled with liberal shoving that pervaded the rest of the afternoon shoppers, the man was clearly on edge. His head moved with sharp, birdlike movements as he looked from one end of the alley to the other, scrutinizing each passerby like he was a man on a mission.
Which he was.
But he was supposed to be behaving as if he wasn't.
Popping the last bite of falafel into his mouth, Jack dusted off his hands and then slid his cell from his pocket. Opening the notes app, Jack began to annotate his initial impressions. Tel Aviv was already one of his favorite cities, and while he'd like to do nothing more than go for a run along the beach and admire the local talent, that wasn't why he was here.
Technically.
Espionage was a tricky business. Even with mind-numbing advances in technology, running an agent or asset was still a deeply personal endeavor. As such, much of it was based on impressions, or gut feelings, and right now th...
Shuk HaCarmel Open-Air Market
Tel Aviv, Israel
Jack Ryan, Jr., took another bite of falafel, hunching his broad shoulders to protect his prize against the press of hundreds of bodies. At six-foot-two and two hundred twenty pounds, Jack was a big man even by American standards. In Israel, he towered over most of the crowd. Even so, he still felt like a lion guarding its prey from a pack of circling wild dogs.
Jack smiled at the image, expertly using a thick forearm to guide a chattering trio of teenagers away from his dripping food. Wild dogs on the savannah would try to rob the lion of his food, despite their small size. But the crowd that ebbed and flowed up the narrow confines of HaCarmel Street was absent the malicious intent of an African predator, regardless of how small. Over the last decade or so, Jack had become adept at reading crowds, and this one radiated benevolence.
The Mediterranean sun shone from a sky the kind of perfect blue usually seen only in Photoshopped travel brochures, bathing the crowd in soothing light. The air was warm without the stickiness of the hot season, while the faint smell of salt water blowing in from the ocean just blocks away mingled with spicy scents of food cooking in the countless booths lining the street. Jack caught bits and pieces of a handful of languages as vendors and potential buyers argued over prices and wares.
Jack was no stranger to foreign locales, but there was something inherently magical about Tel Aviv. The city felt electric, full of entrepreneurs whose agile minds and unbounded dreams rivaled those of Silicon Valley. Here, in the Middle East's only democracy, the weather was excellent, the women beautiful, the people friendly, and the food fantastic. In short, the perfect vacation city.
But Jack wasn't on vacation.
As if on cue, a man settled into a plastic seat adjacent to a table at the opposite side of the alley. He was late forties to early fifties, with a full head of blond hair that was just beginning to gray at the temples. The man dusted off the table with the fastidious nature of someone unaccustomed to the grit and dirt common to open-air markets. Once he'd cleared the spot in front of him of all debris real and imaginary, he flagged down a waiter.
The proprietor came over with a smile and the man ordered a coffee in English before adding the obligatory toda, thank you. The waiter smiled again before leaving to fetch the man's order.
Just another foreigner in a diverse, multinational crowd.
But to Jack's practiced eye, the man still seemed out of place.
It wasn't so much his fair complexion in the sea of olive-toned skin or his attire. Though the majority of the shoppers were Israeli or Arab, plenty of Europeans mingled with the natives. And the man had done a fairly respectable job of incorporating local fashion. He wore a button-down shirt in the local style, open at the collar so that a tuft of chest hair poked through, and jeans and sensible shoes.
No, it wasn't the man's wardrobe or genetics. His actions were the problem. Rather than the laissez-faire attitude coupled with liberal shoving that pervaded the rest of the afternoon shoppers, the man was clearly on edge. His head moved with sharp, birdlike movements as he looked from one end of the alley to the other, scrutinizing each passerby like he was a man on a mission.
Which he was.
But he was supposed to be behaving as if he wasn't.
Popping the last bite of falafel into his mouth, Jack dusted off his hands and then slid his cell from his pocket. Opening the notes app, Jack began to annotate his initial impressions. Tel Aviv was already one of his favorite cities, and while he'd like to do nothing more than go for a run along the beach and admire the local talent, that wasn't why he was here.
Technically.
Espionage was a tricky business. Even with mind-numbing advances in technology, running an agent or asset was still a deeply personal endeavor. As such, much of it was based on impressions, or gut feelings, and right now th...
