"I will give you a man's name and his number. But you cannot tell him where you got it, and you cannot mention my name," said n.o.boru.

"And you think this guy will know where Fisher is?"

"He might. . . ."

n.o.boru shifted in closer to Ames. "If you mention my name, it will be bad for you."

"I understand, Bruce. You're a bada.s.s. You'll kill me and all that. Now, give me the d.a.m.ned number."

29.

AMES had no intention of calling one Karlheinz "Spock" van der Putten, but he had every intention of telling Hansen, in confidence, that n.o.boru had given him Spock's name and that n.o.boru didn't want anyone else on the team to know about it. had no intention of calling one Karlheinz "Spock" van der Putten, but he had every intention of telling Hansen, in confidence, that n.o.boru had given him Spock's name and that n.o.boru didn't want anyone else on the team to know about it.

Now Ames had his cover story.

He would tell Hansen that he had called Spock, who said he had heard about an American special- forces operator heading up to Vianden on some mercenary job, probably to take out some rich businessman. It'd all click. Vianden was a small city, with about fifteen hundred inhabitants, and one of Luxembourg's main tourist centers, with a restored castle converted into a museum rising up on the rocks above the city. Several lakefront areas included the mansions of some very wealthy people who might easily wind up on a merc's target list.

Nevertheless, Ames still did not have enough information about Fisher's exact target, and he would need to contact Stingray and demand more specifics before revealing anything to Hansen.

So for most of the day Ames volunteered to partner up with n.o.boru and check out the leads that Moreau had fed them, even as Hansen, Valentina, and Gillespie did the same but were simply going through the motions as Hansen waited for a callback from his CIA buddy, who'd said he would try to help out. Ames and n.o.boru inspected the other weapons caches (untouched) and followed up on Range Rover sightings that all turned up empty. "I'm shocked," Valentina had groaned.

But not all was bad. Valentina, quite surprisingly, had managed to secure five pairs of Trident goggles and have them delivered to her at the hotel. When pressed, she finally revealed that there were two geeks at the NSA, twin brothers, who had both tried to date her. She promised them a date if they did what she asked and did not notify anyone else within the agency. It was a matter of national security, she'd told them. While she openly loathed using her body to gain friends, power, and cla.s.sified Splinter Cell equipment, there was no denying that her cleavage and smoky voice worked every time.

By sundown, Ames was still awaiting his second update from Stingray, whom he had contacted earlier in the day. Ames, of course, had asked to know exactly where in Vianden Fisher might be, and he needed that information soon--because if Fisher was going to strike, he would more than likely do it at night, and the team needed to be up there and in position. It was only about a forty-minute drive from the hotel to Vianden, but forty minutes could be an eternity if they missed Fisher. Ames had considered the fact that they might have already lost Fisher, but if Kovac was as plugged in to the situation as he had suggested through Stingray, then they still had time. Fisher was a meticulous planner and was no doubt mapping every inch of his target, which might be why Moreau and Grim were so keen on stalling the team.

Finally, at about 1:20 in the morning, while watching p.o.r.n with the sound turned off, Ames saw three flashes of light strike the nearby window. Hansen and n.o.boru were fast asleep. Ames told Hansen that he was going down to the exercise room, that he couldn't sleep and thought some cardio might help him out. Hansen groaned, muttered something, and drifted back into his faint snoring.

Ames changed, went down to the exercise room, used his key card to open the door, and found the cell phone planted under the first treadmill. There was a text message waiting on the screen: Lat 49deg56'36.27" N, long 6deg10'39.10" E.

Target: Yannick Ernsdorff.

Occupation: investment banker.

Move now!

Ames scribbled the numbers onto the back of an old business card taken from his wallet; then he erased the text message and dumped the phone in the trash on his way out.

MOREAU was awakened from a sound sleep by a beeping from his OPSAT. He checked the screen and sighed heavily through a curse. "Where the h.e.l.l are you boys and girls going?" was awakened from a sound sleep by a beeping from his OPSAT. He checked the screen and sighed heavily through a curse. "Where the h.e.l.l are you boys and girls going?"

Uttering another string of epithets, he switched on a light and activated the Trinity System. Within two minutes he had Grim standing beside him, fresh and awake.

"How'd they find out about Vianden?" she asked.

"That's a very good question. And now it seems these youngsters have gone rogue."

"They're trying to force our hand."

"That might work."

She hesitated. "Sam can handle them."

"Don't be so certain. The cowboy is smarter than he looks."

HANSEN drove one of their two black Audis, and Ames took the lead with the other. They were hauling a.s.s up to Vianden in the middle of the night, in the wind and rain, on information that may or may not be credible, but the way Hansen figured it, all they had to lose was a night's sleep--and he simply loved the idea of sticking it to Moreau. And speak of the dark-eyed devil himself: drove one of their two black Audis, and Ames took the lead with the other. They were hauling a.s.s up to Vianden in the middle of the night, in the wind and rain, on information that may or may not be credible, but the way Hansen figured it, all they had to lose was a night's sleep--and he simply loved the idea of sticking it to Moreau. And speak of the dark-eyed devil himself: "Cowboy, where the h.e.l.l are you going?" asked the irritated voice in Hansen's subdermal.

"We got the munchies."

"I'm not playing games here."

Hansen burst into laughter. "Dude, you've turned into the puppet master, but we just cut the strings. You don't like that, do you?"

"Just tell us who tipped you off. That's all I need to know . . . and trust me . . . I need to know. . . . Your life could depend on it."

"Trust you? You're kidding me, old man. You tell me what's going on, and I'll tell you."

"All right, Fisher's in Vianden, but you cannot interfere with him right now."

"Maybe I'd like to talk to him myself. Maybe he's going to tell me that you and Grim are the bad guys."

"I'm warning you, Hansen."

"Marty, what are you going to do?"

Moreau raised his voice. "Who told you about Vianden?"

"Spock did. Beam me up, Scotty. Hansen out."

MOREAU turned to Grim as they floated over Vianden, watching the team's cars below. "I'm sorry. I guess they won't play nice anymore." turned to Grim as they floated over Vianden, watching the team's cars below. "I'm sorry. I guess they won't play nice anymore."

"He wasn't joking," Grim said.

"Excuse me?"

"I said Hansen wasn't joking. I've heard the name Spock before. It's the nickname of a mercenary with ties all over the world. He was linked to Gothos, meaning n.o.boru would know of him. Nathan must've given up the name, and Spock might've tipped them off."

"How come I've never heard of this guy?"

"I don't know. It seems like a rather gaping hole in your intelligence education."

Moreau flinched and sighed.

"If Spock knows where Fisher is, then one of our cutouts might've leaked it or be on Spock's payroll."

"You're probably right."

[image]

THE team got into the city, then ventured northwest toward the outskirts and a bean-shaped lake. Up ahead lay an intersection, with the sh.o.r.eline road curving toward the northwest, a second road heading west, and a third swinging down east, back toward the city. The rain had tapered off, but Hansen felt the wind continue to buffet the car. team got into the city, then ventured northwest toward the outskirts and a bean-shaped lake. Up ahead lay an intersection, with the sh.o.r.eline road curving toward the northwest, a second road heading west, and a third swinging down east, back toward the city. The rain had tapered off, but Hansen felt the wind continue to buffet the car.

Ames began to pull farther ahead of him, and Gillespie, who was riding shotgun, urged Hansen to accelerate. Ames's car vanished over the next hill.

"Wow, he's really flying. He'd better slow down."

"He knows more than he's saying."

"At this point, I don't care. I'm just glad he came up with something. I'm just glad we're not being played for fools anymore."

"How do you know that?" she asked. "How do you know this hasn't been all planned by them?"

"Kim, please. Just don't go there!"

AMES saw the man coming out of the gra.s.s, the suit, the goggles. . . . saw the man coming out of the gra.s.s, the suit, the goggles. . . .

But just for an instant. Ames was driving too fast.

"I don't believe it!" he cried. "That's him!"

He jammed on the brakes and threw the Audi into reverse. "I got him! I got him!"

[image]

"HE'S on foot, running southeast." Ames's voice shot through Hansen's subdermal. "We need to get back!" on foot, running southeast." Ames's voice shot through Hansen's subdermal. "We need to get back!"

They'd donned their suits, and goggles, and were armed for hunting bear, a.k.a. Fisher, so Hansen immediately flipped down his visor and went to night vision as he swung the car around and found himself now in the lead, heading back down the road they'd just come up. The grainy green fields on either side of the car appeared much more distinct now, unrolling in long, lazy waves.

"SLOW down," hollered Valentina. She was sitting in the driver's-side rear seat of Ames's car and rolled down her window. She directed a flashlight into the ditch and let it pan up toward the tree line. "Wait . . . there!" down," hollered Valentina. She was sitting in the driver's-side rear seat of Ames's car and rolled down her window. She directed a flashlight into the ditch and let it pan up toward the tree line. "Wait . . . there!"

Fisher, wearing a tac-suit and Tridents, appeared in the light, but in the blink of an eye he was lost in the trees beyond. Valentina's map told her the trees were simply a narrow stretch bordering two fields.

"Just keep going," she told Ames. "The road will curve around and we can flush him the next field over, behind the trees."

"I hear that, baby. I'm on it!" cried Ames.

"Baby? Shut up and drive!"

[image]

ON Valentina's advice, Hansen had veered off and was now heading east toward a wooden bridge. His first instinct was to have Valentina and the others chase Fisher on foot, but there was a good chance Fisher would double back--he was an expert at that--so Hansen sent them to flush Fisher while he served as a blocking force. It was a cla.s.sic pincer movement, and Fisher would no doubt recognize it, but it was better than a foot chase. Valentina's advice, Hansen had veered off and was now heading east toward a wooden bridge. His first instinct was to have Valentina and the others chase Fisher on foot, but there was a good chance Fisher would double back--he was an expert at that--so Hansen sent them to flush Fisher while he served as a blocking force. It was a cla.s.sic pincer movement, and Fisher would no doubt recognize it, but it was better than a foot chase.

Hansen swung his head around and stole a look at the field, where he spotted Fisher running, but he wouldn't stop and would maintain observation for the flushing team. Trees abruptly cut off his view.

"I've lost him," said Ames.

"Me, too," answered Hansen, pulling up the map on his OPSAT. "All right, we'll search the ditches. You guys check out that wedge of trees. You see it on the map?"

"I see it," said Valentina.

They spent the next thirty minutes combing through the woods and the field and ditches, and the only conclusion they reached was that Fisher had reached the larger forest to the east, where there'd be thousands of acres to search.

Gillespie met up with Hansen back at their car. "Check the map. Anything in those woods?"

"Just a campground. And this little town, Scheuerof, over here," he said, tapping his OPSAT's screen.

"What if he left his car at the campground?" she asked. "To get out, he'd follow this road here through Scheuerof."

"But what if he heads south?"

"I think he'll keep heading east toward the German border. More rural, more cover. But you never know."

Hansen nodded. "Let's take a shot. I say we get up there and see if we can cut him off."

Hansen told Ames the plan, and they met on the road heading east toward Scheuerof. As they pa.s.sed through the little down, they spotted a police car, lights flashing, heading in the opposite direction, and then, a few minutes later, another one.

Gillespie patched herself directly into the local police channel and reported, "There was some kind of incident up at the campground."

Hansen grinned to himself. "Fisher. We're close now."

"Why don't we just call Moreau? If Fisher's in his car, Moreau can see him right now."

"And he can lie to us about that," Hansen shot back. "No way. We're doing this on our own."