Conviction

31

Fisher’s overt reentry into the Third Echelon/ Splinter Cell community took place not at the National Security Agency in Fort Meade, Maryland, amid back slapping and handshakes, but in a warehouse in Odessa amid the suspicious stares from a group of twentysomethings who, up until thirty minutes before, had been bent on taking Fisher dead or alive. And judging from the glares aimed in his direction, it appeared most of Hansen’s people had been leaning toward the former choice. Predictably, once Fisher finished talking, Ames was the first to express his misgivings:

“I don’t buy it. Not a bit of it. This is just another circle jerk.”

“To what end?” Fisher asked.

“What? What’s that mean?”

“For what purpose?”

“Who the hell knows? You people are nuts.” Ames turned to Noboru, Valentina, and Gillespie. “Don’t tell me any of you are buying this.”

No one spoke immediately. Then Kimberly said, “I do.” Then, to Fisher: “That night at the foundry… I almost shot you. You know that, don’t you?”

Fisher nodded.

“You and Grim could have told us,” Noboru said.

“We would have held up our end and made it look good. Screw Kovac.”

“We couldn’t risk it,” Fisher said. “If he got even a hint that you guys were holding back, he would’ve canned all of you — including Grim. It had to be done this way.”

Valentina said, “Why tell us now, Mr. Fisher—”

“Sam.”

“Sam,” she repeated. “Why tell us now? Seems to me you didn’t have much trouble keeping us at bay. Why not keep up the ruse?”

“Two reasons. One, to stop this auction I’m going to need your help. There are too many variables, too many unknowns. We won’t know until we get there, but my gut tells me this isn’t going to be a one-person job. And two, when I went off the bridge at Hammerstein I bought myself some time, but I knew they’d find the car but no body. Kovac would get suspicious and accuse Grimsdóttir of… anything. Any excuse to get her out. If I resurface, you guys get deployed and Kovac has to back off for a while.”

“How did you survive the bridge?” Gillespie asked.

“Dumb luck and an OmegaO unit. I kept the windows shut and the car floated downriver. On the bottom, I waited to the last minute, then put on the OmegaO and got out.”

Ames said, “Well, I’ll give you this much: You’ve got brass ones, Fisher.”

“Since we’re reminiscing,” Noboru said. “That was you at the Siegfried bunkers, right? You took out those two guys?”

“Yes.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know… One less person chasing you.”

Fisher shook his head. “High price for that.”

Noboru considered this, then said, “Well, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Now that we’re in on the con,” Valentina said, “we’re going to have to be real careful about what gets back to Kovac. If he’s involved with this auction stuff, he can’t get even a hint of what we’re doing. If he’s not involved but wants Grim out, we can’t give him any reason.”

“Agreed,” Fisher said. He looked around. “Are we good?”

There were nods all around, except for Ames. Hansen saw this and said, “In or out, Ames? Either you’re with us, or I’ll kick your ass back to Fort Meade.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Hansen didn’t answer but offered a half grin.

“Yeah, okay. I’m on board. We don’t have to hug or anything, right? I ain’t doing that.”

“Idiot,” Gillespie muttered.

Fisher said, “Any questions?”

“I have one,” Valentina said. “You said the guy you’re tracking looks to be heading into Russia, right?”

“Right.”

“If the auction’s taking place on Russian soil, we have to consider that the government might be involved. If that’s the case, we could find ourselves up against the Russian army.”

“Anything’s possible,” Fisher agreed. “Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“Or die on that bridge when we get to it,” Ames shot back.

They waited until Ivanov regained consciousness; then Hansen and the others left, while Fisher made sure his old friend/not friend had suffered no ill effects. He gave Ivanov fifteen hundred rubles — about five hundred U.S. dollars — for his trouble, called them even for the trouble Ivanov had caused him in Minsk, and left with the Russian’s assurance that he was only too happy to forget the last two hours of his life.

Outside they split into two groups of three and checked into hotels near the passenger port terminal. Fisher, Gillespie, and Ames took the Mozart Hotel; Hansen, Noboru, and Valentina, the Londonskaya Hotel a couple blocks away.

Once in his room, Fisher texted Grimsdóttir:

Mission accomplished. Call for details.

His phone trilled ten minutes later. Fisher answered and said, “Another pay phone?”

“Outside a 7-Eleven,” Grim muttered.

“Oh, the degradation,” Fisher replied.

“Smart ass. How’d it go?”

“Complicated. Hansen took a little hands-on convincing, but he came around.”

“Was that before or after he called me?”

“Before. The rest of the team’s on board, too, including Ames. He grumbled, but I imagine he’s thrilled at the idea of being able to give Kovac a blow-by-blow.”

“If he tries Kovac, he’ll get voice mail, and vice versa. He’ll turn to texting soon enough; then he’s ours. What we still don’t know is how deeply Ames is involved. If Kovac’s linked to the auction, that doesn’t necessarily mean Ames is.”

“We’ll know. When the time is right, I’m going to have a heart-to-heart with him.”

“Why doesn’t that sound as friendly as it should?” In the background Fisher heard a double bing. Grimsdóttir said, “My other phone. Wait.” The line clicked into silence. She returned half a minute later. “Qaderi just left Moscow, heading east to Irkutsk.”

“How do you know that?”

“The bots are into five devices in Qaderi’s group: a laptop, three cell phones, and one satellite phone. They’re all pinging, so the GPS coordinates are triangulated down to an eight-foot circle. They had him placed at the gate assigned to an Irkutsk flight.”

“Score one for Terzo Lucchesi. Flight time?”

“Six hours, fifty minutes.”

Fisher checked his watch and did the time-zone conversion. Irkutsk was six hours ahead of Odessa. With flight time that would put Qaderi there in thirteen hours, or at one in the afternoon Irkutsk time.

“How fast can you get us there?” Fisher asked.

“I’m on my way back to the office right now. I’ll text you.”

Grimsdóttir disconnected and Fisher called Hansen with an update. “Thanks,” said Hansen.

“How’s the mood over there?”

“Still a little stunned, I’m guessing, but I gotta be honest: None of us is gonna miss chasing you around. You taught us some tough lessons.”

“We had a saying on the Teams: The more you sweat in training, the less you bleed in combat.”

“I’m a believer. Listen, Sam, I’m at the ice machine. I think I may have solved one of our problems.”

“How’s that?”

“I’m bunking with Ames. He left his phone sitting on the bathroom sink. I knocked it into the toilet. He didn’t notice it for ten minutes. It’s dead.”

Fisher chuckled. “How’d he take that?”

“As you’d expect. I feel better knowing his only option is the OPSAT now.”

“Agreed. I’ll call you when I hear back from Grim.”

She called fifteen minutes later. “Best I can do is a Czech Airlines flight leaving at 4:00 A.M. your time, with connections in Prague and Moscow. You’ll touch down in Irkutsk eight hours behind Qaderi.”

“Unless the auction’s in Irkutsk, he’ll be traveling from there. I’m guessing car or train.”

“Gut feeling?”

“Partially. Irkutsk is a big city, but it’s still Siberia. It’s about as remote as you get, and if I were holding this kind of auction…”

“Where better,” Grim finished.

“As long as our bots keep phoning home, we’ll be able to find him. Book the flights. I’ll gather the troops.”