Chapter Six

Before they had entered that abandoned complex, before they had confronted Ames even, Sam had come to Ben with a phone number. A number he was to use only in the utmost emergency. As Sam had explained, the number was to Grim's personal cell phone. She and Sam had worked out a code ever since he had been on the run just in case he needed to get in contact in a hurry. He would send her an innocuous text posing as her landlord containing a certain code word pertaining to the level of the emergency. The word "fire" corresponded to the highest level of emergency and meant that Grim needed to contact him immediately at the number he had sent the text from.

Just a moment ago, Ben had sent her a text reading: The fire marshal is coming out tomorrow to inspect the apartments between 2 and 5 PM.

Every second since had felt like an eternity while he waited for her reply. As they waited, Ben and Gillespie continued to strip Sam out of his sodden clothes and pull on the spare set Ben had found. Halfway through their task, Ben's phone rang. It had barely chimed before Ben was answering it, Grim's voice ringing out from the other end.

She sounded out of breath, like she had just run from wherever she was to someplace secluded enough to call. "Sam, what's going on? What's happened?"

"Grim, it's Ben," he cut in quickly.

"Ben—?"

Ben hardly even let her finish his name, instead ploughing on with his explanation. "Listen, things went south with the arsenal. Ames tipped them off and they knew we were coming. We all got out, but Sam's hurt. Bad. We're hours from Irkutsk and he won't make it that far. You've got to give me something, Grim. Anything. Hell, I'll take some backwoods vet if they've got some sort of medical facility."

Grim didn't miss a beat. All she said was, "Let me make some calls." Then the line went dead.

Not quite reassured, Ben returned his focus to the others, all of whom were waiting expectantly.

It was Gillespie who spoke again. "Well?"

"I don't know yet. She's working on something."

Willing himself to calm down, Ben motioned toward Sam so that he and Gillespie could finish their work on him. Gillespie had finished clothing him while Ben had been talking to Grim. She had even thrown several blankets over Sam. But they still had to address his hands and feet. They peeled off the gloves, his hands so frozen stiff they were barely able to unfurl them. When they did, it wasn't a pretty sight. There was definitely some frostbite settling in, but Ben hoped that they had caught it early enough that he would regain use of his fingers.

Watching the proceedings from up front, Noboru chimed in as they revealed Sam's frostbitten hands. "Here, use these." He tossed a few hand warmers over the seat to Ben. "Found them in the glove box. They're probably ten years old, but they might have a little heat left in them."

Ben took one and opened it, shaking it to activate the heat. It didn't warm up very much, but that actually suited the purpose even better. Warming Sam's hands up too fast would be just as bad as leaving them to freeze. He glanced up to Noboru. "Thanks, these are perfect." To dilute the effect even further and keep from burning Sam's skin, they slid a pair of gloves on over his hands first, then the warmer, then another pair of gloves to keep it in place. They did the same with his feet and a few pairs of socks. His feet looked even worse than his hands, but there was nothing more they could do for Sam right now.

Just as they were pulling on the last sock, Ben's phone rang again and he hurried to answer it.

"Grim, please tell me you have something."

Grim's voice was stern. "Listen to me carefully. There's a top secret Russian military base nearby."

"What?" Ben couldn't believe it.

"Even I don't know its exact location, but I know it's within range. Even better, I know its commanding officer. More importantly, he owes me a favor. And Sam an even bigger one. He's agreed to help in exchange for a favor on my part. He's sending a chopper to come get you. I'm sending you some coordinates. They'll meet you there in twenty minutes."

When Grim came through, she really came through, Ben mused. "Thanks, Grim."

But she wasn't done. "Listen to me, Ben. They've agreed to help, but that doesn't make them our allies. If you want to live through this, you do whatever they tell you, do you hear me? If they even think you're going to be a problem, we'll never find your bodies."

"We won't cause any trouble, Grim, I promise."

Grim paused for a moment. "Be careful, all of you."

"We will," Ben assured her before hanging up and handing the phone to Valentina so she could take them to the coordinates that were coming through. Ben quickly explained to them what was going on.

"Step on it, Maya. We need to be there in twenty minutes."

A glint of cheek lit up her eyes. "That won't be a problem."

A hushed still spread inside the car as they rushed toward Sam's salvation. It was broken only by Sam's incessant shivering and the erratic breath that accompanied it. Though, as the minutes ticked by, Ben could have sworn that Sam's shivering was lessening, and, contrary to what would seem to be the case, the fact only sent a twinge of dread churning in Ben's stomach. Maybe fifteen minutes into their drive, Sam's shivering suddenly ceased entirely. The still that took over his body only meant that they could now see how shallow and labored Sam's breathing was. Ben was instantly checking Sam's vitals, panic welling up within him.

"What's wrong?" Noboru asked at the commotion.

"He stopped shivering," Ben answered as he placed two fingers on Sam's neck.

Gillespie seemed confused at Ben's concern. "That's a good thing, isn't it?"

Ben couldn't exactly explain what had him so worried, but it just didn't seem right. "No. There's no way he should have warmed up that quickly." Sam's pulse was weak, thready. Ben raised Sam's eyelid and shone the light from his phone into his eye. The pupils didn't respond. "Shit. Shit!" Ben sat back and addressed the others, a bit frantic now. "Sam's in shock." He could see the worry descend over all of their faces. Ben turned to Valentina. "What's our ETA?"

"A couple minutes."

Silently stowing the information, Ben returned his gaze to Sam. They were so close. Sam just had to last a few more minutes. A man could only take so much. And Sam had taken more than his fair share. But if he could just hold on for a little while longer, then it wouldn't all have been for nothing.

Without realizing he was doing it, Ben started chanting at Sam for him to hold on.

Ben and Gillespie were now watching Sam with bated breath, Noboru scanning the skies ahead of them for any sign of a chopper. Ben was just beginning to believe that Sam would make it when his chest stopped moving, full silence now suffusing the SUV. Immediately springing into action, Ben thrust his fingers against Sam's neck, checking for any sign of life.

He felt nothing.

Ben couldn't believe this was happening. Maybe it was because his original mission was to bring Sam back alive or maybe it was because working with Sam over the last couple of days had made him feel like a part of the team, but Ben felt a sense of responsibility toward Sam. And Ben couldn't help but admit he had always harbored a feeling of admiration for the man. He couldn't let him die. Not like this. Not if he could help it.

"No, no, no, come on, Sam!" In an instant, Ben had interlaced his fingers and started doing CPR, gesturing Gillespie toward Sam's head. "Breathe on my count," he ordered. Gillespie nodded and positioned herself to be ready when Ben gave the signal. Crunching through Sam's sternum, Ben counted to fifteen, then called out to Gillespie, "Breathe!" She blew two short breaths into Sam's lungs then hung back, waiting for Ben to begin again.

A few cycles of this went by, Ben's heart pounding out of his chest, when Noboru cried out, pointing out the front windshield. "There! I see them!" They had been traveling higher and higher into the mountains and had just emerged from the tree line, an empty expanse of snow and ice spread before them.

Ben couldn't spare a second to look, but he didn't have to. Soon enough he could hear the helicopter approaching, the rhythmic thumping of its blades giving away its presence. "They better have a goddamn AED on that thing!" Ben shouted to no one in particular.

A full minute had gone by when the fairly large cargo helicopter finally landed and Valentina came to a screeching halt several yards away. Noboru burst from the SUV before it had even stopped moving and went sprinting toward the chopper as fast as the icy footing would allow.

Sneaking a glance at Noboru's progress, Ben saw the chopper door slide open and four men with assault rifles jump out, aiming their weapons straight at Noboru. Noboru went down on his knees, hands held placatingly in the air. The men were shouting, though Ben couldn't hear anything over the noise of the helicopter and the ice and wind it sent flying into the car. Clearly Noboru was trying to plead his case, gesturing as he was toward the vehicle. Whether he got his point across or not, Ben didn't know, but a second later three more men appeared from the helicopter. One carried a portable gurney, the second two large boxes with handles, and the third something that looked like, and Ben sincerely hoped, was an AED.

Three of the armed men peeled off with them, the last remaining standing over Noboru. When they swung open the back hatch, the guards pointed their guns at Ben, Gillespie, and Valentina, yelling at them in Russian. Ben spoke Russian well enough, but even if he hadn't, the message was clear. Somewhat grudgingly, Ben stopped doing CPR and cleared the way for the doctors, joining his female counterparts a few feet from the car. The guards ordered them to kneel with their hands over their heads and they all readily complied.

Through the snow whipping at his face, Ben could just make out what was happening inside the vehicle and he was quite happy to see that the doctors wasted no time in tending to Sam. They had the contact points of the AED on Sam in a few seconds and then Ben saw Sam lurch with the electric shock it imparted. They gave no reaction and then Sam lurched again. This time, the doctors poured over Sam. Under the flurry of bodies and limbs looming over Sam, Ben could just make out his chest weakly rising and falling.

Sam was back.

Less than a minute later, he was strapped to the gurney, an IV trailing from each arm. One led up to a blood bag, the other to some saline solution.

The guards had herded Noboru over to the rest of them by this point, all four of them kneeling next to the SUV, squinting against the snow buffeting them. As the doctors carried Sam toward the chopper, two of the guards followed behind them, leaving two facing Ben and his team. Maybe it was the sense of relief flooding his system, but Ben found it amusing that they had sent two guards with Sam and left two for the rest of them.

Yep, that seems about right, he thought to himself with a hint of a chuckle.

It wasn't until the helicopter was well out of range that one of the guards deigned to address them in broken English. He lowered his weapon and reached into a pouch at his hip, pulling out four sets of handcuffs and tossing them into the snow in front of the team. "Put on. Get in car." He raised his weapon once more and motioned with it toward the SUV.

Ben gave a subtle nod to the others and they all did as they were told. They handcuffed themselves and climbed into the back of the SUV, two on either side. Once there, the same guard produced four syringes full of some kind of drug and held them out. He didn't need to say anything for them to know what he wanted.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Valentina hissed toward Ben.

The guard shoved his hand closer to them. "Ten seconds," he warned. "Or you stay."

Or you stay here to freeze to death, Ben completed in his head. He grabbed one of the syringes with his restrained hands and met the eyes of the others. "Just do it," he said firmly.

The other three all grabbed a syringe, Valentina doing nothing to hide her displeasure. They all looked to him again for his affirmation.

He nodded.

Gillespie was the first to plunge the needle into her leg, followed closely by Noboru. In a few seconds, their eyes rolled and they both fell unconscious, their heads sagging forward. Ben could see Valentina grinding her teeth, but she too stabbed herself and dropped off. Satisfied that she could no longer cause any trouble, Ben sunk the needle into his thigh and depressed the plunger. Instantly, his limbs grew heavy and his eyes drooped and for just a split second before he lost consciousness, a twinge of doubt grew in Ben's mind as he imagined them being strung up by their ankles in some dungeon, never to see the light of day again. But then darkness overtook Ben's senses and all fear was lost to that empty void.

Ben awoke to the blinding brightness and low hum of fluorescent lighting. Blinking the grogginess from his eyes, he sat up on the cot he found himself lying on and peered around the room. He was in a long, narrow room with four cots lining one wall, a trunk at the foot of each and a small table up near each head. Noboru was sitting on the cot next to him, already awake. Valentina and Gillespie occupied the cots further down, both of them still unconscious. Neither one of them stirred.

"Are they alright?" Ben asked Noboru.

"As far as I can tell. They gave us all the same dosage so it's probably going to take a little longer to wear off on them," Noboru explained sagely.

"Well, we're not in a dungeon," Ben observed dryly.

Noboru huffed, smiling as if he had had the exact same thought. "Thank God."

"Do you remember anything about getting here?"

Noboru shook his head. "Nope. I only woke a few minutes before you did. You know as much as I do."

Curious to glean as much information as he could, Ben arose and walked the room. He had occupied the cot closest to the door. A door which had no window and was locked from the outside. Not a dungeon, but still a prison. Still, things could certainly have been worse. On the back wall was a small bathroom complete with a shower. Someone had even been so kind as to place a few bars of soap and four folded towels in there.

When Ben came back out, Noboru was going through all the trunks and the drawer on each nightstand.

"Anything?"

Closing what seemed to be the last drawer he had checked, Noboru swiveled to face Ben. "Nothing. They confiscated everything we had. No phones, no weapons. They left us nothing but the clothes we're wearing."

Ben sank back onto his cot. "Well that's hardly surprising. But at least it seems like we won't be treated like animals while we're here."

Noboru leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. "And how long do you think that will be?"

Ben sighed. "I really don't know."

It took another fifteen minutes for the drugs to wear off on the two women and Ben and Noboru filled them in on all they had found. All four of them were naturally disconcerted by the situation they found themselves in, but they all agreed to wait a while longer to see what happened before formulating any sort of plan. Besides, they didn't have enough information on their own predicament to even attempt to form a plan.

Time seemed to drag on forever in that room, doused as it always was in that overhead lighting. There were no windows and no clocks or anything to tell the time. They were all becoming restless cooped up in that room. Especially since they had no clue what was going on with Sam or what their own fate was to be.

It was quite a while later before they saw any sign that someone remembered they were in there. Judging by how hungry he was, Ben guessed it to be maybe twelve hours since they had drugged themselves and maybe six hours since he had awoken. Thankfully, of the three men that opened the door, one was bearing a tray full of sandwiches, a few apples and oranges, and several bottles of water. Two armed men entered first and stood to either side of the door. The third came in and placed the tray on the ground.

Before he could leave, Ben tried to engage him in conversation, asking in Russian, "Where's our friend? Is he alright?" He purposefully didn't use Sam's name. He wanted to avoid giving any of their names to these people if at all possible. In the end, it didn't matter anyway. The men didn't even look at them let alone speak to them. They just left as they had entered and locked the door behind them.

Ben walked over to the tray of food and picked it up, turning back to the others. "At least it's something," he shrugged.

Once sated, they all settled back into their routine of restlessness. In turns they all did some version of the same thing—jumping jacks, crunches, or pushups to burn off some of that anxious energy followed by mindlessly staring at the ceiling from their respective cots.

It was several hours later again when they heard more people at the door. Two guards entered first as they had last time, but they were followed in by a clearly high ranking man who planted himself in front of them, his hands clasped behind his back.

Ben sat up from where he was laying on his cot, the others stopping whatever they were doing at the welcome intrusion.

The man spoke with a heavy Russian accent, but his English was very good. He seemed to key in on Ben and spoke to him more than the others. "Your friend is out of surgery. He is not well, but the doctors think he will live. You may all stay here until he is better though you will not leave this room unless escorted by my men. If you cause any problems, they will shoot you without hesitation." He had a stern bearing, but his words weren't spoken as a threat, merely a statement of intent.

Ben nodded in understanding. "Can we see him?" He had to confirm with his own eyes that Sam was alright. Plus he would take any opportunity to get out of that room.

The commander seemed to assess Ben for a moment before answering. "Yes. You may visit one at a time."

"Thank you…" Ben trailed off as he realized he didn't know what to call the man.

Picking up on Ben's hesitation, the commander held up a hand. "You do not need to know my name and I do not need to know yours. Let's just leave it at that." He paused a moment as if considering his next words. "I ran into your friend many years ago in a place neither one of us should have been. Though we were not direct enemies, neither were we friends. When circumstances forced us face to face, he should have killed me. I would have killed him had I been able," he admitted. "Yet he spared me when he had every reason not to." Another pause. "We will take care of your friend. But once he is able to be transferred, you will leave this place and never speak a word of it again," the commander announced, staring them down each in turn. Once he seemed satisfied, he turned to leave.

Ben spoke up before he made it to the door. "Thank you," he said gratefully.

The commander stopped and turned his head. "This debt has plagued me for many years now." He raised his eyes to meet Ben's. "I will be glad to be free of it."

The three of them then left without another word.

True to his word, the commander allowed them each to visit Sam in turn, though they were handcuffed and escorted by two men whenever they left the room. Though Ben had no intention of stirring up trouble, he wasn't going to waste an opportunity to gather as much intel as he could. As it turned out, however, the Russian base was adept enough at keeping its own secrets. There were no signs on any of the ubiquitous white walls and they never passed anyone in the halls. Either this base was partly abandoned, or they had specially outfitted this wing for the sole purpose of Sam's last minute visit. Ben guessed it more likely to be the latter. In fact, the only thing he had managed to deduce was that they were underground, simply from the nature of a secret base and the fact that he hadn't seen a single window anywhere.

Resigning himself to the mystery, Ben followed his escorts down yet another white hallway until they came to an unmarked door. They ushered him inside, not bothering to take off his handcuffs, and locked the door behind him.

Lying in a hospital bed across the room was Sam, the only other furnishing besides the machines Sam was hooked up to, a folding chair next to the bed. Sam looked terrible. His face was bruised and swollen and most of his body was covered in bandages, his right leg trussed up in a massive brace. But the vitals on the screen over his head seemed to be reading fine and Sam was breathing on his own, so Ben had some hope that he would pull through.

There was nothing left to do now but wait.

Ben alternated between sitting next to Sam and pacing the room. Hours passed in such fashion, but Sam never woke and eventually the guards came back for Ben. He passed the same empty halls on the way back and once he was back in the room, Gillespie took her turn in going to see Sam.

It wasn't strictly necessary for all of them to go, but Ben wanted them to so that they could each get out of that room for a while and so one of them might potentially glean something from their short trip that the others didn't.

The second part of Ben's plan didn't really work. None of them saw anyone or anything on their walk to Sam's room. There weren't even exit signs they collectively realized after they had all gone and the guards had brought them another meal in their room, so any chance of escape, should it come to that, would be virtually zero.

As much as they all hated it, they had no choice but to trust this commander and his men, not that they had done anything to mitigate that trust. It simply went against all Splinter Cell training to blindly trust in someone they knew nothing about. Though, Ben supposed, Grim seemed to trust this man well enough. Enough to send them all here, knowing what they were getting into, anyway.

Night (or what Ben assumed was night by the fact that they turned all the lights off) came and went and another meal was served after they awoke from an uneasy slumber. Noboru went first today, followed by Gillespie, then Valentina, and finally Ben.

Thus the routine began and stayed like that for several days.

Ben just hoped Sam would wake up soon. For Sam's own sake and for the sanity of Ben's team.

It was going to be a long week.

The sound of footsteps permeated Sam's consciousness before he was ever fully awake. He followed that sound outward and his other senses kicked in one by one. He felt warm and comfortable despite the heavy aches that limned nearly every inch of his body. The air smelled clean, but musty, a scent he had long associated with underground facilities that had to recycle breathable air. And on his tongue was the taste of salt, a byproduct of a saline drip, something Sam had unfortunately grown accustomed to. By the time Sam opened his eyes, he had a fairly good approximation of where he was. The one thing he didn't expect was to see that the footsteps belonged to Ben, who was pacing back and forth at the foot of Sam's hospital bed.

"Ben," Sam ground out, his voice gravelly from disuse.

Instantly, Ben stopped pacing and turned at the sound of Sam's voice. "Sam!" He strode over to the side of Sam's bed, his handcuffed hands hanging awkwardly down in front of him.

Sam cleared his throat, his voice coming out more normally now. "Where are we?" He didn't remember much past getting out of that shed.

Ben shrugged his shoulders. "Hell if I know. Some secret Russian base."

Sam had guessed as much. They wouldn't be underground in a normal hospital. And Ben certainly wouldn't be handcuffed. But if they were here, that meant…

"You contacted Grim."

Suddenly Ben's face paled a bit. "You didn't give me much of a choice."

"How bad was it?"

There was a moment of hesitation before Ben answered. And when he did, the truth of his statement was written all over his face. "Bad."

If Ben's tone wasn't enough to go by, the dull ache in the center of Sam's chest indicating a broken sternum certainly gave Sam a good idea of the extent of his injuries. In his line of work, a broken sternum only meant one thing. And it also proved what Ben and his team had done to see Sam through it.

"Did everyone make it out alright?"

Ben nodded. "Yeah. They're all here, in another room. They only let us out one at a time."

Good. Sam was glad they were all safe, though he could sense the anxiousness in Ben and could only guess that the others were suffering the same feeling.

"How did Grim know about this place anyway?"

"You mean you didn't know about this place?" Ben scoffed. "I thought you would have. Grim said the commander owed her a favor. And you an even bigger one."

Interesting. "Well if it's who I'm thinking of, then yeah, he did owe me a big favor indeed. But no, I didn't know about this place. Grim was always better at keeping tabs on old friends," Sam said with half a smirk.

Ben gave a feeble smile, but then his countenance grew serious and he leaned in a bit closer, lowering his voice. "Look, Sam, what's the plan here? I mean, the mission was a complete failure."

Sam had wondered how long Ben was going to last before he couldn't hold it in any longer. Being cooped up without any plan to move forward or any means to execute such a plan was a frustration Sam knew all too well. He would have reacted the same way in his early days. But he quickly came to realize that no mission was a complete failure and even the tiniest bit of information was valuable intel.

Pushing himself up the bed, Sam grunted as his body protested. Still, he knew the pain should have been far worse. The wonders of morphine were also something Sam had become accustomed to.

"The mission wasn't a failure," Sam countered calmly.

"In what way?" Ben snorted. "Sure, some of the arsenal is drowned in some flooded abandoned complex in the middle of the Siberian tundra, but we're no closer to finding the rest of it than we were weeks ago when I didn't even know it existed!"

"But now we know who has it, who's running the whole auction."

"Alright fine," Ben admitted. "But he's just as far in the wind as the arsenal itself." He swung his bound hands out in emphasis. "He could be anywhere by now."

A smile crept onto Sam's face. "Yeah, but see I told Zahm I would be back if he didn't leave his criminal life behind him. I had to have some way of making good on that promise."

Ben tilted his head and squinted slightly in confusion, though Sam could see that he was catching on. "You mean…"

"I placed a tracker on his beloved yacht. A yacht that just so happens to be designed to smuggle a large amount of goods," Sam finished for Ben.

"Would he use it though? He has to know we're on to him."

"He has no reason to think that. Even if he assumes we made it out, without any reasonable proof that we know it's him, he's going to operate in the way that's most familiar to him. It'd be too much trouble to do otherwise and he's losing money every day he sits on the arsenal. The buyers will want him to reschedule as soon as possible."

"Then we need to get out of here and get eyes on that yacht."

"I agree. Though I don't think another auction will be scheduled for at least a couple weeks, maybe a month. It'd be too hot to move the entire arsenal out of here as one shipment. It'll take a week or more for him just to get it to his yacht, which is the only place he would feel comfortable moving it all together. Then gathering dozens of major crime lords and black arms dealers from around the world into one place will take some time as well. Not to mention the fact that they will have to find a new location."

Ben looked slightly mollified by Sam's logic, though he still said, "Either way, the sooner we leave this place, the better."

"I won't argue with you there," Sam agreed, wincing as his ribs twinged.

Ben must have taken that as a sign that Sam needed to rest because he walked to the door, announcing, "I'll go let the doctors and the others know you're awake." He knocked on the door as a signal to the guards, then rested against the door while he waited for them to respond. At Sam's confused look, he shrugged, explaining, "I'm not usually the one deciding when I leave." After a moment of silence, Ben let out a sigh, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose in the first sign of weariness Sam had seen him show. "I'm just glad this is over," Ben admitted candidly.

The comment brought an ironic smile to Sam's face. "It's not over, Ben," Sam corrected, determination filling the gaze that Ben's eyes rose to meet. "It's only beginning."

Epilogue

A week after Sam woke up, he had been deemed well enough to be transported. It was mostly at Sam's insistence, but the commander had offered no protest. Sam had figured the sooner they parted ways, the better and he knew the commander felt the same. Very few parting words had been exchanged between Sam and his old acquaintance aside from Sam offering his thanks and both of them judging their score to be settled.

Then Sam and the other four Splinter Cells had left much as they had come—sedated and shipped away, all of them waking up in the back of their fueled up SUV in the middle of the Siberian tundra. The Russians had even given them some rations for their fairly short journey back to Irkutsk and a portable wheelchair for Sam to use once they made it back to civilization.

Sam had ground his teeth when he had sunk into that chair at the Irkutsk airport, hating that he couldn't use crutches or even push the chair himself on account of his shoulder. In the end, though, he had swallowed his pride and let Ben wheel him through the crowds. He was better off letting his wounds heal as much as possible before he was needed again. Like he had told Ben, it wouldn't be too long before Zahm tried to move the arsenal.

And, much as Sam had predicted, it was roughly a month later that Sam found himself flying over the Atlantic Ocean, several miles off of the Spanish coast. Using Sam's tracker, they had been keeping tabs on Zahm's yacht, monitoring its comings and goings. In the past few weeks, it had made a few small trips down along the coastline.

Sam and Grim determined the excursions to be Zahm gathering up the arsenal. He would have had to ship it in smaller batches through multiple ports to avoid suspicion. And all of the ports he had gone to had all had previous dealings in the black market. The yacht had gone dormant for a week and had just yesterday set out for open water. Zahm was making his move.

But Sam was ready for him.

He had stationed himself in Spain, working closely with the Spanish Coast Guard through Third Echelon (or what was left of it after Kovac's indictment). Their plan was to intercept the yacht in the guise of a routine random inspection and, while it was stopped, Sam would slip aboard and plant the nanobots on the arsenal as they had planned to do originally before Ames had screwed them over. Zahm would have planned for such an occasion with all the necessary forged documents, so he would hardly be suspicious. Once the bots were in place they would track the arsenal back to the roots of the hundreds of criminal organizations around the world where they could stop so much more than just one black market arms sale.

Grim had complained that the plan was too obvious. Sam had countered by saying its obviousness was what made it so perfect. A double bluff was the last thing Zahm would expect. Not that Zahm would be expecting to see them anyway, convinced as he would have been that the team had drowned in the trap he had laid and that Third Echelon believed the arsenal to have been lost along with them. Sam had been laying a careful trail of misinformation to suggest as much.

Now they just had to plant the nanobots without being seen, which was much easier said than done.

Sam had spent every waking hour over the last month rehabbing his body, pushing himself as hard as he could. His shoulder was mostly healed, though it still twinged a bit if he strained it too much. His ribs were still painful, but he mostly just ignored it. His leg, on the other hand, was still in rough shape. It took several surgeries to get Sam's knee back in working order and the doctors didn't even want Sam walking on it. Sam, of course, didn't heed their orders. He had found himself a top of the line, military grade knee brace that offered twice the support and maneuverability with half the weight and bulk and set about toning up his leg. The brace kept Sam's leg from giving out, but it did nothing for the pain, which still felt like hot pokers stabbing into his knee every time Sam took a step, but Sam pushed through it. He even refused to take any pain meds before coming out on this mission because he wanted his head as clear as possible.

This was a mission he would trust to no one else. He knew from the day he had woken up that he wouldn't be satisfied unless he saw this mission through himself. Though that didn't mean he had to do it alone.

Ben sat across from Sam on the other side of the helicopter, meticulously checking his weapons and equipment. Sam had seen him do it at least ten times already. Dealing with the nerves before a mission was something that Ben would learn in time. But Ben had earned his place next to Sam on this. Sam knew Ben wouldn't let him down.

With the two Splinter Cells stashed inside, the stealth helicopter kept a steady pace forward, using the low clouds and dark of night to conceal its presence. Sam couldn't see a thing through the windows, mired as they were in the dense fog, but he had complete faith in the pilots to guide them through the mist.

It wouldn't be long now.

Another ten minutes and the pilot was calling out to Sam and Ben through their headsets that they were in position, a few miles out from the yacht. They couldn't get too close and risk being spotted. The pair would drop into the ocean in full scuba gear and use special propulsion machines to take them the rest of the way to the yacht. They were even equipped with rebreathers to cut the amount of bubbles that would make it to the surface and potentially give themselves away.

All of their gear was fitted with anti-radar coating that made them virtually invisible to all but the most advanced radar equipment. Sam was all for experience and smarts over fancy technology, but he had to admit that working for Third Echelon had its benefits. Not that he was working with them in any sort of official capacity. After Kovac's ousting, the higher ups had basically agreed to look the other way while Sam saw out this mission. They all knew it would take too long to clear all the red tape that had amassed over the past year and they couldn't afford to lose the arsenal again. Grim was the "official" head of the mission as far as Third Echelon was concerned and Sam's go-to on the inside.

Besides, Sam wasn't so sure he could bring himself to sign back up just yet. There was still too much that didn't add up within Third Echelon. Sam very much doubted it began and ended with Kovac and until he could get to the bottom of the corruption, he didn't want to be tied down with bureaucracy. He was better off in the wind. Better off on the outside where he could work freely.

But Sam would worry about that later. Right now, he had a job to do.

"In position," a tinny voice called through Sam's headset.

Looking over, Sam nodded at Ben, who nodded back. They stood, strapped on their gear, and headed to the hatch door. As Sam reached for the handle, Ben shouted out to him over the noise of the helicopter.

"You sure you're up for this?" He looked pointedly at Sam's leg.

"I'll be fine," Sam answered tersely. "Remember," he added, "not a trace left behind. If you even think they're onto us, you signal me and we take them all down. We're better off taking the arsenal here and now than risking them losing us because they caught our scent. You hear me?"

Ben tilted his head. "I hear you."

"Good. Then let's go. And it's radio silence from here on out unless something goes wrong. I don't want to risk them catching a stray frequency."

With another nod from Ben, Sam slid open the door to the cold, blustering air whipping off of the rotors. The surface of the water was relatively calm except for the wash from the helicopter, the pilot keeping them hovering a few yards above it. At a signal from Sam, they both tossed their propulsion devices into the water and with a final glance at each other, they both leapt in after them.

The water was ice cold, but their wetsuits shielded them from the brunt of it, only a mild chill permeating the thick layer. It was a far cry from the situation Sam had found himself in at the bottom of that abandoned complex a month ago.

Maybe fancy technology wasn't so bad after all.

Sam and Ben stroked over to their respective devices and set a course for Zahm's yacht. The trip was uneventful, though Sam did sometimes wonder what lurked in the depths beneath them whenever he found himself this far out to sea. Nothing came surging out of the darkness though and soon enough they spotted the hull of the yacht and that of the Coast Guard ship that had just pulled up alongside it.

Programming their devices to maintain their position several yards below the hull, the pair waited for the signal from the Coast Guard. When a small light on the bottom of the ship flashed twice, they sprang into action, stowing their scuba gear with the propulsion devices and holding their breath as they swam to the surface.

Sam pulled himself up onto the port side of the yacht and padded onto the deck, Ben mirroring him on the starboard side. Sam could hear talking coming from the bow (where they had told the Coast Guard to pull Zahm and his crew's attention) and could just make out a few of Zahm's men around the enclosed bridge. This was going to be the tricky part. They had to strip out of their waterproof wetsuits and tack them to the side of the yacht to be retrieved later lest they leave a trail of water all through the boat. There was plenty of sea spray on deck to cover their tracks, but below deck was a different story. The last thing they wanted was a conspicuous trail leading directly to the arsenal.

They had both been practicing the maneuver and Sam knew they could both do it in about five seconds, but at any point one of Zahm's men might decide to turn around and spot them. Luckily they both stripped and stowed their gear without incident and Sam silently signaled them to head below.

Once below, they slid out their snake cams to check around opposite corners. The coast was clear on Sam's side and a quick nod from Ben told Sam the same was true on the right. Without delay, they split up as planned, Sam checking the left side of the boat and Ben the right. It would have taken too long to check the boat together, Zahm had too many smuggling holes to investigate. The good news was, they knew the rough position of each after inspecting the blueprints for the yacht and determining likely areas.

It only took Sam two minutes to find the first, a well disguised set of floorboards that lifted as one to reveal a sizeable cache below. Sam's eyes lit up as he beheld the stacks of weapons cases. Everything in his gut had told him that the arsenal would be here, but it was a relief nonetheless to actually find it.

But Sam didn't have time to dwell. He quickly deployed the nanobots, replaced the cover over the cache, and moved on.

The operation went smoothly from there. Sam had had to backtrack a few times to avoid someone in a corridor and once he had hidden stock still in the shadow behind a door that had swung his way, but no alarms had been raised. And there was no word from Ben, which was only good news as far as Sam was concerned. Twenty minutes later and Sam was reasonably sure he had found about half of the arsenal after checking the majority of the hiding spots. If Ben had had as much luck, then they were set. Still, Sam did his due diligence and checked the few remaining possible smuggling holes. Finding nothing there, Sam cautiously picked his way back up to the deck.

They had agreed beforehand not to wait for each other on the deck. They were better off leaving as they needed to and waiting below the surface.

Checking that no one was in the area, Sam slunk back over to his gear and released the reusable gel that had it glued to the side of the boat. Just as he was pulling his gear aboard, Sam heard the slapping of wet footsteps coming from around the cabin. Sam had nowhere to go and nowhere to hide so he did the only thing he could—gear tucked under one arm, he hoisted himself over the railing and lowered himself into the water, careful not to make a splash.

So much for never getting into freezing water again, Sam thought to himself as he clamped his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering, though he had to admit it was numbing the pain in his knee. It wasn't ideal, but Sam was thankful he had jumped over when he smelled cigarette smoke coming from the deck above him. It had been a narrow miss.

With some difficulty, Sam pulled on his wetsuit. It was a lot more uncomfortable now that it was wet and cold on the inside too, but being uncomfortable pretty much came with the territory being a Splinter Cell. At least Sam wouldn't freeze to death.

Taking a deep breath, Sam headed back down to his scuba gear and donned it as well. He only waited a few minutes before Ben swam down to meet him. He had most likely been waiting for the smoking man to clear the deck.

Once Ben had geared back up, Sam gave him a questioning look. The meaningful nod Ben offered in return sent a wave of relief rushing through Sam.

Sam didn't trust many people in this world. It was the main reason he liked to work alone. That way he alone was responsible for the outcome of a mission. It was true that Sam had felt this mission was a two person job, but he would have risked doing it by himself rather than bring someone along he couldn't count on.

He was glad his trust hadn't been misplaced.

Going over to the Coast Guard boat, Sam pulled three times on a rope oh so casually dangling over the side away from the yacht—the sign that they had accomplished what they had come for.

After Sam gave the signal, he and Ben didn't linger. They turned their propulsion devices around and sped away from the yacht, not daring to surface until they were five miles out. Pulling off his diving mask, Sam turned on his OPSAT and called in the chopper to their location. Then he turned to Ben.

"How did it go?"

Ben slid off his mask and blinked heavily to clear the salt water that dribbled into his eyes. "About as well as you could expect. Had a few close calls, but I found the arsenal. You?"

"Same."

"It certainly went better than last time anyway."

Sam huffed. "You could say that."

Turning back to himself, Ben took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh.

Noticing, Sam threw out sympathetically, "You learn to deal with it, the nerves."

Ben looked up at Sam's words, perhaps not realizing himself what he was doing. He hesitated a moment, as if he were going to deny what was so clearly the truth, then he sighed once more and settled. "That obvious, huh?"

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Sam offered. "I'd be more worried if you weren't nervous. But don't let those nerves get the better of you." Sam had seen too many good people let fear or anxiety dictate their actions. It rarely ended well. Ben was a good Splinter Cell. And a good person on top of it. He was much too valuable to lose to a stupid mistake made in the heat of the moment. If Sam could impart any amount of wisdom to keep that from happening, he would do it sooner rather than later. Meeting Ben's eye, he said, "You're good at this, Ben. I saw you train. I've read your file. You're a good Splinter Cell. You have good instincts. Trust them. Sometimes your gut is all you have to go by." Sam dipped his head. "I know that better than most."

Ben's gaze fell as Sam's speech ended, his thoughts turning inward. After a moment, his eyes lifted, seeming a bit clearer, a bit more focused. "Thanks," he tendered in return, a mutual respect and understanding passing between the two men. When the moment passed, Ben asked, "What now?"

Sam knew he was referring to more than just their immediate situation. "Now we wait. When those trackers go live, they'll lead us to every buyer at that auction and, through them, every major underground arms dealer location around the globe. The data those nanobots will feed us will help us shut down tenfold the amount of major crime and terrorist threats that taking the arsenal by itself would have."

Ben smiled. "You're starting to sound like Grim."

The comment wrung a chuckle from Sam. "Yeah, well. We've been working together a long time. I suppose it's only fair that she rubs off on me a little."

Changing the subject once again, Ben grew serious. "Are you mad we couldn't take Zahm?"

Sam shrugged. "Not as mad as he will be once he finds out he unwittingly sold out every major crime lord he invited to his auction. They'll connect the dots soon enough and once they do, he'll be begging us to arrest him." He wryly cocked his head. "No doubt he'll feed us even more intel when we oblige."

"Unbelievable," Ben replied incredulously. "So this was your plan all along?"

"No," Sam admitted with a smirk. "But sometimes things just work out."

Ben scoffed and shook his head, the pair falling into an amicable silence.

After a minute or so, Ben's demeanor changed. He looked to Sam and took a breath to speak, but when he opened his mouth, he closed it again, indecisiveness making him fidget.

Sam watched Ben curiously as he did this a few times. Sam wasn't really sure what to make of it. When it seemed like Ben would continue on in such fashion without end, Sam took matters into his own hands, opting for a straightforward approach. "Spit it out, Ben."

There was another moment of hesitation as Ben seemed to steel himself. Then he asked, "It was you, wasn't it?"

Sam squinted in confusion.

"In Korfovka, all those years ago. It was you who saved me."

Sam placed a carefully cultivated mask of obliviousness on his face. There was nothing he could say that Ben wouldn't read too much into, so Sam didn't say anything at all.

After the silence stretched for a moment, Ben gave half a smile and a small huff. "Never mind. Forget I asked."

But Sam was already reconsidering his silence. While he would never give away information that could be compromised, the secrecy of that mission was basically moot as it pertained to the mission at hand. And Ben had more than earned Sam's trust at this point. Ben obviously already suspected Sam's involvement, so Sam saw no problem in hinting at the truth. Ben deserved that much at least.

When Ben's eyes turned to scan the skies, Sam called back his attention. "Ben."

Swiveling around, Ben met Sam's gaze, his eyes searching Sam's.

"You saved my life," Sam offered sincerely. Ben didn't bother denying it. They both knew it to be true. "So let's just call it even, alright?" Sam concluded, raising a suggestive eyebrow.

A grin broke out over Ben's face and he gave an understanding nod, a trust born in that moment that would forever influence both of their lives.

There were many things Sam wished he could have done over in his life. So many moments he would have changed if given the chance.

But Sam never once regretted telling Ben the truth.

THE END

A relatively short one this time, but I hope you had fun reading it. Like I said, I just couldn't help but run a ton of different alternate scenarios through my head as to what could have happened at the end of the book as it always felt just a bit unresolved to me for some reason. In any case, this is what I came up with and I hope you enjoyed it!