Fisher said he’d show Hansen an inventory list later, but, more important, they couldn’t let the 738 Arsenal get away from them. “Ben, you might have seen a piece from the arsenal.”
“Come again?”
“The doppelgänger factory that Zahm hit was in eastern China, near the Russian border. The Jilin-Heilongjiang region, about a hundred miles northwest of Vladivostok, and about sixty miles from a Russian town called Korfovka.”
Hansen frowned at the mention of that town, and suddenly his thoughts swept back to that mission, that very first mission as a Splinter Cell, and Rugar drawing back his fist…
“I was there,” Hansen finally said. “A while ago.”
Fisher said Korfovka was the town where Zahm delivered the arsenal about five months before. Hansen explained that he was there much earlier than that.
“I got out because somebody helped me. Stepped in at just the right moment.”
Fisher did not flinch. “Lucky break.”
“Yeah… lucky.” Hansen narrowed his gaze even more. Was Fisher just being coy? If he hadn’t saved Hansen, how would he know about Hansen catching a glimpse of a piece of the arsenal? Had Grim told him? “This is a tall tale, Sam. Doppelgänger factories, Chinese replica weapons, this auction, Kovac…”
“Truth is stranger than fiction.”
Hansen took a long breath and decided to confirm with Fisher what he already knew: “This cat-and-mouse game we’ve been playing has been for Kovac’s benefit.”
Fisher noted that this was a statement, not a question. Hansen agreed that he and the others had already realized their strings were being pulled.
But now Hansen had confirmation of why Grim had been forced to put a team in the field to hunt down Fisher. If she refused, she’d be out, and all the work they’d done since Lambert’s death would be lost. Fisher’s mission was, indeed, more important than Hansen could have imagined, and while he still loathed being used, he understood, and that provided a small measure of reassurance.
Fisher explained that he’d hacked into Ernsdorff ’s server and learned more information about the planned auction, which was now only days away and at the point of no return. Hansen and the team would no longer be straight men in Fisher’s comedy road show, which was, of course, fantastic news.
“Exactly. Yesterday I tagged one of the auction attendees. A Chechen named Aariz Qaderi.”
“CMR, right?” Hansen asked, the name familiar to him. “Chechen Martyrs Regiment?”
“That’s the guy. I tagged him. He’s headed east into Russia — on his way to the auction, we hope.”
“Hold on. All the attendees will be scrubbed before they reach the auction site. Any kind of beacon or tracker will be found.”
“Not the kind we used.”
Fisher said they didn’t have time to go into an in-depth discussion of the nanobot trackers he’d used but that they needed to start moving east until the trackers phoned home.
“What about Ames?” Hansen asked.
“We’ll deal with him later. For now, he’s part of the team. We include him in everything.”
“What about his cell phone? And his OPSAT? He’ll try to contact Kovac.”
“Let him. Grimsdóttir’s made modifications to his phone and OPSAT. Every communication he makes beyond our tactical channels will go straight to her. She’ll be playing Kovac and anyone else Ames has been talking to. He’ll get voice mail, but Grim will respond to texts. Your phones aren’t Internet capable, right?”
Hansen was already grinning. “Right. I like it. I like the plan.”
“I thought you might. One thing, though: One of us has to stick to Ames like glue. If he slips away and gets a message out another way, we’re done.”
“Understood.”
“How do you want to handle your people? I’d prefer to not get shot in the confusion.”
Hansen beamed. “I’ll see what I can do.” Hansen then suggested that Fisher grab a seat along the back wall in the dark office. He wanted a moment to speak to the team before dropping the bomb on them, and he worried about Ames’s reaction if Fisher were to suddenly appear.
Fisher did so, after putting another dart in Ivanov to be sure they would have their “privacy,” as he’d put it.
Hansen called in the rest of the team members and, out in the main storage area, told them about Fisher’s mission to locate the auction site and prevent the Laboratory 738 Arsenal from winding up in the hands of terrorists. When Hansen got to the part where Kovac might be involved, he turned his gaze to Ames, who was already shaking his head.
“If you’re going to stand there and try to convince us that the deputy director of the goddamned NSA is involved in some ridiculous scam to sell Chinese weapons knockoffs to terrorists, then I’m going to turn around and walk out of here because it’s pretty goddamned clear that you, boss man, have gone insane.”
“This whole thing is linked to my first mission in Russia. Lambert, Grim, and Fisher were working on this well before we ever became Splinter Cells. Lambert sacrificed himself for this — and it’s not some ridiculous scam. That’s why Fisher’s taking this to the limit. No one can stop him. And I don’t blame him. The blood’s been drawn. He will end this.”
“How do you know, Ben?” asked Gillespie.
“Because I do.”
“What about Kovac? If we were putting on a show for him—” began Valentina.
“He won’t have time to do anything. The clock’s already ticking. The auction will happen.”
“So where’s Ivanov?” asked Noboru.
Hansen ignored the question and quickly said, “One last thing. We’re taking on a new member. He’s going to be our team leader from this point on.”
“Who the hell—” Valentina began.
“Why would Grimsdóttir make a change at this point?” asked Gillespie, who abruptly turned toward the office doorway, where stood Fisher.
As she reached for her gun, Hansen called, “Stand down, Kim. Everybody, hands at your sides.”
“You gotta be kidding me. Look who it is,” said Ames, wearing his blackest grin.
“Ben, what’s going on?”
Hansen steeled his voice. “I think I’ll let Mr. Fisher explain that… ”
37
“I don’t buy it. Not a word of it,” said Ames, wondering how the hell he was going to navigate around this unforeseen complication. Fisher linking up with the team was not part of the plan and would make terminating him all the more difficult. “This is just another circle jerk,” he told the others.
Fisher tried to argue. Ames cut him off, told the others they were fools and that Fisher was probably setting them up to take his fall.
No one spoke for a moment; then Gillespie, that dumb-ass redhead, said she believed Fisher (of course she would; she’d screwed him); then she looked at him, all glassy eyed and puppy-dog-l ike, and said, “That night at the foundry… I almost shot you. You know that?”
He nodded.
Thankfully, Noboru went off on Fisher, saying that the team should have been notified up front of Grim’s plan. Fisher said they couldn’t have risked that, but the time had come now to drop the ruse, for 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 won’t 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. Kovac would get suspicious and accuse Grim of anything. Any excuse to get her out. If I resurface, you guys get deployed and Kovac has to back off for a while.”
Gillespie, her voice cracking, questioned Fisher about how he’d survived the plunge into the Rhine, and he described his use of an OmegaO unit that had allowed him to breathe underwater. He’d waited until the car hit the bottom of the lake before getting out.