“Maybe it is. I believe in you. That’s all you really need.”
“Well, I believe in you.” She laughed. “Well, we’re a couple of believers, but that doesn’t change the fact that Sam Fisher is still on the loose.”
He smiled, wishing he could tell her how he really felt. The exquisite agony of her lips there… right there…
As Moreau boarded the single-engine prop plane bound for Luxembourg, the pilot, a French woman about his age, looked him over and said, “Nice suit, monsieur.”
Moreau took his seat, buckled up, then checked his OPSAT. He scrolled through a police report regarding a body that had turned up in Russange. The body matched the description of the tail they had placed on Stingray. All right, Kovac’s boy was a clever bastard, but he was dealing with the king of the bastards, who was not only clever and cunning but one hell of a sharp dresser. Moreau decided that when this was all over, he and Stingray would have a very special “conversation,” and Moreau would make sure to dress appropriately for that occasion.
27
Hansen had rallied the team back at Kayl, then received word from Moreau, who was flying into Luxembourg. They linked up with the ops manager at the airport, and Moreau seemed to be favoring his right arm but ignored queries about it.
They all drove to the city of Luxembourg, and Hansen debriefed the team during the ride. They checked into the Best Western near the train station. Moreau said everyone back at the fort was working on picking up Fisher’s next location and that he had a few ideas of how they could accomplish it. But first… much-needed rest. Being strung out would result in grave errors. No one on the team argued with that.
Much to Hansen’s surprise, he slept a full eight hours and was awoken to the sound of Ames on the toilet.
“Jesus, can you close the door?”
Thirty minutes later, at about eleven, the team met in Moreau’s room. As the ops manager finished pulling up more data on his computer, Hansen drifted over to Gillespie and motioned her toward the window, away from the others. They spied a remarkable clock tower casting its long shadow over the train station below. The tower resembled Big Ben, and the clock’s white face shimmered above layers of gray stone. Beyond the station lay rows of train tracks and the requisite maintenance shacks. To the west and east lay more cobblestone roads, and Hansen felt as though he’d been transported back in time. He half expected a horse-drawn buggy to appear around the corner, hooves clacking as the driver worked his quirt to urge the steeds onward. Luxembourg was a country as old as it was beautiful. Hansen’s gaze remained on the window as he spoke. “You know what I’m going to ask you.”
“And you know what I’ll say,” she answered quickly.
“What if I don’t?”
“Then you don’t trust me.”
“I need to trust you.”
“You can.”
He took a long breath. “All right, then.” He started away from the window.
“Ben. He jumped before I could shoot.”
Hansen nodded.
She pursed her lips. “You don’t believe me.”
“I do.”
They headed back into the suite’s living room, where Moreau had turned away from his computer to face them:
“All right, boys and girls, here’s what we know—”
Moreau’s expression shifted markedly, and, for a moment, Hansen couldn’t tell if the man was in pain or if an idea had just struck him like shrapnel.
“Mr. Moreau, are you all right?” asked Noboru.
Moreau took a deep breath. “Aw, I might as well tell you. Some clown broke into my room last night. Thought he’d whack me. Fool got off a shot. I’m all right. Just sore.”
“Damn,” said Ames.
“Did you go to the hospital?” asked Valentina.
He waved her off. “I’m fine.”
“Damn,” Ames repeated.
“Yeah, that about sums it up,” said Moreau. “All right. Now, Ames, you got another reason to say damn, since you danced with the devil himself last night.”
Hansen watched as Gillespie and Valentina turned their evil eyes on the little man. They were loving the moment.
Ames fired up his best smirk. “Sir, to be honest, Fisher’s not much of a dancer.”
“Well, I’m glad you can joke about it!” Moreau cried, rolling the dial on his voice up from 2 to 10. “I’m glad you can joke about how Sam Fisher got your goddamned OPSAT and relieved you of your weapon!”
Ames shrugged, ever the haughty bastard. “These are trivial facts we’re all familiar with. I thought we were focusing on Fisher’s next move.”
“Shut up. I’ve switched all the frequencies and cut off your old OPSAT so Fisher can’t use it anymore. He knows how we play. He may or may not still have your weapon. But we suspect he’ll try to better arm himself now.”
“Why do you expect that?” asked Gillespie.
“Well, he knows about you, for one thing.”
“But there’s something else,” said Hansen.
“Don’t get ahead of me. Fisher needs to resupply—”
“The caches,” said Hansen.
Moreau pointed at him. “Exactly. We’ve got three in Luxembourg and another four in Germany, Belgium, and northern France. Closest one to our location is in Bavigne.”
While the weapons caches were small and had been in place for years (and assumedly contained outdated weaponry), they could be life savers for operatives on the run. Third Echelon had such caches stashed all over the world. Sam Fisher was either well aware of their locations, or he knew who was.
“Sir, any idea why Fisher’s here and where he’s headed?” asked Ames.
“You think asking politely will get you a straight answer?”
“I could ask you like this: All right, fool, what’s up with this BS wild-goose chase? Tell us where Fisher is!”
Moreau chuckled till he winced. “That’s more honest. Well, obviously Fisher’s been hiding out in Europe. He’s still got more contacts and resources he can tap here. It’s anyone’s guess what his master plan is, but we’ve got a lot of work to do today.”
“Why don’t you make an educated guess?” asked Hansen.
Moreau grinned crookedly. “All right, cowboy. Fisher’s here in Europe on a beer-tasting tour. How’s that?”
Hansen shook his head in disgust.
“So what are we waiting for?” asked Valentina. “Let’s get going.”
Hansen and Ames were en route to Bavigne, which is about sixty to seventy kilometers northwest of the city, deep in the countryside. The place is about as European small town as you can get, with only about 125 residents
