Disclaimer: I don't own the Splinter Cell series or anything related to Tom Clancy... Yet.
Author's note: I know the first chapter was a bit of an info flood, but I promise a steadier pace now and in future chapters. I changed the rating to T because there really isn't that much in terms of offensive material. For future chapters, I've decided not to include the times. Dates should suffice. Again, R&R, por favor.
December 5th, 2007
Fort Meade, Maryland.
The parking facility at the NSA headquarters was ablaze with activity. After 9/11, the 2004 information crisis, the 2006 small pox incident, and the Asian crisis, the National Security Agency, CIA, FBI, and DHS sprang into action almost instantly following significant events; what was going on today, however, had been more than merely a "significant event." On the eve of the deadliest terrorist attack on the face of the Earth, every government employee from every alphabet agency, military branch, and city hall was en route to their respective offices.
In a side entrance of the the main building, Sam Fisher was whisked through a series of halls and eventually to a hidden elevator. After a very quiet ride down the elevator, he proceeded through the usual security stations and made his way to Third Echelon's command center. Among the usual 3E staff were a two new individuals; one was easily recognizable to Sam as Defense Secretary Mason and the other was totally new altogether. Before he could inspect the visitors any longer, Sam was approached by Lambert. "Sorry for the wakeup call, Fisher."
"I've had worse; at least this time I was actually in a bed when it happened. Got anything new since the backseat briefing?" Sam asked wearily.
"ECHELON picked up a series hits from a VoIP phone in Istanbul to a set of phones in Minneapolis, Nice, and Tel Aviv approximately an hour before the first attack. If it weren't for the fact that the caller in Nice happened to be on an INTERPOL terrorist watch list. A program on piece of spyware in his computer recorded an instant message between himself and a visa holder in Lyon." Lambert paused briefly to gulp down his twice sugared coffee and continued. "I think you can figure the rest."
The splinter cell looked at his boss pensively and rubbed his eyes. "Don't tell me; I'm going to Nice?" he asked.
"Apparently I don't have to."
December 5th, 2007
Hereford, United Kingdom.
Nestled within the headquarters of RAINBOW, a group of seven imposing figures surrounded a conference table cluttered with laptops and files. Major Chavez was on a secure line for three minutes before he turned his attention to the men before him. "Alright, it looks like the lull is over; we're on call. General Clark has ordered us to launch an assault on a terrorist hideout in Minnesota. Local authorities don't want to touch it because they don't have the capacity to handle the situation. The president doesn't want the FBI to touch it because, well, he doesn't want them to touch it."
The major typed a series of commands on his laptop and caused an map and head shot to pop up on a nearby wall monitor. "The owner of the house is a man named Lawrence Bjork a.k.a. Omar Youseff. 45 years old. Muslim convert and former Berkley Professor. Contributed $20,000 to the PLO in the 90s. Our friends stateside tell us that he may be a possible sleeper cell for a follow-up attack."
Eddie Price scoffed at the idea. "The guy looks like a bloody boyscout could bring
him in. Doesn't seem like anything locals or HRT couldn't handle."
"Did I mention this guy is probably the most qualified person in that hemisphere outside of the DOD to make a suitcase nuke?" Ding retorted with a smirk.
"Duly noted; when do we fly?"
December 6th 2007
Nice, France.
In the coastal city of Nice, the air was salty and clear. The sun wouldn't grace the rooftops of the Mediterranean structures for another two hours; Sam was moving on his target. Northeast of Côte d'Azur International Airport, the edifice seemed like the others on the block; a crimson roof crowned the six story structure with a pale exterior. It was the inside, however, that made this building different. Whereas the other buildings were old style apartments, this one doubled as party headquarters for a private "consulting" firm that essentially lobbied the French government any time Palestine-related was brought up.
The security set-up at the headquarters was eclipsed only by the local airport in terms of stringency. Reinforced cameras and armed guards were abound and the main and side doors were double locked; a key card had to be inserted while a four digit code was entered. The network installed inside was even more high tech, running an advanced security suite stolen from operating systems used by the US Military, like those of the late USS Walsh. Sam decided to climb the repair scaffolding of an adjacent building and tossed a rope across the artificial canyon. Before he crossed, the splinter cell took out the light near roof access door with a carefully aimed pistol shot; this was the only source of direct light nearby and it was enough to keep a nearby camera from spotting him.
When safely on the roof, he picked the lock and crept down the concrete stairs. Moving as slowly and quietly as a snail, Fisher could hear the sound of another security camera was just around the bend. Instead of using his OCP on the camera, he ran underneath it mid-turn and picked up a piece of trash left carelessly by an employee; the wrapper to some guy's "royale with cheese" had become a nice, temporary solution to the problem. Ah, the greatest American export.
Sam checked his OPSAT again to review his object one last time. The target was a computer on the fourth floor of the building in the office of Karim Alzahabi. Alzahabi's computer would give Third Echelon a clue as to who financed and who carried out the attacks of the previous day. Sam snaked his optic cable under the fourth floor door and found no immediate threat. He eased the door open slowly and turned left. A small maze of cubicles and halls led him to a mundane office with a glass fourth wall and a keypad locked door. Looks more like my accountant's office than that of a terrorist mastermind.
Before Sam could open the door, he saw a beam of light pass over his head; a guard had come on the floor. The splinter cell doubled back into a cubicle and waited for the armed man to pass. Following this, he popped back out, crept up behind the guard, and grabbed him. "Bonjour."
The slightly larger man tried to struggle out of the choke hold, but Sam's knife soon blocked his neck from moving outward anymore. The guard struggled to get his words out. "Ugh, gah qui allez-vous?"
"I'm a barber who does house calls. It would be nice if you could give me some things useful in English before I use your neck to sharpen my knife."
"Allez vous faire voir," the guard grunted in defiance.
"Cute. Now I'll ask you again: anglais, trou du cul, faire vous parle il?"
"Ugh, yes I do speak English."
"Good," Sam sighed. "You see that door we just passed?"
The splinter cell turned himself and his hostage around so they both faced the proper portal. "Yes, that's Mr. Alzahabi's office. It's locked, you know."
"I can see that. What's the code for the door?"
"One four two seven."
Sam smirked briefly at the response. That's my accountant's office number... "Thank you, anything else you think someone like me would want to know?"
The guard paused briefly and blurted out "We had nothing to do with what happened yesterday! The Boss k-kept mumbling all day about how the assassination of our president shouldn't go unpunished! Besides, his brother was killed at the power plant; he was a s-saftey inspector there."
"Did he have any idea who it could be?" Fisher asked, intrigued by the outburst.
"N-no, though he thought Israel was at fault."
"Oh really?" Sam asked sarcastically.
A not-so-distant gun being cocked while the light turned on acted as an answer. "Yes, really," said Alzahabi. "Now, would you mind unhanding my guard? The poor bloke works a 15 hour shift for mediocre pay and doesn't need this right now."
Sam's muscles tensed up quickly. How could I let my guard down like that? No, I couldn't have known he was going to show up to work early. He turned himself and the guard around slowly to face his attacker and assessed the situation. The terrorist's file labeled him as having allegedly training with Hamas and al-Qaeda before he turned to "legitimate" politics. For all I know, this guy could be a crack shot.
Fisher let the guard go and put his hands on his head. His eyes darted left to right. "Now drop your knife; then, very slowly, take your pistol out and toss it in my direction."
Reluctantly, the splinter cell did as told. The terrorist smiled to himself, marveling at how easy it was. "Now get on your knees with your hands behind your head; again, slowly, like your withdrawal from Iraq," he chuckled.
I guess he is an amateur. Sam started to get down on one knee and tripped, falling shoulder first into the glass wall to his left. He received several painful lacerations, but he managed not to flinch. Meanwhile, the terrorist couldn't help but burst into laughter. "Oh, my good man, you Americans make it so easy to be ridiculed. Amir, go around and restrain him with a flexicuff him, if you don't mind."
The security guard lowered his head and backed away from his boss in shame. In French, the guard explained that he was too scared of the intruder, injured or uninjured, to try and restrain him. Alzahabi tersely chewed out his employee, and asked him to cover him while he attempted to restrain the nuisance. Shakily, the terrified guard trained his sights in the general area of the splinter cell. Sam bided his time until the terrorist was right on top of him to pull out a large shard of glass from his arm and lash outward and up; he was successful in cutting up a good portion of the man's leg, causing him to fall to the ground in pain. Fisher then grabbed Alzahabi, holding the large shard to his neck. "Amir, you might want to put that gun down; I don't think your boss is looking forward to cashing in workers comp right now."
Amir did as told by the frightening man in black, tossing over his gun and standing perfectly still as a measure of good faith. "Good boy. Now open your boss's door for me."
Following this, Sam swiftly chopped the terrorist in the back of the head and body slammed the guard. He gave poor Amir a final "goodnight" punch for good measure and went to the target computer. Moments after Sam cloned the hard drive, Lambert spoke into his ear. "Great work, Fisher. We should be able to get some useful intelligence off that drive."
"What do you want me to do with Alzahabi? Him and the guard for that matter."
There was a long pause on the other end of the implant. "Alzahabi may be useful for intelligence. Take him into the back alley with you for extraction, that way we can interrogate him on our own terms."
"And the guard?"
"Kill him. Use Alzahabi's gun to do it; make it look like a murder," Lambert replied coldly.
"We've got a problem Lambert; some of my blood got all on the scene-"
"The place is an office, Fisher, improvise. Go get some bleach from a cleaning cabinet or something. After you do as ordered, I expect you to head to extraction!"
Sam let his head decline as he sighed and acknowledged his orders. He didn't particularly like this part of his job, but orders were orders.
December 6th, 2007
Fort Meade, Maryland.
"Nice touch with the frame-up," John Clark marveled to Lambert.
The Colonel didn't bother responding, instead opting to take another sip from his coffee mug while eying the work of several 3E employees. Among the dozens of screens in the command center, one was always tuned to WNM out of convenience. After covering the clean-up efforts in France and New York, the headline under the lead anchor changed to 'SMALL TOWN TERROR?'
The newsman cleared his throat and began to read off the teleprompter with a faint smile, as if glad to see it. "In Moorhead, Minnesota a daring raid was launched today by SWAT officers of the Red River Valley SWAT Team; this, we are told, was finished just minutes ago. The raid was executed as part of a 'high risk warrant for the arrest and thorough searching of the house of Omar Youseff.' Authorities are telling us that they expected to find drug paraphernalia and automatic weapons and found bomb making material instead. There has been no word yet what kind of bomb was being worked on, though several HAZMAT teams were on site almost instantaneously to cordon off a one mile radius and a mandatory evacuation of all who live with said radius. The suspect was shot after he pulled a 9mm pistol on one of the officers and is said to be in stable condition."
While the anchor speaks, video images wash over the screen of the raid actually taking place. Men in SWAT gear breached the main and rear doors simultaneously and proceeded in quickly and efficiently. A reporter on the ground was able to zoom in enough for all to see the 'officers' make quick work of Omar Youseff with a single shot from a UMP 45 to the hand.
John Clark seemed to be exhibiting mixed emotions. On the one hand, his boys had just successfully completed the mission, though he also disproved of the trick shot. We train these men to go for the head or center of mass and they to pull something like that.
Lambert chuckled to himself and patted Clark on the back. "Nice touch with the Hollywood shot."