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
THEYtake 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-- Put down your hand. I nod, smile, and do as they ask. Back in Washington, Lambert will know I've been taken prisoner. When the implants were first integrated into a Splinter Cell's standard equipment, a series of code words were created that could mean a variety of things. Hypothetical scenarios were constructed to which we matched these codes. As long as we're able to press the throat implant and speak, we can communicate with Third Echelon. The best way to do that in the company of the enemy is with something natural, such as a sneeze or cough--thus, my message to him told Lambert everything he needs to know.
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-- thanks to you--I'll be joining him in the Shop. With my connections worldwide, it will be a wise investment. If I could trust you, I'd offer you a job within the organization. We could use a man like you."
"Go to hell, Mason."
"I figured that's how you'd answer so I didn't bother to ask."
"So what happened at your place in Hong Kong? Who did you burn up in your place?"
Hendricks shakes his head and says, "Tsk, tsk, tsk. It's shame that Yoshiko had to die. I was rather fond of her but she was conveniently in the right place at the right time. She worked at the Purple Queen, you know. As for the male corpse, he was someone the Shop provided to me. Some Caucasian they'd kidnapped from the street, cleaned up, and dressed in my pajamas. I had to make the Lucky Dragons, as well as Third Echelon, think I was dead, you see. You understand."
"Oh, of course. Very well done."
"Thank you. Now the problem is that I'll have to change my name and appearance and settle my old estate through a third party, which is such a bore. Oh, well, it had to be."
"And now you're free to help a mad Chinese general attack a defenseless country and extort the United States into not interfering. You're an enterprising guy, Mason."
"Oh, you've figured out our scheme, have you? Do you know what we're extorting the United States with, as you so delicately put it?"
"You've got a Russian warhead and you're putting it in one of the MRUUVs that the submarine headed for America is carrying."
"I'm impressed, Fisher. Two hours ago you didn't know that."
"And I've already transmitted the plan to Third Echelon. You'll never get away with it."
Hendricks's eyes flared. "You're lying, Fisher. You haven't told Third Echelon squat. The last communication you had with them was around the time you were caught and you didn't say anything about it. I think you just figured it out and haven't had the time to make a report. I monitor all of Third Echelon's communications, Fisher. How else would I have been on top of you every step of the way?"