Operation Barracuda (2005)

"That's still being negotiated. Oskar will handle the transaction. But there's one other thing."

"What's that?"

"This National Security Agency man. Sam Fisher. The Splinter Cell. He's responsible for what happened at the antique shop. It's time we do something about it. Once and for all."

"I couldn't agree with you more. Go ahead. Make the call. I'll front the down payment. Offer him more than usual."

"Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome."

The Benefactor hung up and Zdrok dialed another number he knew without looking it up. The phone rang five times before the man answered. "Da?"

Andrei Zdrok said, "Thank goodness you're there." He told the man what had happened at the antique shop. "It's the last straw. Sam Fisher must die. And you're just the one to do it. You're the onlyone who can do it."

Zdrok waited twenty seconds before the other party replied. "I want double the usual fee. You can understand why."

"Of course. Let's say two and a half times the usual fee. How's that?"

"Very generous of you. Where do I find him?"

"He has just left Hong Kong and is now on his way to Los Angeles. You can pick up his scent there."

"I'll leave on the first flight I can get."

"Thank you."

"I'll be in touch."

The two men hung up and Zdrok felt the first glimmer of hope after an anxious twenty-four hours since he discovered what had happened to Anton Antipov and the Shop's headquarters on Cat Street.

All would be well now. The Shop's most trusted killer, Yvan Putnik, was on his way to America to set things right.

23

THEride across the Pacific in the Osprey was uneventful and I slept most of the way. However, when we landed in California I still felt weary. I suppose I could attribute it to getting older but I'm not going to. Maybe I just need another vacation. Two overseas missions back to back are enough to exhaust anyone, even guys twenty years younger than me.

Frances Coen picks me up at the base. I'm surprised to see her on the West Coast but she explains that she flew over from Washington with Colonel Lambert. She and A

She takes me to Maximum Security Unit 6, a classified holding pen for prisoners who represent a great threat to national security. It's the kind of place where they hold terrorists and traitors without access to legal counsel, at least for a while. This policy is part of the Homeland Security Act and the so-called War on Terrorism that's been in effect since September 11, 2001. The unit is located east of L.A., near San Bernardino. From the street it appears to be a public parking garage, which it is. But by keying in an access code in the elevator, you can descend to the lower levels some fifty feet underground. That's where they keep America's Most Wanted.

After I'm cleared to enter the place, Coen leads me to Lambert. He's temporarily taken over a small office that has a cot. He looks as if he just woke up.

"Sam, good to see you," he says.

"It's good to be back." We shake hands and he offers me a seat on the cot. He takes the chair behind the desk upon which he's set up his laptop computer. Coen leaves us alone, saying she'll be back to get me for the surgery later that afternoon.

"Forgive me if I seem disheveled," Lambert says. "I was up most of the night talking with Mike."

"I'm tired, too," I reply. "Am I on vacation yet?"

Lambert grins; he knows I'm being facetious. "Not yet, Sam. You can have a day or two to rest up but we need you here. I'll explain later. Want some coffee?"

"Sure. I want to call my daughter. Is there a line I can use or should I use my cell?"

"Here, you can use this one," he says, pointing to the phone on the desk. "It's a secure line. I'll be right back." He leaves the room and I make the call.

Sarah's answering machine picks up. "Hi, this is Sarah, leave a message."I look at my watch and figure there's no reason why she should be at home midmorning. She's probably at school.

"Hi, honey, I'm back in the States," I say. "Just letting you know. You can reach me on the number you have when you get a chance. If I don't pick up right away, I'll call you back. I love you."

I hang up and lie on the cot. I'm just about to fall asleep when Lambert returns with the much-needed coffee.

"Thanks," I say. I sit up and take it.

Lambert returns to his chair and then a

Uh-oh, here it comes. I was brutally honest with what happened at the antique shop in Hong Kong. He's going to tear me a new asshole for killing Antipov in cold blood. At least I know he's not going to fire me, because he's already said I'm still on the job.

"I'm glad you wrapped up that end of the Shop's operation," is what he says. "That's two down, two to go."

I certainly didn't expect that. "Thanks," I say. Somehow I feel the need to explain myself. "Listen, Colonel, about Antipov--"

He waves his hand at me. "Forget it, Sam. The guy was a major enemy. All those Shop guys are supreme shits. As far as our laws go, you were in a combative situation. We'll say no more about it."

I nod and sip my coffee. After a moment of silence, I ask, "So how's our prisoner doing?"

"I believe he's about ready to talk. I think he was waiting for you."

MIKEChan, er, Mike Wurather, looks pretty haggard. They've kept him awake and under intense interrogation for the last forty-eight hours. I met the guy once at Third Echelon and barely remember him. He was supposed to have been very good at his job as a research analyst. Why does greed turn so many good people into villains? I'll never understand it. We all want to make money and live comfortably, but selling out one's country or friends or family to do so is beyond the scope of my comprehension.

As soon as I walk into the interrogation room, Mike sits up and widens his eyes. They must have really built up my visit. The guy looks scared.

"Relax, Mike," I say. "I'm not going to hurt you. Not right away."

"Why are you here?" he asks. "This isn't your job. Since when do Splinter Cells get recruited to interrogate prisoners?"

"They don't. I'm here of my own free will. I'm here because Carly St. John was a friend of mine. I'm here because your friends the Lucky Dragons tried to kill me. I'm here because I'm patriotic and love my country and you're a son of a bitch that isn't worth his weight in excrement."

The prisoner sighs and nods. He's resigned to his fate. "I still want a lawyer."

"You might get one after you confess. I'm not really sure how it works with you special combative types. All I know is that I'm not going to leave this room until you make an official statement and sign it."

"So, what, are you going to lean on me? You're going to show how tough you are and beat me up a little bit?"

"I'm hoping you'll come to your senses and realize that you've got no way out of this. You're caught. Lambert and the FBI have all the evidence they need to convict you. You don't haveto sign anything. You'll still get the death penalty. We'd like to prevent that. Life is a lot better than death."