by Tom Clancy
ZDROK: So that’s it, huh. This is what all the fuss was about?
HERZOG: It’s a marvelous invention, Andrei. It’s beautiful.
ZDROK: How many of these things can your subs carry?
TUN: Launch from torpedo tubes. Mao has three Barracuda. Like this one.
ZDROK: Okay, so one of the MRUUVs has the warhead. What do the other two have?
TUN: Nothing! They decoy.
HERZOG: When do you plan to make your announcement to the United States, General?
TUN: When Mao reach target area. Seven day.
HERZOG: And you really plan to use it if they don’t let you take Taiwan?
TUN: (nods enthusiastically) No more Disneyland! Boom!
ZDROK: What will you do if the United States comes down on you before then?
TUN: “Comes down…”?
ZDROK: Attacks you. What if they attack you first?
TUN: (laughs) You funny man, Mr. Zdrok. Joke, right?
Whoa. I get it now. The general isn’t planning to use his nuke on Taiwan at all. He’s using the MRUUVs to deliver the weapon as close as possible to a major American city on the west coast. Los Angeles, from the sound of it. And that’s his insurance policy for attacking Taiwan. He’ll let us know that the weapon is in place and will be detonated if we try to stop him from invading the little island. Since they’re using a submarine to launch the MRUUV, it’s going to be difficult as hell to track it. From what I understand of the MRUUV technology, it can be shot from the sub’s torpedo tube and then be guided remotely to its final destination. The sub doesn’t even have to be in American coastal waters; it can sit right on the edge of the international boundary and do its thing. Ingenious.
It’s time to get out. I begin to scoot backward along the rafter beam toward the opening when I hear a rumble down below. An entire platoon of armed men barges into the place. The sergeant runs to another uniformed officer, who in turn whispers something to the general. Then everyone looks up at the ceiling as the general is escorted out of sight.
Shit.
Did they find the guard I knocked out earlier? Or the guy on the roof? They’re sure acting like they know someone’s up here.
A soldier brings out a searchlight, sets it on the platform beside the sample MRUUV, switches it on, and shines it at the ceiling. He slowly moves it along each beam as every man in the place studies what it reveals. I stay perfectly still and pray that not too much of my body extends beyond the outline of the beam I’m on.
Another couple soldiers bring in a device that looks familiar. In fact, it’s the boom box sonic transmitter I saw in Hong Kong. They plug it in to an outlet, point the little dish at the ceiling, and turn it on. I can hear the familiar hum as before, but this time my implants are not affected. Thanks to Grimsdottir’s work and the operation Coen had me undergo in L.A., their sonic torture device is no longer effective.
The men look at each other questioningly. One man checks the machine to see if it’s working properly. He shrugs his shoulders. One guy shouts some orders. Men hustle back and forth. They’re not sure if I’m really up here or not. Meanwhile, Zdrok, Herzog, Putnik, and Wu huddle near the door, watching and waiting to see if their intelligence proves to be correct.
So far they haven’t seen me. Hell, I’ll stay here all day if I have to. As long as I don’t move I just might be safe. My biggest worry is how did they learn I’m here?
A man wearing civilian clothes walks into the pen from the front door. Before I have a chance to get a good look at him, he turns to Zdrok and his crew, has a word with them, and then moves onto the ramp by the sub. When he looks up at the ceiling, I feel my heart skip a beat. I now have the answers to a lot of questions. I now know how the enemy has been able to track my movements in Hong Kong, in L.A., and here. I now know how the Shop knew where I’d be and when.
Mason Hendricks, alive and well, shouts, “Fisher, you had better come down like a good boy. Otherwise they’re going to shoot you down.”
34
A soldier brings in another searchlight and aims it on the trap in the ceiling, so I won’t be going out that way. To put it bluntly, I’m trapped. Sooner or later one of those light beams is going to catch a part of my leg or shoulder and it’ll be all over. The only thing I can do is to make it more difficult for them to see me.
But I have to risk moving to reach into my trouser pocket and retrieve three smoke grenades. The eye is most attracted by motion, so I inch my hand along my side as slowly as possible. I finally reach the pocket and unsnap the flap but I forgot that I placed my corner periscope in there, loose. The damned thing slides out and gravity does the rest. I watch in horror as the device falls to the platform, hitting it with a ding.
“There!” Hendricks shouts, pointing at me.
The soldiers aim their assault rifles as I reach into the pocket and grasp a grenade. I pull the pin and let it drop. The boom is louder than it is damaging, but the dark cloud of smoke it produces is what I really want. I quickly grab another one, pull the pin, and let it fall. Then the gunfire begins. The bullets spray the ceiling around me but I’m now able to scoot along the rafter beam out of harm’s way. I don’t move toward the trap door because they’ll be expecting that. Instead I go the opposite way with no clue as to how I’m going to get out of there. The gunfire continues to spread in all directions — they’re leaving no room for doubt.
There’s one other option. I reach into my backpack and grab my only wall mine. It takes me five seconds to activate it and another five to attach it to the ceiling. I set it to explode in ten seconds, which better be enough time for me to scoot along the beam far enough out of the way!
The men below are still blinded by the smoke and are wildly shooting their guns. The wall mine is a gamble I have to take. I’m counting on it to blow a hole big enough for me to get through and at the same time provide even more smoke to cover my escape.
I move to the far end of the beam I’m on and cover my head as bullets rattle the ceiling around me.
KA-BOOM!
The building shakes with unexpected roughness, causing the beam I’m sitting on to jerk precariously and come loose! I hug the girder, feeling it sway with my body weight. I can’t see a damned thing — smoke has filled the place and I have no idea if I’m falling or hanging by a couple of steel bolts. After a moment my equilibrium calms down and I perceive the beam isn’t dropping, it’s just dangerously close to doing so. I flip down my goggles and turn on the night vision, which sometimes helps to see through smoke screens. It outlines some objects and I can now plainly see the big hole in the ceiling that’s at least six feet in diameter. The smoke will ventilate quickly so I’d better get moving.
The girder I’m hugging is still attached to the ceiling behind me by a few bolts. The end in front of me is hanging out into space above the slip. I have to inch my butt in reverse, move up the beam to the ceiling, and then grab hold of another girder to do a hand-over-hand in order to reach the hole. If I move too quickly, the girder I’m on will surely come loose. And of course the soldiers below are still firing their weapons into the air, creating a random hazard no matter what direction I go.
Ain’t this the life?
When I’m about five feet from the ceiling, I hear the bolts begin to give way. There’s a horrible wrenching sound behind me as I feel the beam jerk and drop a few inches. I can’t risk sitting on it any longer, so I focus on the stationary beam above my head and try to propel myself those five feet from a sitting position. This is where that Krav Maga training comes in handy. By using the muscles in my thighs and performing a painful stretch between my waist and arms, I’m able to elongate—that’s the best way I can put it — and give a little push-off at the same time. As soon as I do, the girder breaks loose and falls. For a split second I’m weightless in the air and then I feel my hands around the ceiling beam. I clutch it tightly, catch my breath, and then begin the hand-over-hand trip, twenty feet to the hole.
I don’t look down
but I can hear the men shouting to each other. The girder must have fallen on a few of them. It seems like an eternity before I reach the hole and the smoke clears quickly while I’m in transit. Sure enough, just as I reach the hole I hear Hendricks shout, “There he is! Shoot him!” The bullets fly but I’m already climbing through the opening and crawling onto the roof. I roll my body toward the edge of the building as the rounds perforate the steel, inches behind my trail.
As soon as I figure it’s safe to do so, I stand and run to the rung ladder on the side of the building. Three guys are in the process of ascending it. I draw the Five-seveN and shoot the first man. He falls, knocking off the two behind him. The ground is crawling with soldiers and they’re surrounding the building. For the second time in the last ten minutes I’m trapped, so I reach into the backpack to check my stock of smoke grenades. Damn, only two left. I do have a couple of chemical flares, though. And something else that might be useful.
I swing the SC-20K from off my back and load it with a diversion camera. Timing is crucial. In situations like this I wish I had four more hands. First I run to an edge of the building where there are fewer soldiers below. It happens to be the north side, in between submarine pens one and two. If I can get to the ground, at least I’ll have a chance to shoot my way out of the base. I lay the two chemical flares and the smoke grenades in front of me, then prepare two diversion cameras — one loaded on the SC-20K and the other at hand, ready to load.
Next, I take a chemical flare, break the seal, point it laterally from the pen’s roof, and shoot it over the soldiers’ heads. It bursts beautifully, spreading flame and sparks over the area. It won’t hurt them but hopefully it will cause confusion. A smoke grenade is next — I pull the pin and toss it below me. It explodes and covers the ground with thick darkness. Flare number two is next and this time I aim it laterally in the opposite direction from the first one. It, too, explodes neatly and serves to disorient the men. I then drop my last smoke grenade, allowing it to detonate in the space between pens.
Finally, I launch a diversion camera, aiming the SC- 20K at the side of sub pen one that’s nearest to the coast. As soon as the camera sticks it begins to broadcast the sounds of single-shot gunfire. I then quickly load the second diversion camera and fire it over the soldiers’ heads, sticking it onto the side of a military jeep about thirty yards west of sub pen two. For a gag I set it to play — very loudly — a marching band’s rendition of “Stars and Stripes Forever.”
Total chaos on the ground. The Chinese soldiers don’t know what the fuck is going on. They think someone’s shooting at them from the beach side of the pens and a fifty-piece band has suddenly appeared on the other side. The flares continue to burn brightly over their heads, illuminating the smoke as if it were part of a psychedelic concert stage show.
I take the opportunity to leap off the roof. Because of the smoke, it’s difficult to determine exactly where the ground is. I’ve made jumps like this before and know how to fall and roll to avoid hurting myself — but that’s usually when I can see where I’m going to end up. My night vision goggles don’t help much in this particular instance, either.
Hell, there’s no use fretting about it. I take a stance and jump.
I hit the ground sooner than I expect and feel a tremendous pain in my right ankle. I try to compensate and roll but the damage is already done. I plummet to the earth like a lead weight. Just when I expect a dozen soldiers to attack me, nothing happens. The soldiers are still running around blindly, wondering where the heck I am. I manage to stand, wince in pain, and limp away. Damned ankle. I’m sure I didn’t break it but I know it’s sprained. As I move along, the pain diminishes. It can’t be too bad. Down on the ground the night vision works a bit better and I’m able to navigate around the buildings. I pass the first sub pen and head for the north side of the camp. Behind me I still hear shouts and gunfire but by now the smoke is clearing.
The noise wakes up the rest of the men. I can see soldiers stick their heads out the barracks doors and windows. With my limp it probably looks as if I’m a crazy man skipping across the base. One guy sees me but he’s too sleepy to figure out I’m the enemy.
It’s a miracle that I make it to the fence. I hit the ground, crawl to the section that I cut earlier, and then slide through. By golly, I’m nearly home free. If I can just get clear of the base, hide somewhere in the dark, and avoid being found, I just might get out of this alive. I cross the road and move beyond the illumination of the base lights. The main highway to Fuzhou is up ahead. I’ll probably have to avoid that for now and find a ditch or something and hole up inside it.
But now I can hear their vehicles revving up as they broaden the search. Changing direction and favoring my bad ankle, I jog parallel to the highway but stay in the shadows. It isn’t long before they pull onto the road and begin to patrol at slow speeds. Obviously, they know I’m not too far away. When one of the jeeps suddenly stops and turns its searchlights in my direction, I drop to the ground. The beams cross over my prone body and then remain stationary. I hear the vehicle doors open and close. Uh-oh.
“Sam!” Lambert says. “You’re surrounded! Get out of there!”
Movement headed my way. Soldiers.
I grab my SC-20K, make sure it’s set for spray fire, and get ready to blast my way out of there. I remain still, wait for the right moment, and then release a volley of fire in the direction of the noises. I hit a group of men just as a searchlight finds and totally illuminates me. The soldiers fire at me as if there’s no tomorrow, forcing me to hit the ground again. By then, I’m completely covered. It’s no use. A dozen rifle barrels are aimed at my head.
I have no choice but to drop my weapon and raise my arms.
35
They take me in a jeep back inside the compound. My backpack, SC-20K, Five-seveN, headset, and OPSAT are confiscated. They also empty all the pockets on my uniform and remove my boots. Two guns held to my head keep me compliant. During the short ride back to the base I hear Lambert’s voice in my ears: “Sam? What’s happened? Are you all right? Out satellite tracker’s lost you.”
In order to answer him, I feign a cough. In doing so I bring my right hand to my throat, press my implant, and say, “Throat hurts.” The Chinese guards nudge me with the gun barrels—Put down your hand. I nod, smile, and do as they ask. Back in Washington, Lambert will know I’ve been taken prisoner. When the implants were first integrated into a Splinter Cell’s standard equipment, a series of code words were created that could mean a variety of things. Hypothetical scenarios were constructed to which we matched these codes. As long as we’re able to press the throat implant and speak, we can communicate with Third Echelon. The best way to do that in the company of the enemy is with something natural, such as a sneeze or cough — thus, my message to him told Lambert everything he needs to know.
As soon as we’re back at the submarine pens, though, a soldier ties my hands behind my back with a strong nylon cord. Hopefully Lambert will begin to take steps to try to get me out — unless I’ve been Protocol Sixed. There’s always that possibility. The rules of this dangerous game state that if the enemy captures us, then we don’t exist. I’ve never been in such a situation before so I don’t know how serious Lambert will be about it. I know of one Splinter Cell who was Protocol Sixed after being arrested for spying in North Korea. If there are other cases, I’m not privy to them. I suppose I’ll just have to assume I’m on my own from here on out. To hope for something as rash as a rescue would be foolish.
I’m marched into a temporary building not far from the command post. Made of steel, aluminum, and some concrete and wood, it appears to be an all-purpose facility with offices and supply rooms. I’m taken into an approximately ten-foot-by-ten-foot cell containing a bunk built into the wall, and thrown to the floor. The soldiers leave, slam the door shut and lock it, and I’m alone.
I pick myself up and attempt to stand. My ankle still throbs with pain but I can live with it. Then I sit on t
he bunk and attempt to empty my mind of anything that could hamper my resistance to torture. Who knows what they’ll do to me? Most likely they’ll just execute me and get it over with but one never knows. Perhaps they’ll use some exquisite Chinese “persuasion” to get me to reveal NSA secrets, not that there’s anything for me to tell. I really don’t know much classified stuff that might be damaging to our government. Third Echelon keeps it that way. At best I could give them details on how Third Echelon is structured and I doubt they’ll even get that from me. I plan on saying absolutely nothing, no matter what they do to me.
Roughly twenty minutes go by before the door opens again. Mason Hendricks and Andrei Zdrok enter the room and shut the door behind them.
“I see you’ve made yourself at home,” Hendricks says. “Sorry. We didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”
“Screw you, Mason,” I say.
Hendricks chuckles and looks at Zdrok. “Fisher’s a man with a big vocabulary.” Zdrok smiles but looks at me coldly. “Oh, do you know Andrei? Andrei Zdrok, Sam Fisher.”
“We bumped shoulders once but we’ve never been formally introduced,” I answer. “Forgive me for not shaking hands.”
“I think we should kill him now,” Zdrok says. “He’s too dangerous.”
“Wait, my friend, wait. Don’t you want to see him suffer? After all the harm he’s caused our organization?” Hendricks asks. Zdrok doesn’t answer but I can see he’s chomping at the bit to get at me.
Hendricks leans against the wall and says, “Fisher, I suppose you want some answers.”
“I don’t give a shit, Mason,” I say. “You’re a traitor and a scumbag. That’s all the answers I need.”