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—
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 the 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.”
Hendricks frowns and continues, “Come on, Fisher. You know as well as I do that the United States is heading in unfathomable directions. America’s foreign policy has gone berserk. I simply shifted my allegiance. I don’t live in the United States, Fisher. I’ve lived in the Far East for half my life. It’s time I stop kidding myself and do what’s in my heart.”
“And that’s to join a black market arms-dealing operation that supplies terrorists?”
“Fisher, I’ve been a Shop supporter for years. Long before you’d even heard of them. In fact, Andrei here refers to me as ‘the Benefactor.’ It’s because over the years I’ve provided the Shop with a great deal of intelligence with regard to recruiting customers.”
“You mean you’ve given away government secrets. You’ve compromised our own intelligence agencies.”
“Perhaps,” Hendricks says.
“So, Mason, now I know how the Lucky Dragons and the Shop have always managed to stay a step ahead of me, no matter where I went,” I say. “You had access to Third Echelon’s movements. Lambert told me as much. He trusted you. So you knew where I was at all times. Even in Los Angeles. Your hit man Putnik knew exactly where I’d be.”
“That’s right, Fisher. Of course, we don’t talk to the Lucky Dragons anymore. We’ve had something of a falling out.”
“So I hear.”
“Now Andrei and I are going into business together. I’m leaving Hong Kong. Since he’s lost two of his partners—
“Go to hell, Mason.”
