And there he was, standing at the ledge, facing away, about to climb into the tree.
Surprised by his sudden appearance, she could barely speak, and when she did, her voice sounded unrecognizable, even to her. “Don’t move a muscle.”
She wanted to say, “
But only that order came out, cued by instinct, reaction, her time spent in the military listening to hundreds of people issue thousands and thousands of orders. Commands. Do this. Don’t do that.
And the expectation was compliance.
But if your name was Sam Fisher and you were on the run, orders meant little, even if they were issued by a former lover, by someone who still cared very, very much…
And so Fisher did not turn back. He did not obey her.
He simply jumped.
25
Hansen was at the exact opposite end of the foundry from where Fisher was escaping, and it might as well have been on the opposite end of the universe. Hansen’s competitive nature and jealousy had boiled up to the surface;
He and Ames were in a full sprint, racing along the wall toward the next corner as the others issued their breathless reports.
“He jumped through the trees! He just jumped right through,” said Gillespie. “I think he caught himself. Wait! He’s on the ground now! I need to find a way down.”
“We’re coming to you,” said Noboru. “Almost there.”
“Don’t lose him,” said Valentina. “Do you hear me, Kim? Don’t move — just maintain surveillance.”
“But now he’s already gone,” she cried.
“Moreau, you got him?” Hansen asked.
“I had him coming out of the tree,” said the operations manager. “Zooming in again. Aw, I’ve lost him now.”
“The side street! The side street!” cried Gillespie. “I think he’s heading for the stadium.”
“Ames, go!” Hansen hollered, then waved him on.
“Boys and girls, listen to me,” began Moreau. “I think he’s definitely crossed the side street, but I’ve got multiple pedestrians down there. I’ll see what I can do, but you need to close with this target!”
As Moreau continued his satellite-fed commentary, Hansen slowed to a stop. It was time to act like a team leader and not a glory-seeking operator. It was time to hold back and let his people do their jobs while he kept them organized and on task. He lifted his wrist to view his OPSAT and thumbed to the map. On the other side of the street lay a maze of alleys and intersecting roads, and Hansen estimated that a three-minute run would get Fisher to the stadium — if they didn’t cut him off first. “Moreau, I
“I’m on it, cowboy. What the hell do you think I’m doing over here, sipping Coke and eating French fries?”
Back at his hotel room in Reims, Moreau was, in fact, patched into the Trinity System while consuming a Coke and fries. He’d already finished off two cheeseburgers that tasted no more
More important, he had a perfect fix on Mr. Sam Fisher, not that he’d disclose that to the team. Fisher needed to put a little more distance between himself and Delta Sly before Moreau would tip off those youngsters.
He munched on another fry.
“Moreau, you got anything?”
“Still working on it.”
“Are you eating?”
Moreau smacked his lips. “Wait a minute. Hang on. I think I might have him!”
Gillespie should have raced down from the roof after she’d lost Fisher, but for a long moment she was a statue against the weather, against time, against all the BS that separated her from him. Of course he hadn’t recognized her voice. Of course he’d never turn back. Of course he was gone before she could say something
There was only the hollow pang in her gut upon which to reflect, only the memories, like a pair of jeans with so many holes in them that you should throw them away, but you just can’t, you couldn’t, you wouldn’t — even if you tucked them in the drawer and never wore them again. Knowing they were still there meant something.
What was left between them? Was there anything at all? Anything?
Seeing him again brought too much back. Far too much.
Would she have taken the shot? He hadn’t allowed her the decision. He’d been too quick, and she should thank him for that. Somehow.
Hansen would grill her, want to know if she’d had the opportunity and failed. She would tell the truth and hope they believed her.
After a deep breath, she fled the roof, picking her way down the stairs, the ladders, the tunnel, until she emerged outside to find that she was the last one left at the foundry. Hansen ordered her to get in the remaining SUV. Noboru had already taken off in the other.
Valentina had crossed rue Barbourg well ahead of everyone else and had the lead. She’d be the one to nab Fisher now, and as she ran, she thought how excellent that would be and how much that would prove to not only Grim, Moreau, and the others, but to herself. She was not a Barbie with an SC-20K. She was an operator, through and through.
The cheering of fans grew louder, and she spotted the banks of lights outlining the main entrance to the stadium and began racing through the parking lot, her gaze reaching out toward anything red, any shade of red, from pink to deep crimson, but most of the Jeunesse Esch fans leaving early were wearing the home team’s black shirt with black and yellow logo.
All right, if Fisher had gone inside the stadium, he would’ve had to buy a ticket. She could not ask every attendant if he or she had seen a man in a red shirt. There were seven ticket booths and certainly other folks dressed in red. She quickly handed over her credit card to the young man behind the nearest booth, and he told her that the game was almost over. She told him she didn’t care and double-timed it inside, resisting the temptation to run so as not to draw too much attention to herself.
“All right, I’m in the stadium,” she reported.
Now, what would Fisher do?
What would she do?
She glanced up and down the large hallway below the bleachers. Souvenir shops and food vendors lined the left side. And there it was: the men’s room.
“What would I do?” she muttered aloud. “I’d change.”
She charged toward the men’s room and brushed by a pair of young men in their twenties, who did a double take as she pushed through the door and hurried inside.
The place reeked. Men were pigs with bad aim. Three such swine stood at the urinals, and one, a portly middle-aged man with white sideburns, turned his head and suddenly frowned at her as his neighbor, an equally old man, turned and said, “Hey, sweetheart, are you looking for me?”
