Tom Clancy's Net Force #1by Tom Clancy, Steve Pieczenik
From the #1 New York Times bestselling creators of Op-Center comes a different kind of law enforcement. In the year 2010, computers are the new superpowers. Those who control them, control the world. To enforce the Net Laws, Congress forms the ultimate computer security agency within the FBI: the Net Force. See more details below
From the #1 New York Times bestselling creators of Op-Center comes a different kind of law enforcement. In the year 2010, computers are the new superpowers. Those who control them, control the world. To enforce the Net Laws, Congress forms the ultimate computer security agency within the FBI: the Net Force.
Read an Excerpt
Tuesday, September 7th, 2010, 11:24 p.m.
"Okay, Commander," Boyle said. "We're 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, Day's chief bodyguard, spoke into his link. The limo was there, but Boyle was a very careful young man, one of the FBI's finest. Only after he spoke did the limo's 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. Umberto's was new, but it was at least a four-star eateryor would be as soon as somebody got around to ranking it, though Day hoped that wouldn't 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 didn't 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 wasn't 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 didn't 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 Linkvirgil for shorthad 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 cigaretteshe'd given those up twenty years ago, but he hadn't forgotten how big a pack wasthe 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 planetand because he was a ranking FBI officer, it didn't 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 expert codebreaker a month of Sundays to tap into. This particular unit would, with the proper code, allow Day to access the FBI and Net Force mainframe DNAs, with their vast information stores. Had he been so inclined, Day could have grabbed a pinch of the powdered sugar that came on the cheesecake he'd had for dessert, dusted a fingerprint left on a plate by his waiter and had it checked, ID'd, and a full history on the man back to him before he'd finished eating.
It was great living here in the future, a mere decade after the turn of the century. If 2010 had such wonders, what might it look like in another twenty or thirty years? He was looking forward to finding out, and with advances in medicine, he could pretty much expect to do so.
The virgil's speaker said, "Hi, Steve."
"Hi, Marilyn. What's up?"
"Nothing much. We got done early. I was just wondering if you might want a late supper."
He grinned at the virgil. He didn't have his camera on, so she couldn't see the smile. "I just left Umberto's," he said. "I think I'll pass on eating for the next couple of weeks."
She laughed. "I understand. You coming home?"
"On the way."
He had a condo in the city, but most nights he tried to get across the river and to the house. The kids were grown, but Marilyn and the dog still liked to see him now and again.
He tapped the virgil and re-clipped it to his belt, which needed a little attention. He loosened the buckle a couple of holes and slid the Galco paddle holster with his SIG .40 around toward the front a little so it wouldn't dig into his right hip. He could have carried one of the new-model wireless KTskick-tasersthat were supposed to-be better than a gun, but he didn't really trust them. Yes, he was a political appointee for the current job, but he'd been in the field a long time to earn the spot. He trusted his old-fashioned pistol.
Moving the gun helped. While he was at it, he undid the Velcro on his Kevlar vest's side panels and re-tabbed them a little looser, too.
Next to him, Boyle fought to keep his grin under control.
Day shook his head. "Easy for you to laugh. You're whatthirty? Still bulking up at the gym three or four times a week, right? Us fat old desk jockeys don't have time to stay in shape."
Not that he was that much out of shape. Five-eight, maybe 190? He could drop a few pounds, but hey, he was fifty-two last June and he was entitled to carry a little extra baggage. He'd earned it.
They were on the narrow street behind the new projects, the shortcut toward the expressway. It was a dark and dreary part of town, with streetlights broken out and dead, stripped cars lining the road. Another of the instant slums, going down fast even before the original paint had dried. In his opinion, the current welfare philosophy needed major work; of course, it always had. Though things were getting better, the future still had a way to go to pick up all of its passengers. There were streets in D.C. he wouldn't walk alone after dark; gun, vest, and virgil notwithstanding. An armored limo made him feel a little more secure
There came a terrific bang, a flash that strobed the limo's interior a sudden bright orange. The car rocked up on the driver's side, hung for what seemed like forever on two wheels, then fell back and hit the street hard.
"What the hell?"
Boyle already had his pistol out as the limo fishtailed, slewed and slammed into a streetlight post. The post was fiberglass. It snapped off at bumper level and fell on the limo, spraying shattered glass in a tinkly rain upon the car's trunk.
Day saw a bulky man in black run toward the car from out of the sticky night. The man wore a watch cap pulled low but not covering his face. He had blond hair, a scar running through his right eyebrow. He was smiling.
Day thought he caught a flash of movement at the rear of the limo, but when he looked, he didn't see anything.
"Go!" Boyle yelled. "Go, go!"
The driver tried. The engine roared, the wheels screeched, but the car didn't move. The stench of burning rubber filled the car.
Day thumbed the emergency scramble button on the virgil, and was already reaching for his own pistol when the man in black reached the limo and slapped something on the door. Whatever it was thunked metallically. The man turned and sprinted away, back into the darkness
"Out!" Boyle screamed. "He's stuck a limpet on the door! Out!"
Day grabbed the door handle on the driver's side, jerked it up, dove out and hit the ground in a sloppy shoulder roll.
There came the repetitive bark of a submachine gun, followed by the spang! spang! spang! of jacketed teeth chewing at the wounded limo.
Day rolled again, looking for cover. Nothing. Nowhere to hide!
He glanced back at the car. Saw and felt time become mired in heaviness. Boyle exited the car, gun working, tongues of orange fire stabbing into the dark, but it was like a slow-motion scene in a movie.
Boyle jerked as the small-arms fire beat at him, slammed into his torso.
In a small corner of his mind, Day knew that most submachine guns used pistol ammunition and that the vests he and Boyle both wore would stop any handgun round. As long as they didn't
blood and brain matter sprayed from the side of Boyle's temple as a bullet exited there
as long as they didn't think to shoot for the head!
Damn, damn! What was going on? Who were these people?
In the limo, the driver kept trying to pull away, the roar of the engine continuing. Day could smell the exhaust, the burned tireshe could smell his own fear, too, sharp, sour, overwhelming.
The mine attached to the rear door of the limo went offblam!
All the glass in the limo blew out. It sleeted in all directionssome of it hit Day, but he was only dimly aware of it touching him.
The car's roof peeled "up a little in the back, leaving a fist-sized gap. Smoke, bitter and acrid, washed over him in a hot wave.
The driver hung partway out of his window, boneless.
Dead. The driver and Boyle were both dead. Help would be coming, but he couldn't wait for itif he did, he would be dead, too.
Day came up, took two or three quick steps, jinked right for two more steps, then cut left. Broken-field, came back to him from football in high school thirty-five years ago.
Gunfire tried to catch him, but failed to connect solidly. A bullet tugged at his jacket, punched through under his left arm. He felt a sense of outrage. The goddamned jacket was Hong Kong silk, it had cost him six hundred dollars!
Another round smashed into his chest, right over the heart. He'd never worn the titanium trauma plate, had just used a trifold of Kevlar stuffed down in the trauma pocket over the heart like a lot of agents did, and the impact hurt like a bastard! Like he'd been hit with a hammer, right on the sternum! Damn!
But it didn't matter. He was up, he was moving
A black figure appeared in front of him, waving a flashing Uzi. Even in the night and murk of his fear, Day saw the man wore bulky combat armor under his black jacket. Day had been taught to shoot to the center of mass first, but that wouldn't do now, no, no, the SIG .40 wouldn't hurt the attacker that way any more than the Uzi's 9mm's were hurting him!
Still running, Day lifted the SIG, lined the glowing tritium dot of the front sight on the man's nose. Day's vision tunneledall he could see was the face. The green night-sight dot bounced around, but he squeezed off three shots as fast as he could pull the trigger.
The armored attacker dropped as if his legs had vanished.
All right! All right! He had taken one of them out, he had created a hole, it was just like in football when he'd been the quarterback so long ago.
Now, go through the hole, fast, head for the goal line!
He caught motion peripherally, glanced to his left, and saw another man, also in black. The man held a pistol in two hands. He was as still as a painting. He looked as if he were at the range, ready to practice.
Day felt his bowels clench. He wanted to run, shoot, defecate, all at the same instant. Whoever these guys were, they were professionals. This wasn't any street gang looking for somebody's wallet. This was a hit, an assassination, and they were good
It was his final thought.
The bullet hit him between the eyes and took away everything else he might ever think.
In the backseat of the Volvo station wagon, Mikhayl Ruzhyó looked into the cargo compartment behind him at the body of Nicholas Papirósa. The body lay on its side, covered with a blanket, and the smell of death seeped into the air despite the covering. Ruzhyó sighed, shook his head. Poor Nicholas. It had been hoped there would be no casualtiesit was always hoped to be sobut the fat American had not been as old and slow as expected. They had underestimated himan error. Of course, it had been Nicholas who had been responsible for the intelligence about the FBI Commander, so perhaps it was fitting that he was the only casualty. Still, Ruzhyó would miss him. They went back a long way, to the days in the Foreign Intelligence Service, the SRV. Fifteen years. A lifetime in this business.
Tomorrow would have been Nicholas's birthday; he would have been forty-two.
In the front seat, Winters, the American, drove, and Grigory Zmeyá rode in the passenger seat, mumbling to himself in Russian.
Their last nameseven Winterswere not those bestowed upon them by their fathers. They were jokes. Ruzhyó meant "rifle." Nicholas had named himself "cigarette." Grigory called himself after the Russian word for "snake."
Ruzhyó sighed again. Done was done. Nicholas was dead, but so was the target. The loss was therefore acceptable.
"You doin' okay back there, hoss?" the American said.
"I am fine."
The American had said he was from Texas, and either he was or his accent was a passable fake.
Ruzhyó looked down at the pistol on the seat next to him, the one with which he had killed the man who had killed Nicholas. It was a Beretta 9mm, an Italian weapon. It was a fine piece of machinery, well made, but it was also big, heavy, with too much recoil, too much noise, too much bullet for Ruzhyó's taste. When he had been spetsnaz and involved in mokrie delawet affairshe had carried a little PSM, a 5.45mm pistol. The round it fired had been perhaps half as large as those in the Italian gun, and the weapon itself was much smaller than this piece. True, he'd had the armorer tune it for him; but still, it had always been sufficient to do the job. It had never let him down. He would have preferred that weapon to this one, but of course, that would not do. This had to look as if the killing was by someone inside this country, and a Russian assassin's weapon would ring enough alarms to raise the dead man. The Americans were not altogether stupid in these matters.
He frowned at the Beretta. The Americans had this obsession with size; to them, bigger was always better. Their policemen would sometimes empty handguns containing eighteen or twenty high-powered and large-caliber rounds at their criminals, missing each time, what they called "spray-and-pray." They did not seem to understand that a single shot from a small-caliber weapon in the hands of an expert was much more effective than a magazine full of elephant-killing bullets in the hands of an untrained idiotas many of the American policemen seemed to be. The Jews knew this. The Israeli Mossad still routinely carried .22's, weapons that fired the smallest commercially available rounds. And everybody knew Mossad was not to be taken lightly.
But at least the FBI man had died well. He had taken one of them with him and that had been unexpected. He had hit Nicholas three times in the head. Once might have been an accident; thrice, certainly by intent. He had seen the body armor, known what it was, shot for the head. Had he been a bit faster, he might have gotten clear of the initial attack.
In the front seat, the Snake muttered something, loud enough for Ruzhyó to hear. He gritted his teeth. Ruzhyó did not like Grigory the Snake. The man had been in the army in 1995, one of the units that had stomped into Ruzhyó's homeland of Chechnya to kill and rape. Yes, yes, Grigory had been a soldier, just following his orders, and yes, this mission was more important in the long run than any grudges Ruzhyó might have against the Snake, so he would endure the man. But perhaps one of these days, the Snake would speak of his beautiful Medal for Action in Chechnya once too often, and if that day came near enough to the end of the mission so he would not be vital, Grigory Zmeyá would go to join his ancestors. And Ruzhyó would smile while he throttled the stupid oaf.
Not today, however. There was still much to be done, bridges to be crossed, objectives to be achieved, and the Snake was still necessary.
Which was lucky for him.
Alexander Michaels was only half asleep when the small monitor on the nightstand next to his bed lit. He felt the pressure of the light against his closed lids, and rolled toward the source and opened his eyes.
The screen's blue Net Force background came up and the computer's vox said, "Alex? We have a priority-one com."
Michaels blinked, and frowned at the timesig on the monitor's upper right corner. Just past midnight. He wasn't awake. What?
"Alex? We have a priority-one com."
The computer's voice was throaty, sexy, feminine. No matter what it said, it always sounded as if it were asking you to go to bed with it. The personality module, including the vox program, had been programmed by Jay Gridley, and the voice he'd chosen for it was, Michaels knew, a joke. Jay was a great tech, but a better cook than he was a comedian, and while Michaels found the vox irritating, damned if he would give the kid the satisfaction of asking him to change it.
The Deputy Commander of Net Force rubbed at his face, combed his short hair back with his fingers, and sat up. The small motion-sensitive cam mounted on the top of the monitor tracked him. The unit was programmed to send visuals unless he told it otherwise. "All right, I'm up. Connect com."
The voxaxvoice-activatedsystem obeyed his command. The screen flowered, and the somewhat-harried face of Assistant Deputy Commander Antonella Fiorella appeared. She looked more alert than he felt, but then she had the graveyard watch this week, so she was supposed to be alert.
"Sorry to wake you, Alex."
"No problem, Toni. What's up?" She wouldn't be calling him if it wasn't vital.
"Somebody just assassinated Commander Day."
"His virgil sent out an alert. D.C. PD rolled on it. Time anybody got there, Day, his bodyguard Boyle and the limo driver, Louis Harvey, were all dead. Bombs and submachine guns, looks like. Maybe twenty minutes ago."
Michaels said a word he seldom used in mixed company.
"Yeah," Toni said. "And the horse it rode in on, too."
"I'm on my way."
"Virgil's got the address." A short pause. "Alex? Don't forget the assassination protocols."
She didn't need to remind him of that, but he nodded. In the event of an attack on a senior federal official, all members of that unit had to assume it might not be the only attack planned. "I copy that. Discom."
His assistant's image vanished, leaving the Net Force blue screen. He slid off the bed and started pulling on his clothes.
Steve Day was dead? Damn.
Meet the Author
At one time, Tom Clancy was an obscure Maryland insurance broker with a passion for naval history and only a letter to the editor and a brief article on the MX missile to his credit. Years before he had been an English major at Baltimore’s Loyola College and had always dreamed of writing a novel. His first effort, The Hunt for Red October—the story of a Russian submarine captain who defects to the United States—sold briskly as a result of rave reviews, then catapulted onto the New York Times bestseller list after President Reagan pronounced it “the perfect yarn” and “non-put-downable.” Since then Clancy has established himself as an undisputed master at blending exceptional realism and authenticity, intricate plotting, and razor-sharp suspense.
Clancy’s next novel, Red Storm Rising, took on U.S./Soviet tension by providing a realistic modern war scenario arising from a conventional Soviet attack on NATO. Other bestsellers followed: Patriot Games dealt with terrorism; Cardinal of the Kremlin focused on spies, secrets and the strategic defense initiative; Clear and Present Danger asked what if there was a real war on drugs; The Sum of All Fears centered around post-Cold War attempts to rekindle U.S./Soviet animosity; Without Remorse took on the rising U.S. drug trade and Vietnam War era POW’s; and Debt of Honor explored the hazards of American/Japanese economic competition, the vulnerability of America’s financial system, and the dangers of military downsizing. In light of the events of September 11, 2001, Debt of Honor demonstrated once and for all Clancy’s cutting-edge prescience in predicting future events. The novel ends with a suicide attack against the U.S. Capitol Building by a terrorist flying a 747 out of Dulles airport.
Clancy’s uninterrupted string of best sellers continued with Executive Orders, which combined the threat of biological and conventional terrorism with the instability of the Persian Gulf region; Rainbow Six, which explored the dual threats posed by former Soviet intelligence operatives willing to sell themselves to the highest bidder, and genetically engineering bio weapons; and The Bear and The Dragon, which posited a limited war between China, the U.S. and Russia.
Clancy’s nonfiction works include Submarine, Armored Cav, Fighter Wing, Marine, and Airborne—a series of guided tours of America’s warfighting assets. He has also written three books in an extraordinary nonfiction series that looks deep into the art of war through the eyes of America’s outstanding military commanders. Into The Storm: A Study in Command, written with armor and infantry General Fred Franks Jr., and Every Man a Tiger, written with Air Force General Chuck Horner, won unanimous praise for their detailed exploration of traditional war-fighting from the ground and from the air. The third book in the Commanders series, Shadow Warriors: Inside the Special Forces, written with General Carl Stiner, former commander of the U.S. Special Operations Command, tells the story of the soldiers whose training, resourcefulness, and creativity make them capable of jobs that few other soldiers can handle, in situations where traditional arms and movement don’t apply.
Most recently, Dr. Pieczenik has been pursuing the world of television films. He was executive producer and creator with Tom Clancy of the highly acclaimed Op Center miniseries based on the best-selling book series, and his and Tom Clancy's miniseries entitled Netforce. The television rights to his current novel State Of Emergency have been sold to ABC Pictures.
- Huntingtown, Maryland
- Date of Birth:
- April 12, 1947
- Date of Death:
- October 1, 2013
- Place of Birth:
- Baltimore, Maryland
- Loyola High School in Towson, Maryland, 1965; B.A. in English, Loyola College, 1969
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This book is a good blend of action. The author puts a lot of details that puts you at the scene you are reading about. The words flow and make it very easy to just keep reading until you are completely done. I love his books and this is one of my favorites
he has a bunch of great battle, and hard enemies. Alex Michaels is the deputy director in 2010. Him and his team a put to many challenges in their computer hacking skilld. They are know as Net Force. They are in the FBI and CIA as well. Whats different about this deminsion is that computers are weapons. The people who control them know how to use them for their destruction. Thier like our nuclear weapons except more deadly. They can ruin life and make you misurable. its really a good book
I always wondered what the world would be like in the future. Thanks to Tom Clancy¿s book Net Force I know exactly what it might be like. The story takes place in the year 2010, where computers are the new superpowers of the world. Who ever can control them can control the entire world itself. An organization within the FBI was established by Congress to enforce the Net Law. This organization is Net Force. What really caught my interest were the bursts of excitement and suspense throughout the story. For example in the very first chapter which starts off with the director of Net Force, Steve Day. It was 11:24 p.m. and Steve Day was walking out of a restaurant along with two body guards into his limo. The way the scene is described, you know that something bad will happen. You know what will happen to him, but you don¿t know how. Before he enters into the limo, a sudden burst of bullet fire charges at him and the people in the vehicle. The rest speaks for itself. Steve Day was killed. The most important character of this story is the Deputy Director of Net Force, Alex Michaels. Things have been pretty rough for him since his divorce with his wife, but that is the least of his problems. Now that the Deputy of Net Force was assassinated, he would be next in line as deputy. At the very moment this is one of the worst things that could happen to him for the fact that there is a very likely chance for there to be another attack on another important member of the organization. The Assistant Deputy Commander of Net Force is Antonella Fiorella (Toni). Not only is she Alex¿s assistant but a close friend. Little does Alex know is that she is deeply in love with him. However Alex is too busy to notice. Toni is extremely worried about Alex¿s safety and would try just about anything to capture the assassins who killed Steve Day. One of the least important characters in this book is Rusty, an FBI trainee. You usually see him sparring with Toni at the gym. Occasionally you will see Rusty flirting with Toni. Although he does not seem like much of an important person in this story, he plays an important role somewhere in the climax of the story proving himself a hero and just more than an FBI trainee. There are a few more characters in the book and assassinations of other Net Force members, but there isn¿t much to say about them. As you read through you will already discover who is behind the assassinations before getting to the climax. In the story there is this very strange mystery character. Her name is never mention and she is working for the person behind the killings. She is the assassin in the story. However it is uncertain if she had anything to do with the shooting rampage that killed Steve Day. Her main target is obviously Alex Michaels. I believe that the theme of this story is that there should never be something too powerful. If something is too powerful people will want to control that power, and make it theirs. If power that great were to fall into the wrong hands terrible things could happen just like in Net Force. This strange mysterious terrorist group wants to destroy Net Force so they can control the entire net so they can become the official superpower. It is a mystery as to who is behind the assassinations and who else is working for this person. If you want to know who is behind these killings and what will happen to Alex, you will simply have to read the book.
Tom Clancy's Net Force is great. If you like computers and the government, you will like it.
This is a fantastic book. I am really into computers and I think that it is filled with all kinds of adventure. This is one of the best Tom Clancy books I have read.
Review For Net Force Net Force by Tom Clancy and Steve Pieczenik was a very exciting book. It starts you off with a death that catches your attention right off the bat and keeps your interested throughout the whole book. Net Force is the new law for computers being that the book takes place in 2010. In the book VR ( virtual reality) plays a huge part because almost everything takes place in VR. After the death of the head of Net Force, Alex Michaels has to play the role of boss. Michaels is started out with the task of finding the killers but since they are experts he find that it may be harder than it looks. But what we know is that Alex himself also has a hit out for him. While all that is going on Jay Gridley and his team of computer geeks are trying too catch the person who is responsible for deaths caused by a computer genius on the VR. Gridley doesn¿t know that they are pulling him away from the real plan, which is to put the computer genius in power of other countries by fixing the voting done on the computer. So through all of the confusion someone is trying to kill Alex Michaels, someone is trying to take power in other countries and it all fits together in the end. This book has a lot of different characters that all benefit to the book. I think that this book is worth reading if you want an interesting book.
this is a great book,i enjoyed it alot and i am only 14yrs old!
To tell you all the truth, at first, the only reason I brought the book was because I needed something kill time. I saw the movie that was made about two years ago and I liked it, so I picked this book. But this book has turned out to be the best book I ever read about future crimes and the Internet. It explains details of the computers and weapons the characters used and future thoughts no one has ever thought up before. The book is a lot different from the movie. It is TEN times better! Reading Clancy books has now become one of my hobbies. I guarantee that this is a book you can't put down after you get started.
And he has done it with style, if I may so so myself. Filled with action and suspense, 'Tom Clancy's Net Force' is an utterly good time. In the year 2010, a new breed of crimefighters has been born: The FBI'S Net Force. The book opens with a bang, when a middle-eastern assassin kills the director of the Net Force. Now, Alex Michaels, the new director of the Net Force, must track down who commited this heinous crime. But along the way, he discovers that he himself has become the next target. And meanwhile, the interent world is filled with cyber-terrorists and hackers who are intent on common goal: destruction and chaos. If you enjoyed titles like 'Op-Center', you're sure to be hooked on the Net Force.
When I started this book I could not put it down. I was instantly sucked in. This book takes place in the future and allows you to see what ever charicter is thinking at once. The main reason I loved this book is how it can be funny and serious at the same time and it dose not limit it self to any standereds. It takes you into the future of crime fighting and shows how one day computers will rule the world. If you like books on taking on the bad guys then this book is for you.
Tom Clancy has an amazing way of incorporating romance, action, suspense, thrill, humor, reality, and futuristic imagery, yet he still stays original to his style. I have read this book once through and i am on chapter 20 in two days my second time around, and i can't put it down. Clancy is a talented writer. i love how he has you in the middle of one story then stops continues on another plot, (his way of building suspense) many people who i know have read it and couldn't wait to get to the characters you wanted to hear about, but you can't skip through cause you will miss an important part of the story.
Usually I have a hard time putting down a Clancy book, but I am half way done with NetForce and I really find it kind of boring and am not really sure if I'LL finish the book.
Net Force is my favorite Clancy book. If your going to read a Clancy book dont read Hunt for red october or Patriot games read Net Force. Its action packed the whole way through. I couldnt set the book down. I suggest everyone read the searies.