Chapter Two

Light and dark swirled before Sam as he fell ten feet to the bottom level of the complex. He managed to bring his feet underneath himself before crashing into the concrete floor, saving him from the instant death of snapping his neck, but his right knee crumpled with a painful pop, and Sam's momentum carried him backwards. He fell hard onto his back and felt several ribs crack from the blow. They had already been bruised from the car crash into the river just a few days ago and couldn't hold up under the extra strain. Still, Sam was somehow able to get his arms underneath himself and push himself up over his shoulders to land in a heap near the bottom of the ramp, gasping to fill his emptied lungs.

At the same time, shouting and gunfire echoed down from above.

Sam reached to his earpiece to hail Ben, but found it missing, probably lost in the fall. Wincing at the movement, Sam reached up to rip his goggles off, both out of necessity and frustration at their failure. They would do him little good now in any case in the mostly well-lit lobby of the ground floor. Finally pulling some air into his lungs, Sam pushed himself to his feet, grunting at the pain flaring through his leg and side.

Ahead and a little to Sam's right, Ames was descending the ramp almost at a leisurely pace, a self-satisfied smirk spreading his cheeks. When he reached the bottom, Ames snapped up a pistol and trained it on Sam's head.

Sam couldn't help the sneer that curled his lip.

Ames cocked his head. "Good to see you again, Sam."

"Wish I could say the same," Sam shot back. He straightened himself as best he could, not wanting to show any kind of weakness, though he doubted Ames would miss the slight hunch to Sam's left shoulder or the unnatural bend in his right knee. Wanting to give himself more time to recover and, frankly, out of pure curiosity, Sam continued, "You warned them, didn't you? That we were coming?"

The smile that overtook Ames' face was all the answer Sam needed, though Ames didn't leave it there. "You're damn right I did." He was angry now, his brow furrowing. "You thought you had beaten me, didn't you? Thought your little stunt with the gasoline had me curling into a ball in the corner? But you idiots left me all alone, gave me plenty of time to escape. And instead of running away, I came here. Came here and warned everyone off. Your little auction? The buyers? They're all gone. They'll be half a day away by now, beyond your reach." Ames smiled again. "You've failed, Sam."

"The arsenal, I've seen it," Sam countered, though he could already guess at Ames' reply.

The man scoffed. "You've seen part of it. A third, maybe. But nothing of much importance. The really good stuff was loaded up as soon as I was able to get word to the man in charge."

"And who might that be?"

Ames seemed to study the expression on Sam's face for a moment before answering. "You really don't know, do you? And everyone thinks so highly of you." Ames rolled his eyes. "The great Sam Fisher. I'd have thought you would have figured it out by now." He shook his head. "I'm not going to be the one to spoil the surprise."

Sam could feel the conversation turning now, that pull on his chest borne of countless encounters that told him a fight was imminent. Only, in this arena, with the current circumstances, Sam had no chance. Ames had a gun to his head and it would take but a second for him to end Sam's life. Even if Sam somehow managed to dodge the first bullet with some unexpected movement, Ames was too good a shot and cover was too far for Sam to make it more than a few steps.

But Sam did have one ace up his sleeve. He knew Ames. Knew his strengths and his weaknesses. Knew them better than probably Ames himself. But then, that had been Sam's job. Back when he had been on better terms with Third Echelon, Sam had seen to a lot of Ames' training himself and the rest he had at least overseen. Even now Sam believed Ames would have made a good Splinter Cell—in fact he could have been one of the best. But Ames' temperament had always held him back. Sam had said as much in his final evaluation of the man and Ames clearly believed Sam to be the reason he had been relegated to "lesser" tasks. But that grudge only confirmed Sam's assessment that Ames was quick to anger and, in a job like this, keeping a level head was as important (or perhaps even more important) than any other skill or weapon in a Splinter Cell's arsenal. Of course, then there were the unresolved childhood issues still simmering beneath the surface of Ames' carefully manicured façade—the fire that had taken Ames' family when he was young and the lingering guilt that Ames hadn't burned along with them.

Sam would have to stoke that fire again to stand a chance at making it out of this alive.

"Go ahead then," Sam began, "end this. Clearly you've been waiting long enough for this chance." He paused. "Or were you hoping that gravity would have done the work for you?" Sam asked, glancing at the landing above. "I guess if I were in your position, I would have wanted to cripple me too. There aren't very many people that could best me." Sam gave Ames a once over as though he were no threat to Sam even in his current state.

The mirth dropped from Ames' face, though he still held his gun at the ready.

Careful now, Sam. Don't push him too hard.

"Don't think you can play me," Ames sneered. "You think you're so special. You think you're so perfect. Everywhere I went, it was Sam Fisher this, Sam Fisher that. Sam Fisher, the legend who can do no wrong, who can never fail." Ames was grinding his teeth now. "Well I've got news for you, Sam. You have failed. And it's all thanks to me! The man who supposedly wasn't cut out to be a Splinter Cell. You think you're some big threat? You're nothing but an old man, too blind and stupid to see that he's past his prime."

Sam shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe. I guess we'll never know."

"Any last words, Sam?" Ames asked over his pistol, some of the menace returning to his features. "I'll make sure to pass them along to Grim," he added with a smile, clearly thinking he had struck some low blow.

On the contrary, Sam let the taunt wash right over him. Then offered one himself. "Nope. How about you?"

The confusion on Ames' face was obvious.

Sam went on, clarifying, "Do you have a message you want me to give to your family?" There was outrage on Ames' face now. "Seeing as how I'll be seeing them soon, I thought you might want me to say something to them." Sam scoffed, letting pure disdain drip into his voice. "Though I can't imagine they would want to hear anything from you."

At Sam's words, the pistol had dropped a fraction and an unbridled rage was building behind Ames' eyes.

"Shut up," Ames ordered with deadly quiet.

Still speaking coolly, Sam acted as though he hadn't heard. "Your mother, your father, your little sister," Sam listed, putting as much emphasis onto the last entry as he could. "I'd think sending them a message would be the least you could d—"

Before Sam could finish the sentence, Ames had chucked his gun to the side and was charging at Sam. Sam was ready for him, but couldn't account for his injuries and Ames ploughed into him with such force that he was forced backward against one of the pillars that were spread equally around the central shaft.

"I'm gonna wring your fucking neck!" Ames cried as he pummeled Sam, punctuating each word with a bone-crunching blow.

Sam weathered the storm, keeping his arms up to protect his head until he found an opening and ducked under Ames' arm. He came around and grabbed Ames by the back of the neck and smashed his face into the pillar. Ames' nose crunched and blood spattered the concrete, but Ames recovered quickly and backed out of Sam's grip.

In the lull, Sam drew the knife he had sheathed at his hip and held it at the ready. Ames marked the new threat, but seemed unperturbed by it, drawing his own knife in response. Making the first move, Ames swiped at Sam and from that move alone, Sam could tell that Ames wasn't very proficient with a blade. He would have had basic training, of course, but it seemed as though Ames hadn't had much chance to practice his skills beyond that.

Good.

Moving no more than necessary both out of experience and to save his leg, Sam leaned back just far enough to dodge Ames' slashing arc. Ames corrected and came at Sam again, cutting a diagonal across Sam. This time Sam deflected the blade with his own, still waiting for the right opportunity to counter. With his bad leg, Sam was better off letting Ames make a mistake rather than trying to force some opening. Flustered by his lack of success, Ames kept up a flurry of slashes and obvious feints that Sam didn't even bother recognizing. And then Sam spotted it. The opening he had been waiting for.

Ames jabbed at Sam's left side, aiming for the kidneys. Sam knew that doing so would leave Ames vulnerable, with his arm extended as it would be. So Sam sidestepped the glinting blade and brought his own around to come in behind Ames' and stab into his hand as Ames withdrew. As planned, Sam's knife went straight into the base of Ames' thumb, forcing him to drop the knife with a shocked grunt. But Sam wasn't done there. He pressed his advantage and brought the blade back down toward Ames' leg, seeking to slice through the tendon at the top of his knee and debilitate him.

Only Ames didn't take too well to being disarmed.

Unexpectedly, Ames actually drew in closer to Sam rather than try to dodge out of the way. The razor edge landed mid-thigh and although it cut a deep gash there, it was only a flesh wound. Ames didn't even acknowledge the pain, instead bringing his knee up into Sam's chest, throwing him backward a step. While Sam was off balance, Ames took another step forward and proved that he had been paying attention to Sam's condition after all—he kicked straight into the inside of Sam's bad knee, torqueing it outward. Stars flashed before Sam's eyes as pain lanced through his leg and he had to bite back his own grunt to keep himself in the fight.

But Ames was too street savvy to miss the opportunity he had just created. He barged into Sam before he could recover, tackling him to the ground.

The next thing Sam knew, Ames was straddling him, landing a right hook into Sam's broken ribs. Sam reflexively curled inward, but brought his knife up at the same time to slash for Ames' face. Ames, once again, did something wholly unexpected. Rather than dodging back, Ames deflected the blow with his bare hand, earning him a gash across his palm; however, at this point, Ames was in such a bloodlust that the wound didn't seem to faze him. He simply swiped the knife across his chest and caught Sam's hand with his right as it passed. He wasn't able to pry the knife from Sam's hand, but then, he didn't need to. He twisted it around and aimed it at Sam's chest, Sam bringing up his left arm to stop it mid-strike, his body shaking with the effort of keeping it there.

In that moment of pause, Sam realized that all had gone quiet, that the commotion that had been raging on above (and growing ever closer) had ceased. There was no shouting, no gunfire. Sam hoped that Ben and his team had fared better than he had.

Staring up at the feral glee lighting Ames' face as he bore down on him, Sam fought desperately to overthrow his attacker. But Ames was putting everything he had into plunging the knife deep into Sam's chest and he, quite literally, had the upper hand.

While his hands were gripping the knife, Ames' knees were digging into Sam's sides, burrowing further and further into the broken ribs there. Sam was panting and groaning from the effort and pain, spit flying from between his clenched teeth. All he could do was watch as the knife inched little by little toward his chest.

Not yet ready to give up, Sam cast his eyes around him, searching for anything that might turn the tide.

There!

Lost and forgotten in the initial scuffle, Ames' gun lay just a few feet away. The problem was, it may as well have been fifty feet away for all the good it did Sam right now. He couldn't reach it from that position and even if he could, he couldn't afford to spare a hand to grab it.

All of these problems flitted through Sam's mind, but no solution seemed willing to present itself.

Until one insane idea popped into Sam's head. It wasn't going to be easy, and it certainly wasn't going to be fun, but it was all Sam had. For it to work though, Ames needed to be distracted, even if only a little.

"Too bad your pretty face looks like shit now," Sam grunted through his teeth. "You should have just shot me."

Ames just flashed a wild grin. "Wouldn't want it to be too quick, now would I? Besides, now we all know who's really the better Splinter Ce—"

Giving no indications as to his intentions beforehand, Sam suddenly shoved himself upward, impaling his left shoulder onto his own knife and headbutting Ames as he went. The pain was intense, but Sam was so intent on his task that it barely pricked his focus. With Ames recoiling, Sam rolled them over, reversing their positions and coming out on top of Ames, who was so shocked by Sam's sudden maneuver that he put up little resistance.

Though Sam had only planned to come within reach of the gun, as luck would have it, Ames ended up falling with his head perfectly in line with barrel, no more than a foot away.

At this point, Sam was willing to take whatever luck he could get.

Now it was Sam's turn to do what Ames should have done in the first place. Hesitation was for the inexperienced and Sam may have been a lot of things, but inexperienced was not one of them. As soon as Ames' head passed in front of the barrel, Sam pulled the trigger, not even bothering to lift the gun in order to do it. The bullet struck true, splattering blood and brain matter across the floor, the shot echoing around them in the deathly quiet that had fallen.

Sam just stared at the bloody mess of a man that should have been an ally, a friend, and hated the fact that Ames had brought this to himself.

I wish we didn't, Sam silently answered Ames' final words.