Operation Barracuda (2005)

What the hell are they keeping me alive for? Every time one of the goons comes in with food or to take me to the head, I ask for Hendricks or somebody. The Chinese guards ignore me and just do their jobs. What's the point of keeping me here for days? I don't get it. They don't provide any medical attention for my stomach, they keep me in isolation, and yet they feed me.

I haven't heard a peep from Third Echelon. Perhaps they really have Protocol Sixed me. I would have thought that Lambert or Coen or someonewould have spoken through my implants and told me something. Instead it's been completely dead. The radio station is completely off the air.

There have been times when I've heard activity outside--shouts from soldiers, vehicles moving, even airplanes flying overhead. Yesterday it sounded as if the entire company was moving out of the base. It's been deadly quiet since then.

Then, out of the blue, the door opens and in walks Mason Hendricks, accompanied by Yvan Putnik, who is carrying a gym bag. I'm sitting on my bunk and don't make any effort to move. Hendricks greets me and doesn't bother to introduce his pal.

"How are you feeling, Fisher?" he asks.

I just glare at him.

He snorts. "That good? You look awful, too." He jabs me in the stomach and I wince. "That's a nasty bruise you've got there."

"What do you want?" I ask.

"Oh, nothing, really. Thought you might like some company after all this time. Perhaps you'd like some news of the outside world?"

I wait for him to go on but I try not to appear eager.

"A skeleton crew is here on the base. General Tun and the rest of his men are on a frigate off the coast of Taiwan. The attack is imminent." He looks at his watch. "I'd say it's going to begin in about an hour. They'll start with an air bombardment and then a sea assault."

I sigh but it comes out as a groan.

"Yes, I know, Fisher. Sounds pretty bad. And you know what? Our country is not going to do anything to stop them. Oh, we talked tough for the last several days, and I believe our president is in seclusion with the Chinese president right this minute. You see, General Tun told the United Nations this morning that the United States would be the target of his 'secret weapon' if we lift a finger to help Taiwan. China is claiming no responsibility but they're not raising any hands to stop him."

Hendricks begins to pace back and forth as he speaks. Putnik stands there solemnly, his spooky gaze fixed on me. He really does look like Rasputin.

"The Chinese submarine Maoreached the coastal waters of Los Angeles earlier today. Three MRUUVs were launched from the torpedo tubes. Two decoys and one armed with the warhead. Before the U.S. Navy could pinpoint the sub's location, the Maohad moved back into international waters. The bomb can be detonated manually from a control panel located on the submarine or here in the command post. Andrei Zdrok, Oskar Herzog, and I will have the pleasure of watching the drama unfold. We were going to leave last week but General Tun made us an inviting offer. You see, we had no place to go, so the good general offered us safe haven here on the base at least until after all this has blown over. He's going to help us relocate the Shop headquarters and he'll probably take over the position once held by General Prokofiev in Moscow."

"What about me?" I ask.

"Oh, what about you? You're wondering why we've kept you alive all this time. You can thank General Tun for that. As soon as he saw that a National Security Agency Splinter Cell had been arrested and was in his custody, the general left strict orders to keep you alive--for a while. I think he wanted to figure out what he wanted to do with you. Perhaps you could be some kind of bargaining chip in the talks with the U.S. I'm not really sure. I said it was a dumb move but he wouldn't listen to me. At any rate, all that doesn't matter now. We got word just a little while ago that the general no longer has any interest in you. With talks deteriorating between China and the U.S., with the attack on Taiwan imminent and Los Angeles about to be destroyed if the Americans defend the Taiwanese--he finally figured you're just useless to him. So Yvan here has volunteered to make you go away. Permanently."

Putnik grins at me. So this is it. They've kept me here like an animal and now it's time for the slaughter. Fine. Get it over with.

"Oh, Yvan doesn't speak English. But he wanted me to tell you he's going to take his time. He's interested in seeing how much pain a tough Splinter Cell like you can take. It's for his personal research, you see. I told him you'd be happy to contribute statistics to his work. I'll leave you two alone now. Goodbye, Fisher."

Hendricks raps on the door and a guard unlocks it. It slams shut behind him and I'm left alone with my executioner. Damn, I wish I had the use of my hands. I could take this guy, I know I could. Just give me a fair fight. Please.

Putnik slowly removes his jacket. Underneath he's wearing a T-shirt. He opens his gym bag and removes a roll of tape, the kind boxers wrap around their fists before stuffing them inside their gloves. I watch as he methodically covers his hands and every now and then punches the palm of one hand with the fist of the other. He then takes out a couple of knives. One is long and slender, like a stiletto. The other is clearly a Rambo knife the size of an American bowie. He places these on the floor next to the bag. Then he looks at me, smiles, and nods his head. He's ready.

I waste no time. I leap from the bunk and ram my head into his stomach, throwing him against the wall with a loud clang. Not stopping there, I kick him repeatedly until he manages to grab my bare foot and twist it sharply. It happens to be the ankle I sprained a week ago and the pain surges back. I can't help yelling as I fall to the floor.

Putnik stands and is no longer smiling. He moves forward and delivers a fast kick to my weakened, sore stomach. The pain is immense and it effectively paralyzes me for several seconds. Putnik walks around me, obviously intending to draw out the punishment as promised. But just as he's standing directly behind me, I recover enough to roll over onto my back and jab my feet into his crotch. The man cries out and twists away, holding onto his groin as if I'd set it on fire. I grin in satisfaction as I pull myself up and face him, ready to attempt a side kick to his chest. But he's ready for me; Putnik lashes out, growling like a wild animal. His eyes widen with madness, drawing further comparisons to old photos of Rasputin. The assassin leaps at me with the speed of a tiger and we both fall to the floor. His hands are around my neck as I try to buck him off. With my own hands tied, all I can do is jerk my upper body like a fish out of water and hope for the best.

Then, as if storm clouds suddenly decided to open and release a torrential rain, the high-pitched whine of an incoming missile fills the air. This is followed by an explosion that rocks the building so hard that Putnik falls over.

For a moment the two of us remain frozen. Then we hear gunfire outside. Shouts and screams. Then more gunfire. Putnik stands and raps on the door. No one comes to open it and he looks worried.

Another incoming shriek is even louder than the first. This time the temporary building we're in is hit dead-on. It's like being in the center of a vacuum--it feels as if the very air around you is imploding and your physical surroundings have ceased to be solid. I experience the sensation of falling but there's nowhere to descend. All I know is the world around me no longer exists and smoke and flames have replaced it.

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