TOM CLANCY'S NET FORCE

NET FORCE

HIDDEN AGENDAS

NIGHT MOVES

BREAKING POINT

POINT OF IMPACT

CYBER NATION

STATE OF WAR

CHANGING OF THE GUARD

SPRINGBOARD

THE ARCHIMEDES EFFECT

Created by Tom Clancy and Martin Greenberg

TOM CLANCY'S POWER PLAYS

POLITIKA

RUTHLESS.COM

SHADOW WATCH

BIO-STRIKE

COLD WAR

CUTTING EDGE

ZERO HOUR

WILD CARD

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (USA) Inc. 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen's Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi--110 017, India Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,

South Africa

Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

TOM CLANCY'S SPLINTER CELL(r): CONVICTION

A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with Ubisoft, Ltd.

PRINTING HISTORY

Berkley premium edition / November 2009

Copyright (c) 2009 by Ubisoft, Ltd.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group, 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

eISBN : 978-1-101-14955-3

BERKLEY(r)

Berkley Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

BERKLEY(r) is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

The "B" design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

http://us.penguingroup.com

1

REIMS , FRANCE

SOconfident was the target in his invincibility that Sam Fisher had little trouble finding him, and even less in determining how to best take him down. Then again, as jobs went, Romain Doucet wasn't the toughest nut Fisher had ever cracked. Not even close, in fact. He did, however, rank high on Fisher's "Waste of Humanity" list.

As he had been for the last hour, Doucet was holding court, as it were, on the bleachers beside a basketball court off rue Voltaire, under the shadow of the Cathedral of Notre-Dame. Physically, the Frenchman was impressive: almost six and a half feet tall, 270 pounds, with a weight lifter's body. On the other hand, his powder blue gangsta-style tracksuit and gold chains were something less than magisterial.

Fisher, sipping coffee and reading his copy of L'hebdo du Vendredi, watched, trying to guess what topics someone like Doucet might be covering. Judging by the guffaws and gaping of his five compatriots, the man's proclamations involved whatever women happened to stroll by on the sidewalk. Fisher caught only a few snippets of conversation, but most of Doucet's comments seemed to be anatomical in nature. This was no surprise. In fact, it was Doucet's lack of impulse control that had brought him into Fisher's sights.

Romain Doucet fancied himself an up-and-coming Mafioso of sorts, though most of his crimes involved strong-arm robbery and burglary. But his crew was loyal and the residents of his neighborhood frightened, so Doucet never wanted for an alibi, and this, sadly, was the case in the recent rape of a local man's fifteen-year-old daughter. The police had investigated, of course, but with no forensic evidence, and eyewitnesses placing Doucet elsewhere at the time of the crime, the city prosecutor had been forced to drop the case. The girl's father refused to accept this, and word quickly spread that the father would be willing to pay for retribution. Reims was a relatively crime-free city, however; what few solicitors the father received had clearly been unequal to the task. For his part, Fisher had, over the last year, realized the mercenary business was one of feast or famine (too often the latter), so he had taken the job. Any other time and he would happily have done the job for free, simply because Doucet deserved it, but men of Fisher's ostensible vocation weren't known for their sentimentality, and he dared not show any now. Plus, the five thousand euros--almost seven thousand U.S. dollars--would cover his expenses for the next week or so, until he received his next payment from his German friend. What interested Fisher most, however, was one of Doucet's side businesses: identity theft. If one knew where to look, money was fairly easy to come by, but not so with passable identity documents. For what he had to accomplish over the next month, he'd need plenty of those.

RODOLPHEVernier spent thirty-two years making his fortune from a chain of high-end brasseries in Paris and Marseille before retiring in 1999 and turning the business over to his sons. A widower, he retired to Reims, where he met his current wife. Shortly after they married, Vernier adopted the woman's daughter, Marie. He loved the girl as his own, he'd told Fisher during their first meeting, and if not for his advanced age and prominence would have happily handled Romain Doucet himself. From any other man it might have come off as a boast, but the hard sadness in Vernier's eyes told Fisher the man was telling the truth.

"You found him?" Vernier now asked Fisher. They were sitting on Vernier's cobblestoned garden patio, beside a trickling fountain--a puffy-faced marble cherub spitting water in a high arc. "He was where I said he would be?"