"Maybe you're right. But first I want to see you cry. I want to see you beg for mercy."

Fisher cursed; he would die before doing that.

Ames's Zippo clicked open and came to life--the thin, perfect flame glowing as he touched it to the table. The whoosh of flames nearly sent him toppling backward.

Fisher screamed and writhed in agony, tearing at his bonds as the flames swallowed him whole.

Shaking off the thought, Ames let go of the Zippo and reached for the satellite phone Stingray had given him. He dialed the number, heard the man's key code, then returned his own code, the tones communicating that they were both free to talk.

"We've split up," Ames said abruptly.

"I know where you are now."

"Moreau's off-line."

"How long ago did you hear from him?"

"A minute."

Stingray swore and said, "All right. I'll let them know."

"You do that."

After he hung up, it occurred to Ames to check the train schedule. He consulted his watch, then said, in French, to the wizened man behind the gla.s.s part.i.tion, "Did a train just leave?"

The old man frowned. "If you want to speak French, okay. . . ."

Ames had forgotten that he was not in France anymore, and in Luxembourg they spoke Luxembourgish, a high dialect of German, as well as some French and German.

"The train?"

"You missed it. Five minutes ago."

"And that was the last train for the night?"

The old man nodded.

"You see a guy come here and buy a ticket?"

The man made a face. "I see a lot of them."

"Guy in a red shirt? No, wait, uh . . . " Ames reached into his pocket and pulled out a picture of Fisher. "This guy."

The man frowned at the photograph. "I don't really look at people when I sell tickets."

"Why?"

"Because I don't."

"Even the hot women?"

"No."

"So you didn't see this guy?"

"Maybe. I'm not sure."

"Maybe is not an answer." Ames hardened his tone. "Did you see him or not?"

"Are you the police? Where's your ID?"

Ames sighed and turned away. There was a strong chance that Fisher could have run from the stadium or gotten a ride and caught that train. He walked back to the SUV, opened the door, and said, "I'm bored. Let's have s.e.x."

Gillespie spoke through her teeth. "I would rather eat your entrails."

"Oh, Pippi, my dear, Pippi. I guess you would. You want the good news or the bad?"

She rolled her eyes. "What now?"

"Last train already left. We might've missed him."

"I'll call Hansen."

"Don't. Not yet."

"Why?"

He wriggled his brows. "Because I want to talk to you."

She smirked and activated her OPSAT. "Ben, it's Kim. We're at the station here. Last train left already."

"Roger that. Hold position. If he missed it, Fisher might think there's another train."

"All right." She glanced up at Ames. "Get back to the station."

"No." He grinned.

"If you're insubordinate, we can get you removed. Don't put that past me."

He nodded slowly, then narrowed his gaze on her, making sure she could feel its heat. "You let him go, didn't you?"

Her brows tightened. "What're you talking about?"

"You had Fisher, up on that roof. You had him in your sights, but you let him go."

"I don't owe you anything."

"I got your back, but I'm not sure if you got mine--and you owe me that . . . Pippi Pippi."

"Get back to the station."

"Okay. But if I see Fisher, I won't let him go. I'll shoot him. You hear me?"

She shook her head. "Just get out."

"I don't want to be mean to you. And I want you to think about what I've said."

"I'm about to draw my pistol."

"Me, too." He winked.

Ames exited the SUV and smiled to himself as he started back for the station. Gillespie had some nice color in her cheeks now.

RUMELANGE, LUXEMBOURG.

RUMELANGE, population about four thousand, was known for its underground iron mines; otherwise, it was but a blip on Valentina's map, and she and n.o.boru had established an effective observation post off the main highway near a small petrol station. They began to survey the main road with their night-vision binoculars. population about four thousand, was known for its underground iron mines; otherwise, it was but a blip on Valentina's map, and she and n.o.boru had established an effective observation post off the main highway near a small petrol station. They began to survey the main road with their night-vision binoculars.

"You see anything?" she asked.

"No."

And then, two minutes later: "You see anything?" he asked.

"No."

And then another two minutes later: "You see any--"

He cut her off with a loud sigh. "I don't see anything but a beautiful woman next to me."

Had he said that aloud?

He wasn't sure.

"Nathan, can I ask you something?"

Whew. Her tone said that he hadn't. He'd only said, "I don't see anything," but he'd heard the rest in his head as clearly as if he had. Her tone said that he hadn't. He'd only said, "I don't see anything," but he'd heard the rest in his head as clearly as if he had.

"h.e.l.lo, Nathan. Are you with me?"

"Yeah, sorry. Just thinking."

"You were born and raised in the United States, right?"

"Yeah. I lived in San Francisco until I was about sixteen; then my parents moved back to j.a.pan."

"Who taught you how to treat women?"

"That's a weird question. My mom, probably . . . She never let my dad get away with anything. Women have come a long way in j.a.pan, but there are still a lot of old-school att.i.tudes there. My father was pretty open-minded."

She began to say something, stopped, then finally: "I know it's not right for me to be attracted to you."

He glanced over at her, his heart beginning to race. "I'm . . . sorry."

"For what?"

"I don't know. We're going to do a good job here. I've wanted to be a Splinter Cell more than anything."

"Me, too."

"So we have to think about that."

She grinned weakly. "I know. It's not like I'm Kim and sleeping with Fisher."

"Maya, I think you like me because I treat you like an equal, not because you like me me."

"That's not true."

"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 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."

"Merci."

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 b.a.s.t.a.r.d, but he was dealing with the king of the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, who was not only clever and cunning but one h.e.l.l 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.

BEST WESTERN HOTEL INTERNATIONAL LUXEMBOURG.

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. 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.