by Tom Clancy
NOBORU tensed as he listened to Gillespie trying to call Hansen. He’d heard the dull boom from behind those thick stone walls, too. He decided that if Hansen didn’t answer within the next twenty seconds, he’d go into the bunker after them. It wasn’t just Hansen he was worried about, of course.
He ticked off another ten seconds, then started toward the bunker door, when a voice came from above. “Nathan!”
Squinting up into the darkness, Noboru could not see the man at first—but he’d recognized that baritone voice.
Horatio.
Even as his heart sank and he lifted his pistol, Gothwhiler’s unmistakable British accent came from behind him. “Good boy, Nathan. Don’t move.”
Noboru froze.
How had they managed to draw so close to him? Well, he’d been a fool, daydreaming about a life with Maya Valentina, about romantic, candlelit dinners and long days at the beach. She’d dulled his senses, softened him, left him vulnerable to much more than her perfume and charm.
And now his old “friends” had exploited his lack of focus and current position. They didn’t want to face the rest of the team. They’d been waiting for the perfect opportunity to capture him alone.
And now they had him.
Or not.
After living with them on his back for so long, Noboru had come to the realization that, if push came to shove, he wouldn’t be taken alive—and in a way death would be welcome and represent the end of the paranoia, the fear … finally … forever.
He judged Gothwhiler’s distance behind him at three meters. Horatio was now coming down the rocks: distance nine meters and closing.
Gothwhiler no doubt had a gun pointed at Noboru’s head, while Horatio kept his pistol up but was more concerned with judging his footing as he descended to the shoulder of the road, near the bridge.
Footfalls grew louder from behind. Closer. Noboru thought of making his move, but Horatio already had his pistol trained on him.
Abruptly, his Trident goggles were ripped off, and then the hard steel muzzle of a pistol made contact with that knobby bone covered by stubble on the back of his head.
“Just toss your weapon into the mud right there,” said Gothwhiler, his voice squeaking like a mouse’s. “Right there.” He relieved Noboru of his rifle, sliding the V-TRAC sling easily off his shoulder.
“I did a job for you,” Noboru said, his voice coming in a hiss. “I deserved to be paid. You ripped me off. I took back what was mine. There is nothing left between us. I told you that. I told you… .”
Horatio started forward. His pistol was a semiautomatic, to be sure, and he raised it to Noboru’s belly.
“Nathan, it ends tonight. You’ve made a fool out of us. And now we’ll send a message that no one can do that. Not ever. Now … hands behind your head! Kneel!”
Noboru tensed. “I’ve been your life’s work, huh? What’re you going to do without me? Who’re you going to chase?”
“You haven’t called your parents recently, have you?” said Gothwhiler.
Noboru began to lose his breath. “We had an agreement from the very beginning about them.”
“You gave them the money. They spent it. They paid the price.”
“You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not.” Horatio raised his gun and pointed it at Noboru’s forehead.
Noboru took a deep breath. He was going to spring up and attack Horatio, taking his chances—knowing full well he would probably be shot—but perhaps the round would not kill instantly the way a head shot would. He would not be executed. He would fight. And death would, as he’d promised himself, bring relief.
“Pathetic boy,” Gothwhiler sang. “My grandfather was shooting you people out of trees during World War II.”
Noboru was about to reach out when a short clap from nearby echoed down into the ravine.
An odd look came over Horatio’s face. Then he just dropped to the ground.
Noboru craned his head in time to see Gothwhiler take a round two inches behind his temple. The gaunt man’s head wrenched back as he toppled to the ground and lay there, immobile, blood pouring from his wound.
The two perfectly executed shots, from a remarkable sniper, left Noboru breathless. Absolutely breathless.
Yet even through the shock, he still recognized the sound of an SC- 20 rifle and its 5.56mm ammo. There was no mistaking it. Someone on the team had just saved his life.
Or someone who just happened to have an SC-20 rifle.
Noboru stared off to his right, narrowing his eyes toward the shadows running along the cliff. He focused on a fallen log overlooking the lip of the ravine. That had to be the sniper’s nest. Slowly, he lowered his hands from behind his head and pulled himself up into a crouch, still wary as he shifted right toward where he had tossed his pistol.
A round punched into the mud not six inches from his hand.
He lifted both palms and slowly stood.
It was Fisher. Had to be.
All Noboru could do was shrug. The man could easily kill him now.
Noboru just stood there, waiting for some sign or indication that it was okay for him to move. None came. Then he spotted movement near the bridge, just twenty feet from it, and turned his head for a better look.
A voice rang out. “No. Face the cars.”
Definitely Fisher.
Noboru complied. “Was that you?”
“Was that me, what?”
Noboru jerked his head toward Horatio and Gothwhiler. “Them.”
“I needed their car. Something told me they weren’t cooperative types.”
Noboru swallowed. Fisher had no idea what he had just done, no idea of the immeasurable burden that had just been lifted from Noboru’s shoulders, and all he could manage at the moment was a simple “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Fisher said curtly.
Noboru opened his mouth, about to ask a half dozen questions about Fisher’s mission, about what the hell was really going on, when he felt the Cottonball make contact with his right shoulder, and the world went dark.
Chapter 32.
VALENTINA had been farther away from the flash-bang grenade when it went off, so she’d been able to recover more quickly than Hansen and now helped him back outside, through the main bunker door. He still couldn’t see much, and she had a few sparklers winking in her peripheral vision.
Having heard a pair of gunshots from outside, Ames and Gillespie had taken up sniper positions and had reported frantically that they thought Noboru had been killed. He was on the ground and not answering their calls.
As her heart raced and eyes began to ache, Valentina guided Hansen out the door and told him to sit down there, under cover. Noboru was up near the cars, and she’d be right back. He barely heard her, saying his ears were ringing loudly, and she understood, the explosion still echoing in her head.
With her mind screaming that this kind and gentle man might be dead, she climbed up to the road and knelt before him. Her trembling hand touched his neck, and she searched for a pulse. Nothing … Wait, there it is. She sighed and gasped, and for a moment a wave of dizziness passed through her, or, rather, a wave of relief so strong that she thought she might pass out. She checked him for a gunshot wound. Nothing visible.
The other two men, a heavyset bald guy with horrible burn scars and a scrawny man with hair dyed jet-black, lay on the ground in pools of blood. She reported her findings to the rest of the team, and Hansen told Ames and Gillespie to rally at his position and help him get up there.
Noboru began to stir, and Valentina ran fingers down his cheek. That felt a little too good. She shivered. “Nathan, it’s Maya. Can you hear me?”
His eyes flickered open, and then he seemed to focus on her. Finally, he smiled weakly, and she allowed herself to breathe easier.
“Are you shot? I don’t see any wounds,” she said. “What happened?”
He took a moment to consider, then motioned for her to help him sit up. She did, and he rubbed
the back of his head and said, “Just a Cottonball.”
“Was it Fisher?”
He nodded.
“Who’re these guys?”
Before he could answer, Ames, Gillespie, and Hansen came up and over the hill, onto the shoulder.
“Aw, hell, look at that,” Ames cried, pointing at their cars. Only then did Valentina notice that the rear tires on both of their Audis were flat.
“Each car’s got a spare,” said Gillespie. So we’ll still have a functional ride, once we swap out the tires.”
“Time enough for Fisher to get a big lead on us.”
“Hey, who’re these guys?” asked Ames, staring at the two bodies.
“Maybe they were the guys tailing us back in France,” said Valentina.
Hansen squinted at the men. “I’m seeing a little better now. Nathan, what the hell happened?”
NOBORU had to decide how he’d answer, and for a few breaths he sat there, letting Hansen’s question hang as all eyes turned on him. Perhaps it was the rush of relief that overwhelmed him, he wasn’t sure, but he decided right then and there to tell them everything. The truth. Now that they were dead, the pressure was gone, and he should also relieve himself of the burden of carrying around the secrets of his past.
So he let it all out: the job with Gothos, the mission, his claiming what they owed him, the night they chased him… .
And when he was finished, he added, “I spoke to Fisher. He saved my life. We can’t kill him. We have to take him alive.”
Ames crossed in front of Noboru and got in his face. “We’ll take him any way we can—and if you can’t handle that, then maybe we need to talk to Grim and get you sent back home, Brucie. Got it?”
Noboru grabbed Ames by the neck and held him. He pulled the short man down, toward him, actually forcing Ames to kneel. “I want you to stop talking. Forever …”
“Nathan, let him go,” ordered Hansen.
Noboru shoved Ames back so hard that the short man fell onto his rump. He cursed at Noboru and rubbed his sore neck.
“All right. Everybody up. We’ve got some tires to change out,” said Hansen, still blinking hard. “I’ll give Moreau a call and see if we can get help with these bodies. And, Nathan. I respect the fact that you only took back what was yours, but at what price? You endangered the team to keep your secret.”
Noboru took in a long breath and nodded. “I’m sorry.”
BEST WESTERN HOTEL INTERNATIONAL LUXEMBOURG
MOREAU ordered them back to the Best Western in Luxembourg, and Hansen reluctantly complied. There was no reason to go on a blind chase across Germany when the operations manager already knew Fisher’s destination. Moreau was sending a couple of men to pick up the other Audi. Once the team returned to the hotel, the bodies of Gothwhiler and Horatio would be disposed of: bundled in the remaining Audi’s trunk.
Hansen respected Noboru for coming clean regarding those men and his relationship to them. That had taken a lot of courage for the young operator to admit, and Hansen suspected that the others felt likewise. Noboru had been put in a terrible position, but he had also placed the team in danger, and for that Hansen was still upset. Nevertheless, the lines between good guy and bad guy grew less distinct the longer you remained a spy, and Sam Fisher would certainly attest to that.
Late the next morning Moreau asked Hansen to come up to his room and patch into the Trinity System for a conversation directly with Grim.
Masking his awe over the virtual-reality space, Hansen stared across the sky above the hotel until he saw a point of light that suddenly blossomed into the image of his boss.
“Hello, Ben.”
“Can I say that this has been a cluster—”
“Let me stop you right there,” she said, raising her palm. “I understand your frustration. But all I need from you right now is compliance. What’s at stake here is … everything.”
“I am prepared to be enlightened … about everything.”
“How did you know Fisher would be in Vianden?”
He grinned. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to—”
“I’m too tired for that crap, Ben.”
“All right, we played a hunch.” He told her about Noboru’s contact, Karlheinz van der Putten, a.k.a. Spock, and how Ames had made a few calls and had helped narrow down Fisher’s location. The rest was police-scanner monitoring and a healthy dose of luck.
“Can you just sit tight for me now? I’ll need to get you back on the road, but for now, just do as I ask.”
“Grim, I can’t promise that anymore. You’re making it difficult. I really don’t know who to trust. And we didn’t come over here on vacation.”
“If you can’t trust me, then walk away now.”
“You know I won’t do that, but you need to throw me a bone. I need something more here.”
“Ben, I can’t. And if you insist upon moving without authorization, I’ll pull you out of there. All of you.”
“Really?”
“Believe it.”
“That’s your choice. Here’s what I’m thinking: We’re going to get Fisher. My plan is to take him alive. And if you won’t, then he’s going to tell us everything. And, you know what? I think he will, because I have a feeling you’re using him the same way you’re using us. I think this is all about you saving your ass, and we do the dirty work. I’ve already put a lot into this job. I’m not going to screw it up over one administrator.”
“Ben, you’ll drive yourself mad if you keep trying to read into all of this. Just do as I ask.”
Hansen shrugged. “Yeah. Whatever.”
THAT evening Ames stole an opportunity to contact Stingray. Ames had a request for Kovac: He wanted Karlheinz van der Putten terminated, just in case Hansen decided to follow up with the man, who would say, “No, I never spoke to anyone about a special-forces operator in Vianden.”
No loose ends.
Ames told Stingray that he wanted van der Putten’s murder to look like a revenge killing. He wanted Spock’s ears chopped off. Stingray said he would take care of it. And then Stingray passed on another bit of news. It seemed Kovac had his own set of feelers reaching out for signs of Sam Fisher, and he’d just received an excellent lead.
Fisher would be in Hammerstein, Germany, and would be having a meeting with Hans Hoffman, a major player in the Bundesnachrichtendienst (BND), Germany’s Federal Intelligence Service. Fisher was supposed to meet Hoffman at 2:00 P.M. but the exact location of the meeting was still unknown. Kovac still wanted Fisher dead, and Ames still had his orders.
Ames returned to the hotel room and decided that he would take advantage of an already interesting situation.
Once the team had gathered in Hansen’s room, Ames gauged his words very carefully. “I just got off the phone with Spock. He’s got an update on Fisher’s whereabouts.” Ames filled them in on what he knew, but he left out the time and location of the meeting.
“Kim, pull up everything you can on Hans Hoffman,” said Hansen.
“I can’t, unless you want Grim to know about it.”
“Use the hotel’s Internet access, and I’ll get you into the Gothos database,” said Noboru. “I’ll bet they’ve got plenty of info on this guy.”
“Do it,” said Hansen.
“But, Ames, how did you get Spock to talk?” asked Noboru. “He’s a very private man.”
“Not that private.” Ames rubbed his fingers together: money.
“Where are you getting this money?” asked Hansen.
“I was just getting to that. I had some fun money left over from another account and another job, and I used that, figuring we’d stick it to 3E yet another way, but I’m down to fifty bucks. Spock will give us the time and location, but it’ll cost us another $50K. And believe me, that’s dirt cheap, given who we’re talking about.”
“Everybody kicks in ten grand,” said Hansen.
“Are you kidding me?” asked Valentina. “I’m not using my own money to pay off some geek i
nformant. That’s insane. I say we tell Moreau what we got and get the money from them.”
“Or we go pay Spock a visit and squeeze it out of him,” said Gillespie.
“That would not be wise,” said Noboru. “Spock is a very well-respected and extremely well-connected man who knows how to take care of himself.”
“And there’s no time for that,” said Ames.
Hansen sighed. “All right, I’ve got some fun money myself. Tell you what, Ames. I’ll give you the fifty—which, by the way, also happens to be 3E’s—but I talk to Spock myself.”
“He only trusts me at this point. And believe me when I say he knows exactly where Fisher will be tomorrow. I need to wire him the money right now.”
Hansen thought it over. “You tell Spock if he’s wrong, we’ll be coming back to collect.”
Ames chuckled. “He knows that. This guy’s been playing this game longer than we’ve been alive.”
“Grim will eventually find out about all these money transfers,” said Gillespie.
“Yeah, but by then it’ll be too late,” said Ames.
Within an hour, Ames had $50K in his fun-money account, money that would not be delivered to Spock but would be, he hoped, spent on hookers and booze, and all the while he would be laughing his ass off at Hansen’s naivete.
WHILE Ames was on his computer, supposedly working out the deal with Spock, Hansen pulled Noboru aside. “You could have come to me with everything. I hope you know that.”
“I know that now.”
“Not sure if we’ll work together after this, but if we do, the team comes first, before you or anyone else.”
“You don’t have to tell me that.”
“Apparently, I do.”
“Ben, it’s your team. I didn’t want to let you down. I didn’t want to let any of us down.”
“I get that. You’re not the best agent, but you’re the biggest ass kicker we’ve got—and I can’t afford to lose you. And can I say I’m not thrilled that you confided in Ames.” Hansen glanced across the room at the short man banging on his computer.
Noboru sighed deeply. “Neither am I.”
“Do you think we can trust him?”
“The intel for Vianden was good. If Spock knows where Fisher’s going to be, then, yeah, we can trust him.”