CHAPTER 7: RETURNING TO THE SHADOWS

April 7, 2008

U.S. Embassy

Tripoli, Libya

Third Echelon's top operative, Sam Fisher, received a call from Irving Lambert at the Third Echelon Operating base in Uganda. Lambert had assigned him on the dangerous mission to infiltrate, and free over three hundred operatives inside the large base. Over one hundred Islamic terrorists overrunning the place. Damn. What in the hell did Sam get into? How was he going to accomplish this mission? Well, Sam Fisher didn't know. He was more of an improvisor. He improvises plans on the spot, doesn't plan ahead. Lambert also told him that a Russian military operating base, code-named Iroquois based in Casablanca, Morroco, would send a crack team of FSB and Spetsnaz operators into Tripoli, and provide back-up for Sam.

Also, the inside woman, Nadia Florence, was still inside the embassy, quietly and constantly feeding the CIA and NSA coordinates via the satellite link that was surrounding the U.S. embassy. Sam Fisher laid down on the standard military cot inside the operating tent. Sam couldn't sleep. The sounds of humming and droning computers were keeping him up, yes, but the thought of him dying inside that embassy was tying a knot in the bowels of his gut. This reminded him of the Kalinatek operation he underwent back in 2002. Over ninety Russian mafiosos against one man. Well two men, counting the man named 'Ivan' he recalled trying to rescue. Sam Fisher's OPSAT data apparatus blinked on and off. It was an urgent message.

Sam reached down on the dark tent floor, and picked it up. It looked at the greenish-blue LCD screen. It was Colonel Vasnir Opalev, of the 1st Spetsnaz Operation Detachment—Hawk. Sam Fisher had met him before, back in 2006 during the Indonesian Civil War. Sam Fisher remembers the man as he was: tall man, green eyes, mid-forties, short hair, and a chronic cigar smoker. Sam clicked on the speaker.

"Yes, Colonel Opalev. Nice to hear your voice after two years." Sam's voice was a grunt, like always.

"Yes Mr. Fisher. Nice to hear you again. Listen, tomorrow night, we will set up post six hundred yards east of the U.S. embassy. We will have FSB snipers on the ground, and a team of Spetsnaz -1 troops covering you. If you find yourself in a little dilemma, call us, and we'll storm in."

"Roger that Opalev." Sam said.

"We also need you capture their leader, Fouad Zillah. If you can. If possible, capture him, try not to kill him. Okay?"

"Roger that, Opalev. He'll surrender once he sees my SC-120K." Sam Fisher said jokingly. Sam could hear Opalev sign off, and Sam sat his OPSAT back down on the damp ground of the tent. He laid back down on the cot, and closed his eyes, but felt someone was watching him. He hated that feeling. He was used to watching people, not people/someone watching him. He opened his eyes, and looked into the entrance of the tent. He saw a shadowy female figure silhouette, blending in opaquely into the shadows of the tent. The figure stepped in closer, and the face of Angela Xaddur, The Ugandan coordinator, appeared.

"Angela, can I help you?" Sam said. Angela reached into her jean pocket, and pulled out a small metallic ball. Sam could barely see it in the near-darkness of the tent, but after dozens of years of covert operations and hiding into the shadows, his eyes adjusted to darkness ten times faster than the average human. Sam watched the small metallic ball in Angela's brown hand.

"This is a special transmitter, it is subcutaneous. It will help us see you in real-time infrared reconnaissance satellite once you've entered the embassy. It will also help us keep track of you without the satellite." Angela's voice was soothing, much like that of a wise nurse. Anna Grimstoddir's voice was more upbeat, and commandeering, which Sam disliked. "I'm going to need to install this into your shoulder. Is that okay with you, Mr. Fisher?" Angela's dark eyes sparkled as she pulled out a small bottle of medicine, probably alcohol, and a small incision knife.

"Yes, of course. The sounds of the computers in the tent died down, and it was total silence. The only things that were heard was the dust settling in the shadows outside. Sam sat up in his cot, and Angela stepped to Sam, and lifted up the sleeve of his shirt. She took out a small cotton ball, and rubbed the alcohol on Sam's shoulder. Then, she used the incision knife, and slowly opened up a thin but deep slice into Sam's shoulder. Sam did not feel a thing, even though there was no amnesia applied to the incision. Well, there was probably pain, but Sam could not distinguish pain from pleasure anymore; he was too battle-hardened. Angela slipped the small metallic ball into Sam's shoulder. She then pulled out a small thin piece of string, and small surgical scissors, and stitched up the wound.

The whole thing took thirty seconds.

"All done, Mr. Fisher." She put everything back into her pocket, but threw away the incision knife and cotton ball into a small waste basket. Sam nodded, and laid back down. Angela turned to move out of the tent, but returned, and gave Sam Fisher a peck on the cheek.

"Good luck, Sam." She said.

Sam Fisher felt a strange feeling when she kissed him. It was a sudden rush of something he hadn't felt in a long time. "I'll be back safely, I promise." Sam said.