Tom Clancy Duty and Honor by Grant Blackwood

Glaser Safety Slugs, frangible bullets designed to blow rat holes in whatever they struck. Theblack coating was a polymer cap; beneath this, the bullet’s hollowed-out core was packed with No. 12 birdshot. Glasers had devastating stopping capacity but poor penetrative power. This could have been the reason Möller had chosen to shoot Hahn in the eye rather than in the skull.
    Jack picked up one of the bullets. It felt light in his hand. He put it next to his ear and shook it. Not Glasers. In fact, most Glasers came with a blue polymer cap, not black. Here was the answer to the unaccountably soft report of Möller’s pistol. These frangibles were subsonic, containing less propellant than it took to accelerate the round past the sound barrier. Without the sonic crack, all that remained was the explosion of the propellant’s gas, and judging by the feel of the one Jack was holding, there wasn’t much powder inside the casing. Past thirty or thirty-five feet the bullet’s trajectory probably dropped like a mortar round—which made Möller’s snap shot at Jack all the more impressive.
    So this was a custom-made frangible. Whether there was a booming business for this kind of ammunition or it came from a niche market Jack didn’t know, but it was worth a check. He pocketed the round. He hoped Möller wouldn’t notice the discrepancy.
    After taking a picture of the loose bullets, Jack wiped them down with a piece of toilet paper, returned them to the cylinder, and slid that back into the curtain rod.
    He continued his search and struck pay dirt again a few minutes later.
    Slipped into the folds of the wrapper of a bar of soap, he found a credit card in Möller’s name. He photographed it, front and back, then returned it to its hiding place.
    No second passport . If Möller had one, he either was carrying it or had stashed it elsewhere. If this was the case, the chances were good Möller’s exit plan involved air travel and Jack would lose him. If not, Möller would be looking for an alternative route out of the country and would, Jack hoped, use this credit card to make it happen.
    Time to go, Jack.
    He gave the room one last quick inspection, saw nothing out of place, then left.
    —
    O nce back in his car, Jack drove a few blocks away, pulled to the curb, and used his phone to log in to The Campus’s Enquestor Services portal. He entered Möller’s credit card information and toggled the real-time alerts slider beside the entry. He scanned for previous hits on the credit card but found none; it had never been used.
    He got back on the Richmond Highway, headed north for five minutes, then turned left onto Duke Street. Effrem’s hotel, the Embassy Suites, sat across the street from John Carlyle Square Park. Jack found a parking spot on a nearbyside street and walked the remaining distance. The rain was coming more heavily now, blown diagonally by a cold wind.
    He ducked under the hotel’s awning, then through the lobby doors. He took off his jacket and shook the rain from it, using the time to consider his next step. Whoever Effrem Likkel was and whatever his reason for following Möller, the man was a lead Jack couldn’t afford to ignore. The downside was he’d be entangling himself with an unknown commodity, which would bring up questions Jack would prefer not to answer. He’d have to deal with them as they arose.
    Jack walked to the elevators and took one up to the fourth floor. When he got there he took the right-hand hallway, found room 412, then walked back to the elevators. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Effrem’s number, and Effrem answered on the first ring. Jack said, “It’s me.”
    “The man from—”
    “Yes. Are you in your room?”
    “Yes.”
    “Come down to the lobby.”
    Jack disconnected. He drew his Glock, stuffed it into his jacket’s side pocket, and left his hand there.
    Thirty seconds later he heard a room door click shut down the hallway.
    Effrem came around the corner. When