Operation Barracuda

“I think you made it in record time, Colonel. Did they beam you here?”

Lambert looked at Mike and said, “So has this lowlife said anything yet?”

“Not a thing. Keeps asking for a lawyer.”

Lambert grunted. He stared at his former employee and then leaned forward. “Mike, listen to me. It’s in your best interest to make a statement. Sign a confession. You know what you’ve done and we’ve got the proof you did it. Now we could go through a lengthy trial and cost the taxpayers a lot of money and draw this out to painful proportions… or you can simply confess and we’ll try to go easy on you.”

“Easy? How easy can a death sentence be?” Mike asked.

“Well, for one thing, maybe you’ll get life. I’ll recommend it. No guarantees, though.”

Mike didn’t say a word. He looked at Lambert for a full minute as if they were in a stare-down contest. Finally, the prisoner leaned forward and said as slowly as he could, “I. Want. A. Lawyer.”

Lambert and Kehoe looked at each other and sighed.

“Hey, Mike, you remember Sam Fisher?” Lambert asked.

“I met him once.”

“But you know who he is. You know what he’s capable of.”

Mike shrugged.

“Well, guess what. He’s on his way here. He finished his assignment in Hong Kong and I told him to head on back to the States. When he heard you were in custody, he couldn’t wait to have a word with you. He was very fond of Carly, you see. I have a good mind to let Sam in here and, well, Agent Kehoe and I will leave you two alone for a while. I can’t vouch for how Sam will react when he lays eyes on you. And seeing as how you’re in Maximum Security Unit Six, which no one the fuck knows exists, you might as well wish you’d died in a hail of bullets.”

Mike knew exactly what the colonel was talking about. Everyone at Third Echelon held the Splinter Cells in awe — especially Sam Fisher. It was almost as if the guy wasn’t human. He was a very dangerous machine.

Lambert stood and said, “You think about that for a while, Mike. It’ll take another half day or so before he gets here. Plenty of time to write and sign a confession. Come on, Agent Kehoe. Let’s leave this scum alone with his demons.”

The two men left the room and locked the door. Mike Wu nervously cracked his knuckles but stared defiantly at the mirror. He knew they were behind it, watching him. After a moment, he picked up the half-empty coffee cup and threw it against the dark glass. The brown liquid ran down the wall and made an ugly puddle in the otherwise stark and sterile room.

“I want a lawyer!” he shouted again.

* * *

Andrei Zdrok was the only man in the Shop administration who knew the Benefactor’s identity. The man who acted as an agent for the Shop in the Far East had been a longtime associate of the group and had stepped up to the plate to help when the organization lost its foothold in Eastern Europe. To the others on the board, the man was known simply as “the Benefactor” because that was the way he wanted it. Zdrok was happy to comply with the man’s every wish. After all, Zdrok had to grudgingly admit that the Shop would be defunct had it not been for the Lucky Dragons on one hand and the Benefactor on the other. Now it appeared that the relationship between the Shop and the Triad was going sour. Zdrok knew the partnership with Ming would completely dissolve once General Tun had the guidance system in his possession.

The disaster at the antique shop would further deteriorate the Shop’s standing in the area. Antipov was dead. Their offices were destroyed and were now being picked apart by the Hong Kong police. No doubt several international intelligence agencies would be hovering like vultures over the remains. It now looked as if Zdrok might have to pick up roots and leave again.

He picked up the phone on his desk and dialed one of the few numbers he knew by heart. The Benefactor picked it up and said in English, “Yes, Andrei?”

Zdrok attempted English as well since the Benefactor’s Russian wasn’t great. “Good day, sir. How are things in your new—”

“They’re fine, Andrei. What can I do for you?”

“One of our men in California was arrested. He was to be the one bringing the guidance system to the Lucky Dragons. And as you know—”

“Jon Ming canceled the sale. But I understand the men in California have offered to sell it to you directly. How much do they want?”

“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 only one 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

The ride 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 Anna Grimsdottir think they’ve solved the problem of how to protect my implants from the electronic transmitter the Triad used on me. I’ll need to submit to a minor operation for an hour while the adjustments are made. This will involve cutting into my skin to get to the little buggers. At the moment it’s not a prospect I look forward to but I guess it has to be done.

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.