“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.”
“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, population about four thousand, was known for its underground iron mines; otherwise, it was but a blip on Valentina’s map, and she and Noboru 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.
“Hello, 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 Japan.”
“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 Japan, but there are still a lot of old-school attitudes 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.”
“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.”
“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 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.”