Disclaimer: I don't own the Splinter Cell series or anything related to Tom Clancy... Yet.
Author's note: Don't really know what to say except thanks for the reviews, keep up the R&R, etc. lol. Enjoy the latest (and imo best) chapter yet!
December 6th, 2007
Nice, France
The ride in the van was awkward for Sam; he had made a joke at Redding's expense about not having his sea legs a week ago, only to slip on a dry, stable floor during a mission. As Sam bandaged his wound in the backseat, he saw his field runner staring back at him intermittently with a smirk on his face. "You don't need to say it, Will; I know. I'm sorry."
This response led to a nervous chuckle on Redding's part. "Apology accepted, Sam, but that's not what I was smiling about."
Sam raised an eyebrow and just finished the last bandage. The splinter cell stared his field runner in the eyes and moved closer to the front of the vehicle. "Do you care to enlighten me? Or is an interrogation in order."
After contemplating the options briefly, Will gave in. "Well, you see, us field runners are always talking to each other, unlike you splinter cells. The moment before you entered the van, I got a text message from Frances Coen; she liked the gift I got her."
"A gift?" Fisher inquired.
"She's Jewish, remember? Tonight is the first night of Hanukkah, or was it last night? You get the point, though."
Sam barely allowed a smile to grace his mouth before he responded. "If you want a hint, Will; our kind of work doesn't facilitate relationships."
The field runner just shrugged it off and continued driving. Sam was going to catch some much-needed rest, but was stirred from the static in his cochlear implant. "Wakeup, Fisher. I've got some news, good, bad, and ugly."
The splinter cell stayed reclined on the bench in the back of the van and gazed at the electronic equipment he'd previously used to upload the encrypted drive to 3E. "You have my attention, Lambert. Bad news first."
"The bad news is that it's starting to look like Alzahabi was getting a good deal of money from three sources; a French diplomat, a Russian smut peddler, and a Turkish doctor."
"Sounds like the start to a bad joke," Sam quipped.
"Ehem. Anyway, the problem really is that we can't touch the diplomat until JCOS and the President approve it and we can't touch the doctor because he, according to official records, supposedly died May 2006. We don't know if he was the one who made the VoIP cal, but his IP address matches up. The ugly news is that your next objective is in Warsaw, Poland. Iosef Yanovalinko, that Russian pornographer I mentioned earlier, uses his business as a front for smuggling stolen military hardware out of Russia to the Middle East. We suspect that he may have been the supplier of the explosives and firearms used in the attacks. Your objective is going to be to check his records for any clue as to who the buyer may have been."
"Am I going to need to squeeze some information out of this Yanovalinko guy?"
"If the opportunity presents itself, torture him for what he knows."
"And the good news?"
"You get an extra two days vacation after this ordeal is finished."
December 6th, 2007
Fort Meade, Maryland
"So what do you think?"
Lambert's words roused the aged leader of RAINBOW out of his trance-like state through which he poured over the endless documents that arrived. "I think we're being led on a goose chase; this all seems just too random. All these guys are all probably connected so loosely to the true source that it could take months to figure it out. If I were to guess, though, I'd say the brains behind the attacks is probably a well connected middle eastern terror group; it wouldn't be unheard of."
The operational director of Third Echelon turned his attention to the monitor panel that displayed the views of 3 separate splinter cells' EEVs, then replied "I was actually referring to our little organization here."
"Oh. I think, for what it is, you've got a fine tool. The whole idea seems a bit odd, but that could be my age talking. You know: old school spying and old school special forces doing their own things. But I guess a little multi-tasking isn't half bad either, and your guys are doing a hell of a job so far."
"Maybe next time there is a world altering crisis, I could see how RAINBOW runs." The two men had a good laugh at that notion and refocused themselves on their jobs.
December 6th, 2007
Warsaw, Poland.
The sun had been down for five hours in this cold metropolis. A quarter mile from the Medical University of Warsaw, Sam crept tree by tree in the park. The cool, crisp air stung his face while and kept him on high alert. At any moment, a man walking his dog could probably find the splinter cell. The fact of the matter was, however, that this was the best way to get to complex unseen. A local church bell sounded indicating the hour to be 11 P.M. Almost there.
A 6 foot tall brick wall was all that stood in Sam's way of getting into the yard. Fisher hefted his weight over the wall and quickly drew his pistol. Using his OCP, Sam knocked out the nearest light. "What the hell?" A confused guard exclaimed. From within the nearest structure, a fatigue clad man carrying a silenced AK-74 rifle jogged into the snow and looked around. Before the light came back on, Sam grabbed a nearby pebble and chucked it at a tree behind the guard. The minion did an about face and was occupied enough to allow Sam to sneak up on him. In a quick motion, the brain stem of the guard was severed by Sam's knife, rendering him a limp hunk of meat.
Fisher shot out the light he had previously used the OCP on and deposited the corpse in the dark corner. Scanning around briefly, he saw no sign of any other immediate threat. A quick glance at his OPSAT told him that, in the penthouse of this structure, was the location of Yanovalinko's base of operations. Sam's eyes darted up and down the building and spotted a fire escape. Easy, yes. Even easier to get spotted, definitely.
The splinter cell chose, instead, to utilize use a drainage pipe to work his way onto the roof. Each passing brick made Sam wonder if the pipe would hold him. From the roof, he peered into the skylight above the objective and noted the presence of 3 men. Two men punched away at calculators and typed the results into a spreadsheet program on their computers. These were no ordinary button pushers, however; both had impressive builds that one would see from individuals serving in the armed forces and matching carbines that looked like they had been worn and torn. The third individual was seated behind an elegant oak desk, gazing at his computer screen in almost a trance, occasionally clicking away at icons that Sam couldn't quite make out. A voice entered Sam's skull. "The man playing solitaire is Yanovalinko," Lambert stated matter-of-factly. "And his boys appear to be preoccupied."
Soon, a second voice chimed in; this time, it was Grim. "Be careful trying to open the skylight. They have a security system installed; nothing major, but there are sensors in the windows and doors. Some of the stuff dates back to the 70s."
"Thanks, Grim... And thanks for no cracks about my age; your on a streak lately."
"Nah, its approaching the holidays and I figured we should be on good terms... By the way, what color dress was Mary wearing-"
Fisher decided to signal her to stop by coughing roughly before candidly mentioning "Now you don't get a card."
The voices in his head promptly ceased and he was able to get back to work. Sam cut the wire and opened the window, then hooked himself to a nearby pole. As slowly quietly as possible, Sam dangled precariously just behind the target. Toward the center of the room, the resounding, almost hypnotic music from the surround sound speakers made for a perfect masking effect. After a few minutes, Fisher was on solid ground and ready to grab is target. In a swift movement, Yanovalinko was yanked from his seat and quieted by the knife blade on his neck. "Hello, Joey," Sam whispered
"Oh God," the porn dealer announced quietly. "I wonder who is trying to get a piece out of me this time. Are you American, Canadian, or another Israeli?"
"That's none of your business... Wait, another Israeli?" The impact of the porn dealer's words finally sank in. Within a second, Lambert echoed Fisher in the cochlear implant. "Another Israeli?"
"Yes, a man in a black jumpsuit and heavy Israeli accent killed four guards by hand and beat me until I told him what he wanted to know. Yes I deal guns to the terrorists, yes I supplied the bomb making material, yes I got them the uranium, yes I got them the gas. For God's sake, if you are an Israeli you're government bureaucracy is worse than the Soviet Union was."
"And if I'm not?"
"Then 'Merry Christmas;' you get free news."
"Why are you being so helpful?"
"What loyalty should I have for these swine? They told me the targets would only be in either the United States or Israel. They said nothing about France!"
"Why do you care about the French?"
Yanovalinko started to tear up and took a second to catch his breath. "My mother was killed in the French attacks!"
The commanding voice in Sam's head spoke again. "Pity. Get him to tell you what he told the Israeli's; while it seems legit, he is a known criminal, after all. Then check what files he's got and proceed to extraction. I'll also have someone check in with the Israelis about the alleged operation."
"Whether or not I let you live or let you visit you mother will hinge on whether you tell me who the buyers of your goods are?"
The pornographer sighed woefully and sulked for a moment. "Well, we met through negotiations with Chinese lawyer. He was really just a mediator; the man we dealt with was an Turkish fell-"
Yanovalinko's statement was cut short as the building rocked with an explosion. The floor beneath the two groaned and gave way. Pieces of the walls shuddered and toppled on top of them. Throughout the whole ordeal, Sam made sure to beware of his knife's placement the entire time, not cutting into anything or anyone. He and his captive, along with the two musclebound accountants in the penthouse, had fallen all the way to the lobby; Sam and Yanovalinkos' fall was fortunately broken several times through different elements of the building. When the commotion ceased, Fisher searched for Yanovalinko; the poor guy was impaled through the neck by a small pipe.
"Jesus Christ, Fisher, what just happened?" Lambert cried into the splinter cell's head.
"It felt like a bomb just went off. And our pal is as dead as a door nail."
"Try to pocket his hard drive and the contents of the safe if you can and get out of there; the Polish authorities will probably be en route soon."
"You don't say?" Sam answered, not getting a retort.
Fisher dug furiously through the rubble until he came across the remains of the computer; as luck would have it, half the case was cracked right open. The safe, however, was still embedded in the wall on the penthouse floor. Sam examined the lobby and noted that the stairwell was blocked by debris. The splinter cell decided his best bet was to vault onto a nearby wall and then rebound off it to reach the second floor. Mid-rebound, Sam felt a strong pain in his leg. Dammit, of all the times to sprain my knee.
The rest ascension was made mode comfortable thanks to the stairs, which had survived the explosion. For a moment, Sam felt he should worry about the cameras, but the fear subsided when he noticed that none of them were operational anymore, thanks to the serendipitous bomb. After the climb, Sam then had to carefully navigated the unstable and gapped floor to reach the safe. Surprisingly enough, the safe was largely intact; picking at the lock was relatively hassle-free, however. Following the climb up the rappel line he had left, the splinter cell made sure to upload the hard drive onto the OPSAT for transmission and scanned the documents from the safe. "Magnificent work, Fisher. As soon as we get through the security features of the drive, we should have a name. Just curious, Sam, why did you choose to send that and the documents first?"
"Just in case, Lambert. Just in case."
Realizing that the Polish authorities were probably already on the same street by now, Sam slid down drainage pipe and hopped back over the rear wall as swiftly as hisbad knee would allow him. In the time since he entered the apartment, a thick snow storm had begun. It wasn't until he was practically knee deep in fresh powder that Fisher even realized this. In the distance, through the ever-increasing snowfall, Sam could see the van that Redding had procured. I'm home free. Soon, a hot shower and a cold compress for my knee; and my back for that matter. I wonder-
Sam's dream of relaxing his injury was shattered when he felt a frighteningly familiar object grab onto his body and jolt him with 300,000 volts of electricity. Very soon, the world around him turned dark and faded away.
December 6th, 2007
Fort Meade, Maryland
A cacophony of static flooded the speakers that displayed the sound sent from Sam Fisher's implanted radio. Lambert feverously keyed his microphone and tried communicating with Sam. "Fisher! You alright? Sam?"
No responses followed and all that could be heard was the barely audible rustle of someone manhandling the splinter cell. The director of operations bashed his fist on the nearest console and barked an order to his staff. "Grim, get a GPS lock on Sam's position. Call Redding, if he hasn't already-"
"Lambert, it looks like someone just took down Sam. Can't tell if he was killed or incapacitated." Redding interjected unknowingly
Lambert glance briefly at the screen that showed Sam's vital signs; he was alive.
"Did you get a good look at them? Are you OK?" Grim asked from her station.
"I'm fine. I could only see Sam fall on the ground and a group of men grab carry him off. Big guys and lots of them. I saw five of them with some automatic weapons; three G36s, an RPK, and an AKSU. All I have in this van as a pistol."
"So they're not cops?"
"No sir."
"Then back off and go to the primary rendezvous point. We're pulling out."
Lambert walked away from his console and paced back and forth. On the one hand, he received every bit of intelligence that Sam had collected and thus didn't need to save him; more over, the accepted response to the capture or death of an operative was to disavow their existence. But on the other hand...
"I can have my men mount a rescue when they get back to Hereford." General Clark announced. "I'll call our Polish contacts and see what we can do."