took hold.
No, this was a lot less glamorous, clutching a fat Russian woman and lowering her to the ground as he considered how long it would take before someone else came into the back room, looking for her — and how long after that Murdoch and the rest would become aware that something was wrong.
He was not ten seconds into the mission and it had already gone to hell…
But it wasn’t over yet. Hansen stood, withdrew the laser microphone from his breast pocket, and, keeping tight behind the doors, stole a quick glance over the tops of them. The decor seemed borrowed from an old Bavarian inn, with paneling and beams spanning the rafters. Candles at the half dozen tables, and more positioned along the broad wooden counter, created a warm and hypnotic atmosphere, perfect for drinking on a cold night. An old chandelier hung from the ceiling, but three of its four bulbs had burned out.
Off to Hansen’s left was the bartender: a slightly hunched-back man with a wiry white beard, serving a drink to one of the two men who had just entered. They were the only ones at the bar. Behind them, seated at a table near the wall, were Murdoch, Zhao, and Bratus, all nursing drinks.
Hansen tucked himself back a little farther behind the doors and aimed the laser microphone (officially the LM7: laser microphone, seventh generation) at one of the glasses near Bratus. Any object that could resonate or vibrate, like a glass or a picture on the wall, would do so because of pressure waves created by noises. The invisible NIR, or near-infrared, laser was able to detect the tiny difference in the distance traveled by the light to pick up resonance and reproduce the sound causing it. Sure, any Joe could go to YouTube and learn to build a rudimentary laser microphone, but to build one the size of a ballpoint pen with NIR technology and a range in excess of a thousand meters was better left to Third Echelon and its subcontractors. The LM7 operated according to Snell’s law, which required sharp alignment and correct aiming of both the transmitted and received laser beams, so Hansen needed to aim the beam and remain perfectly still while the conversation was picked up and automatically transferred to his OPSAT, where it would be heard through his subdermal, recorded, and later sent to Grim.
All of which was to verify that he did, indeed, have his ear on the conversation, as all three men spoke in Russian:
“I don’t understand what the problem is,” said Murdoch.
“The problem is money,” answered Zhao. “Kovac promised me twice what he’s now offering.”
“But you can’t stop now,” Bratus said. “Because if you do, I don’t know what to tell my people. We will all die.”
“Look, I’ll go back to Kovac. I’ll tell him what you said. I’ll tell him that if he wants the rest of the names on that list, he’s got to pay the full amount.”
“Just like I did,” said Bratus. “See the difference between the Russians and the Americans, my friend? The Russians know how to keep a promise.”
“That’s not fair,” snapped Murdoch. “The initial data was corrupt. We don’t pay for something we don’t get.”
Hansen was trembling. He was getting it all. They had implicated Kovac. They’d even mentioned him by name! This was the real deal, his first mission, and he was kicking ass and taking names… or, rather, getting names,
He shuddered, forced calm back into his thoughts as Zhao went on: “I have a little surprise for you, but we’ll have to go to the airport.” Zhao checked his watch. “He should be arriving soon.”
All three men stood. Hansen rolled back behind the doors, glanced down at the old lady, then heard the bartender cry, “Nadia! What’s taking you so long?”
Hansen held his breath. If he could just stall the old man until Murdoch and his buddies left…
Footfalls drew closer.
Bratus called out, “Thank you, and have a good night!” The bartender responded in kind.
The front door opened.
And the back doors swung inward. The old bartender entered the storage room, glancing around.
Hansen took him from behind, drawing one of the old man’s arms behind his back and wrapping a gloved hand over the man’s mouth. Hansen muttered, “Don’t struggle, and you’ll be okay. Nadia is sleeping. Just wait for another minute. Don’t move.”
Outside, the car engines fired up. Hansen listened a moment longer, then suddenly released the man and charged out the back door and into the alley.
“Sergei? They’re going to the airport. Come on! I’ll meet you behind the petrol station.”
Hansen raced as fast as he could along the walls, waiting for his runner to reply. “Sergei?”
8
While Hansen was off on his glory mission, Sergei had driven around the front of the petrol station, as Allen Ames had instructed him to do. Sergei waited there for Ames and his taxicab tail to show up. When he arrived, the short man remained in his car and motioned for the cabdriver to turn around and head back to Vladivostok; then Ames parked under the awning, hidden from the satellite’s prying eyes. He left his car, carrying a video camera and suitcase. He climbed into Sergei’s Toyota and took a deep breath. “Hello, Luchenko.”
“It’s too late. He’s already implicated Kovac. Grim knows. I did what I could to delay him.”
Ames raised a finger and speed-dialed a number on his satellite phone. He waited. “It’s me. Yes, sir. I’m afraid that’s already happened. Yes, sir. I know what to do now, sir. I was already prepared.” He hung up.
“What now?” asked Sergei.
“You didn’t delay Hansen. You second-guessed yourself. I told you what we had planned for you in the NSA, and you threw it all away on drinking and whores and feeling guilty about your buddy, who is
“Doesn’t matter now. Nothing matters.”
“Oh, you’re wrong. I have new orders. Hansen’s not just expendable. The boss wants him dead. I’ve brought money and a camera. You bring me the proof, and you get paid $250K.” Ames opened the suitcase and showed Sergei the stacks of bills.
Sergei stiffened. “You guys were planning this all along. I wasn’t just a mole. I’m an assassin.”
Ames slapped shut the suitcase. “You wanted to be a field operative. Welcome to the big leagues. And you don’t have a choice.”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” With that, Sergei had a pistol with a long suppressor jammed against Ames’s head.
The little weasel didn’t flinch. “What’s the point? If you kill me, you’re only delaying the inevitable. They’ll find you.”
Sergei began to lose his breath. “Why do we have to kill Hansen? He’s just a rookie operative. A nobody.”
“Kovac wants him dead. That’s enough for me.”
“Why?”
“Maybe to punish Grim. Maybe he thinks Hansen is Grim’s pet. He’s got it in for her. I don’t know. I once heard him say that Grim was grooming Hansen to become the next Sam Fisher. Maybe that’s why.”
“If your boss wants him dead, you do it.”
“I can’t get close. If he saw me and I failed, it would ruin everything. They’ve got a lot invested in me.”
“So I do your dirty work? What makes you think I won’t talk?”
Ames chuckled under his breath. “Come on, Sergei. You’re dealing with the most powerful intelligence
