Tom Clancy's Splinter Cell: Blacklist Aftermath (16 page)

Even those klaxons from the police cars seemed muted, and the traffic in the distance
began moving more slowly, as though his instincts had automatically switched off all
interference so he could focus on the slightest crunch of pebble, the barest whisper
of breath escaping from the Snow Maiden’s lips.

Then, abruptly, it all hit him again—the sirens growing louder, the stench of leaking
gasoline, the wind beginning to turn icy as he circled around the truck.

His right ankle came out from under him before he realized that the Snow Maiden was
beneath the SUV. He hit the ground, tried to roll to get the pistol aimed at her,
but she was on him so fast that he thought for a second he was being attacked by a
mountain lion or a jaguar.

She struck a roundhouse to his jaw while reaching up to clutch his wrist, nails digging
in to trap his pistol over his head. With a groan, he sat up, trying to force the
pistol forward toward her head.

And then, in a move that was as acrobatic as it was confusing, she locked both hands
around the pistol and used it like a gymnast’s horse, launching herself away, both
legs high in the air, her boots arcing in a black leather rainbow as she drew on her
full body weight and momentum to free the pistol from his sweaty grasp. He spun back,
now unarmed.

She hit the ground, rolled, and came up with the business end of the SIG. Her idea
of doing business was, of course, to point the gun at his forehead. “Who are you?”
she demanded in Russian.

“Briggs?” Fisher muttered. “Now would be a good time to shoot her.”

“I don’t have a bead. I’m moving up for a better shot,” Briggs answered. “The sights
are off on this piece of crap rental pistol.”

“Sam, the police will be there any minute,” said Grim. “I need to move in now!”

“I said, who are you?” the Snow Maiden screamed.

19

FISHER’S
gaze averted from the Snow Maiden’s fiery eyes to her trigger finger. The gun was
slightly too large for her, and the pad of her index finger barely reached over the
trigger, meaning if she fired, her shots would tend to go left. Too small of a gun
and too much pad over the trigger would send them to the right. This was all academic,
of course, because she had Fisher point-blank in her sights. It was just a matter
of whether she’d hit him perfectly center mass or a few inches in either direction.

“You’re looking for Kasperov,” Fisher began, trying to distract her. “We know where
he is.”

The Snow Maiden opened her mouth, but something on the periphery caught her attention,
Briggs perhaps. As she flicked her gaze to the left, Fisher started toward her—

She backed away and pulled the trigger.

The shot rang out with an ear-piercing explosion that sent Fisher stumbling back and
falling onto his rump.

But the only pain was in his ears, and when he glanced up, he spotted the Snow Maiden
staring down in shock at the smoking pistol in her hands, the slide blown clean off.

One of those cheap rounds had prematurely exploded inside the weapon, possibly firing
out of battery.

Fisher bolted to his feet, crying, “Briggs, get Nadia! Grim, get over here!”

The Snow Maiden threw down the pistol and lifted her arms in a defensive block as
Fisher lunged at her.

While he outweighed the woman by at least sixty, maybe even eighty pounds, he once
more marveled at her agility. Even as he tried to seize her wrists and straddle her,
she was already writhing out of his grip and sliding between his legs, only to roll
back and hook her ankles around his neck, forcing him back into a blood choke conducted
with her legs.

Whether she’d learned these unconventional techniques with the Russian circus or had
invented them herself was beside the point; she was the most asymmetric combatant
he’d ever faced, twisting and turning like an oily snake.

She even growled now through her exertion, as though every sinew in her body had a
voice. With each pound of pressure she applied to his neck, it seemed as though she
cast out another demon. He’d just met her, but she fought like it was personal.

A chill of panic struck as he realized he couldn’t pry free her legs. The world darkened
along the edges, like ink bleeding into his field of view.

A gunshot boomed.

And suddenly the pressure was gone. He could breathe. He wrenched himself up. Turned.
She was gone.

Briggs was hauling him to his feet.

“I think I hit her, but she took off over the wall. Want me to go?”

Grim came to a squealing halt in her rental. “Come on!”

Fisher blinked hard as the blood rushed back into his head. He looked at Briggs, at
Grim, then finally said, “Help me get Nadia into the car.”

Still dizzy, Fisher turned back to the SUV, where Nadia was lying, her lips taped
shut, her eyes wide. They’d fastened her wrists and ankles with zipper cuffs that
they ignored for now, lifting the girl and rushing back to Grim’s car.

After getting Nadia into the backseat, Briggs crossed to the passenger’s seat while
Fisher remained in back. As they took off for the next intersection, Fisher gently
removed the tape on Nadia’s lips. She took a few tentative breaths. Fisher saw now
that her eye was red and bruised and had probably been much more swollen. She looked
at him for a few seconds, her brain seemingly unable to function until she finally
asked in Russian, “Who are you? Did my father send you?”

Fisher glanced at Grim, who pursed her lips then said, “No use lying to her.”

Fisher softened his tone. “We’re Americans.”

“So I’m being kidnapped again?”

“No, we’re trying to help your father. We know he’s on the run. We’re offering him—and
you—asylum. Do you know where he is?”

She shook her head. “How did you find me?”

“It wasn’t easy.”

“She killed my friend.”

“Who? The Snow Maiden?”

“Is that what they call her? She’s . . . she’s . . .” Nadia began to break down.

Fisher placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right. We’re taking you to our air
force base in Turkey. She can’t touch you anymore.”

“Sam, it’s Charlie again. Police on the scene now. They’ve recovered a few of the
weapons. I tracked the Snow Maiden on security cams for a few blocks, but then I lost
her. She was favoring one of her arms, so Briggs might’ve shot her. Interesting that
she doesn’t want any contact with the local authorities.”

“She’s not supposed to blow her cover.”

“Well, she lost Nadia.”

“No, she didn’t,” Fisher corrected. “Not yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’ll get to that later.”

Charlie sighed. “All right, but I bet she’s on the shit list in Moscow . . .”

“I doubt that scares her.”

“Right. Anyway, glad you’re still with the living.”

“Me, too.”

Fisher glanced once more at Nadia, so frail and pathetic, looking as though she had
nothing.

Instead of everything.

20

THEIR
exfiltration route had involved chartering a boat out into the Black Sea and rendezvousing
with a Black Hawk chopper whose crew would haul each of them up and into the hovering
bird. However, Kobin had arranged for a much more pleasant yet equally clandestine
exit. The crew of a private yacht owned by one of his gunrunning associates met them
in Bichvinta, a city about thirty miles south of the hotel. They boarded the yacht
and were ferried across the Black Sea and back to Trabzon. There, they met the crew
of a CIA charter jet and were whisked back to Incirlik, some 360 miles southwest of
Trabzon.

In order to maintain operational security, Nadia would stay aboard Paladin, where
she would be examined by a doctor before being transferred to another jet for a flight
back to the States. The 39th Medical Group’s commander sent them a general practitioner
named Evren from the Deployed Flightline Clinic. The doctor was blindfolded and taken
aboard the aircraft, where he was guided by Briggs to the infirmary.

“Sorry about all the secrecy,” Fisher said, removing the man’s blindfold.

Evren’s gaze panned across the room and toward the hatch beyond. “C-17?” he asked.

“Something like that. Gets us from point A to point B.” Fisher glanced over at the
cot near the far wall, where Nadia was resting, covered by a blanket and with an arm
draped over her forehead. “The doctor’s here to examine you,” Fisher said in Russian.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“I insist.”

Fisher muttered in the doctor’s ear, “I want you to check her from head to toe. I
want you to look for recent incisions, small ones. We think she might have a tracking
chip, and we need to get it out.”

“All right. And of course, I was never here, never saw you, her, or this plane.”

“My diagnosis for you is sudden, acute amnesia.”

Evren snickered. “Why don’t you leave the diagnoses to me. If we could have a moment
of privacy?”

Fisher grinned and gestured to Briggs. They left the infirmary and returned to the
control center, where Charlie spun around in his chair and said, “She talk yet?”

Fisher shook his head. “We need to take this slowly.”

“She knows where her father is,” said Charlie.

“Maybe not,” said Briggs. “He’s figured out now that they’ve got her, or at least
had her, so he’s trying to anticipate what she might say.”

Fisher sighed. “And right now she’s not saying much, trying to protect him.”

“She said they killed her friend in front of her. What makes you think we’ll get her
to talk?” asked Briggs.

Fisher considered that. “We need to earn her trust.”

Grim, who’d been conferring with Ollie, came back over to Fisher. She was holding
Nadia’s diary. “There’s nothing in here to suggest a location—just a lot of rantings
about teachers, school, books, and how ugly the boys are in her classes. Actually,
pretty depressing stuff for a little rich girl.”

“Hey, Sam, you get a chance to try the
khachapuri
?”

Fisher glanced at Kobin, then returned his gaze to Grim. “Does he need to be here?”

“Hey, spy boy, who got you home from Sochi? And by the way, Bab is pissed about her
guns.”

Fisher snorted. “We’ll pay her back with peanut butter.”

“Yeah, the old hag would love that.”

“And tell her the ammo sucked!” cried Briggs. “She’s probably had her grandsons reloading
it.”

Fisher wasn’t complaining. The ammo sucked, all right, but it had also saved his life.

“So you got the girl,” said Kobin. “Now you call Daddy and wave the bait in his face.”

“And you think it’s that easy?” asked Grim.

“It is—if you know the right players.”

“And you do?”

“Look, if you want, I’ll put the word out to my contacts that we have her,” said Kobin.
“See if any of them can pass it on. Maybe it’ll reach Kasperov. He’s got personal
security, and a lot of those guys, well, let’s just say they’ve worked the black markets.
You never know. If he realizes the Americans have his daughter, maybe he’ll come running
to you.”

“No way. We’re not advertising that we have her,” said Fisher. “If that gets back
to the Kremlin it’ll really stir the pot. We’ll take it from here.”

“And where are you taking it?” asked Kobin.

Fisher glared at Kobin, who threw up his hands.

“Look, I just want to help,” Kobin said.

Charlie turned back from one of his monitors. “Sam, the doctor’s calling for you.”

Fisher returned to the infirmary, where Evren frowned and kept his voice low. “There
is
a small incision near her lower back. I felt a capsule-shaped mass embedded beneath
the skin.”

“That’s it. I need you to take it out right now.”

“What about her consent?”

“I’m telling you to take it out. That’s an order!”

“You have that authority?”

“Trust me, doc. I do.”

“I’ll need at least a local anesthetic and something to keep her calm.”

“We’ve got everything you need.”

“What would you like me to say to her?”

Fisher considered that. “You prep. I’ll get her ready.” He crossed back to Nadia’s
cot and leaned over, softening his expression. “I know you’ve been through a lot.
Do you remember if they sedated you? Maybe stuck a needle in your back?”

“They told me I fell and passed out and hurt my back. They told me I cut it and needed
stitches.”

“They put a tracking device in your back. We’re going to remove it now. You won’t
feel anything.”

Nadia bolted up and reached around to feel the wound. “You’re right. I can feel it
in there.”

“Let us get it out.”

“Okay, yes, get it out of me.”

“First, did your father say anything to you about why he needed to run?”

“Not exactly. But he was always talking about all the pressure the government put
on him. This is about them. I know it is.”

“Do you know if they were asking him to do anything for them? Maybe something he didn’t
want to do?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t like to talk about work. He said it made him feel guilty.
He always talked about vacations. Where are we going now?”

“There’s another plane on its way that’ll take you back to the United States.”

“I want to see my father.”

“Then help us find him. You sure you don’t know anything?”

She closed her eyes. “I keep telling everyone, I have no idea where he is.”

“You understand that if he broke the law or failed to obey them in some way, you’ll
never see him again.”

“I know that!”

“Was there any secret way you spoke to your father, maybe through a third party or
what we call a ‘cutout’?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“When I went away to school, he set up some kind of e-mail thing for family members,
some kind of security thing, but I never used it and I don’t even know the address
or the passwords or anything.”

“Do you know what this is?” Grim asked, standing behind them now.

Nadia frowned at the necklace and pendant dangling from Grim’s hand. “You were in
my apartment? You stole my things?”

“No,” said Fisher. “Everything we borrowed will be returned to you.”

“So how did you get this?” asked Grim.

Nadia rolled her eyes. “It’s just an ugly piece of jewelry my father gave me.”

“Where’d he get it?”

“On one of his trips somewhere. He’s always bringing me back stuff I don’t even want.”

Grim turned to Fisher and said, “Ollie finished his analysis. There’s clay with traces
of gold ore and mercury inside the pendant. The sample is Andean in origin.”

“The Andes. South America,” said Fisher.

“Correct. And there’s only one gold mining operation in the world where rampant mercury
refining is still practiced by local miners. The place is called La Rinconada, and
it’s in Peru. It’s known as the highest city in the world.”

Nadia’s eyes widened in recognition. “That’s right. My father’s been there several
times. He was setting up a headquarters in Lima. And he was talking about the charity
work he wants to do up there at the mining town. He was saying there’s terrible pollution
and awful schools. He wanted to help the kids and clean up the environment.”

“Why there? The world is full of slums and misery,” Fisher said.

“I don’t know, but some of our ancestors were Donbass miners in Russia. Some went
to Pennsylvania to work in the coal mines. My father liked to tell stories about them.”

“He’s a philanthropist. He’s got an attachment to miners. What else do you need?”
asked Charlie, who was eavesdropping on the conversation from the hallway.

Fisher glanced back to the doctor. “Take out her chip. Please don’t damage it. Call
us when you’re finished.”

Evren nodded.

Fisher gestured that they all return to the control center, where he said, “I think
Kasperov’s up there in La Rinconada.”

Grim squinted in thought. “Why would one of the richest men in the world go there?”

“Because it’s not on the GRU’s radar. They’ll check out all the obvious places like
we did and assume he’s a man of creature comforts and wouldn’t give them up. We might’ve
blown off this place if it weren’t for the pendant.”

“So your gut tells you he’s there,” said Grim.

Fisher made a face. It was always his gut versus her facts. “Look, he probably doesn’t
plan to stay long. He’ll wait it out until the Russians have to pull back most of
their field assets. But for now, I say he’s lying low. Why not there? It’s hard to
reach and a real shithole.”

“So he probably flew in to the nearest airport by jet, maybe took a chopper up to
the city,” said Grim. “Charlie, get on it. Maybe you can find a charter company that
ferries people up there, get into their records, get us anything.”

“You got it.”

“I’ll assist on that,” said Briggs.

“Kobin, you got any contacts in Peru?” Fisher asked.

“There was a guy in Lima who used to transport some stuff for me. I know he had some
ties to a cartel that bought a lot of gold. Couldn’t hurt contacting him.”

“Do it,” said Fisher.

“Hey, guys,” Charlie called from his station. “Looks like the nearest airport is in
Juliaca. It’s about seventy miles southwest. It’s a real hub for contraband. I’ve
already got the list of charter companies operating out of there. Working on getting
into their records now.”

Grim and Fisher crossed to the SMI table, where Grim brought up a map of Peru and
zoomed in on Juliaca. “Population a quarter million, and it’s the capital of the Puno
Region. They call it ‘The Windy City’ just like Chicago.”

“That airstrip long enough for us?” Fisher asked.

“Most of the military airstrips we use are at least fourteen thousand feet. Checking . . .”
Grim zoomed in on the airport and keyed in a request for statistics. “Well, there
we go. Runway length 13,780 feet.”

“Should be enough?” Fisher asked.

“A C-17 like this once landed at a civilian airport in Tampa with a runway no longer
than 3,400 feet. That pilot must’ve hit the brakes pretty hard and that’s cutting
it as close as it gets.”

“No kidding.”

The big screens behind them lit up with a video call from President Caldwell. She
looked exhausted but managed to lift her voice: “Checking in again, Sam. The CIA charter
to pick up Nadia will arrive in less than thirty minutes. How’s she doing? I want
to speak with her.”

“Right now we’re having a tracker removed from her back, but after that, I’m sure
she’ll be able to talk.”

“Good. We’ll be transporting her to a safe house near Langley. I want you to assure
her that she’s in good hands and that we’re doing everything we can to assist her
and her family.”

“Of course. And now we have some actionable intel on Kasperov, all pointing to Peru.”
Fisher gave her a capsule summary of what they’d found.

“If you find him,” said Caldwell, “I want you to offer him more than just asylum.
Impress upon him that we’ll help rebuild and restructure his company. He’s dedicated
his entire professional life to Internet security and probably thinks his career has
ended. Well, it hasn’t. Tell him America can keep his dream alive—no matter how complicated
he thinks that’ll be. And we’ll clear his name of all these preposterous allegations
the Kremlin is leveling at him.”

“What allegations?” Fisher asked.

“They’re saying he embezzled funds, that officers of his company accepted bribes to
disclose top secret documents, and the list goes on and on.”

“Wow, all right. We’ll take care of it,” Fisher assured her.

“We’ll be in touch.”

The screen went blank, and Charlie once more said that the doctor was calling.

Fisher and Grim met him outside the infirmary, where he handed Fisher a small plastic
bag containing the translucent capsule/tracker, one Fisher had seen before used by
the SVR and FSB.

“Simple operation. Four stitches. She’s sleeping now.”

“Excellent,” Fisher said.

“Well, other than some blunt trauma to her face, she seems to be doing okay,” said
the doctor. “She’ll need to have the new stitches removed in a week or so. If there’s
nothing else, I guess I’m ready for my blindfold.”

“We appreciate your cooperation,” Fisher said.

Grim called to one of the analysts to escort the doctor out. As she strode away toward
the control center, Fisher drifted back into the infirmary, where Nadia had just rolled
over to face him.

“Is it over?” she asked.

“Yes, we removed the chip. Your plane should be here very soon. I’m sorry about the
wait.”

“Are you really going to help my father?”

“I work for the President of the United States, and she tells me that we’ll be doing
everything we can. That means something. Those words come from the most powerful woman
on the planet. Do you understand?”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

“The president wants to speak to you, when you’re ready.”

“All right. I just realized I don’t even know your name.”