"All right, everyone, this is Hansen. We're at the cache, and Fisher's definitely been here. He's got the weapons, the suit, the Tridents, the whole nine."

Ames drew in a long breath. "I think I liked him better in that goofy red shirt."

WITHFisher's projected path into Luxembourg and up to Bavigne clearly evident, the team was now able to narrow the search for him, focusing on a grid northwest of Luxembourg and reaching up past Bavigne. Moreau kept close tabs on all the rental-car agencies in the area via Third Echelon's help, though it now seemed probable that Fisher had clean cards and ID (having secured them from Emmanuel Chenevier). Fisher had rented a car with impunity. He would be found on his terms. The other weapons cache in Germany had not been touched, and the rest of the team returned to the hotel, worn-out from the long drive and frustrated by the continued string of unknowns.

Hansen met alone with Moreau and asked what they were supposed to do now. The trail had ended at the weapons cache.

"Not exactly," said Moreau. "Those tire tracks you photographed before leaving are SUV tires. So I checked the rentals, and there was a little mom-and-pop agency that rented out a dark green 2001 Range Rover to Fisher. I went down there myself, and there was an old lady who recognized his picture."

"So he's in a Range Rover."

"Yes, that's a start. I'll run the tag, and we'll have the locals track it down."

Hansen took a deep breath. "Can I call you Marty?"

"No."

He moaned. "Mr. Moreau, you're stalling us."

"There's a difference between stalling and being very thorough. When you get older, you'll better appreciate that. You'll better appreciate the artistry of your work."

"Whatever. So what now? Should I just order the team to go driving around in the hopes that we happen to spot a Range Rover somewhere between here and Bavigne? You're not going to alert the authorities. You're just going to tell us you have."

"Watch your tone, cowboy. There are some traffic cameras we can patch into as well. I've already put in that request."

"Waste of time! Fisher could already be in Germany . . . or back in France. We could do a much better job if we knew more. You want us to play your game? Give us a few more rules."

"Where's the love, cowboy? Where's the trust? Where's the patience? Go relax. Go have a nice dinner. You deserve it."

"I'm still full from lunch."

"I heard about that. Lobster soup? Where's mine?"

Hansen stiffened. "When I went to Russia--that was being a Splinter Cell. I don't know what this is, but I hope, in the end, you make me believe it was worth it."

Moreau smiled, and a twinkle came into his eye. "I can't do that for you, cowboy. That's all up to you."

28

HANSENgathered the team in his room. "He's just putting us through the motions. He already knew the weapons cache in Bavigne would be empty. He sent you guys to Germany to keep you busy. Checking the hostels was a waste of time. He says Fisher's driving a rented Range Rover. He says he'll have the locals help find it. I don't believe him. He's just telling us what we need to hear."

"So what're you saying, cowboy?" asked Ames.

Hansen leveled an index finger on Ames. "Don't call me that. Ever."

"How 'bout Tex?"

Valentina cursed at Ames.

"We all want you to die, Ames," added Gillespie. "Doesn't that bother you? When the bullets fly, we'll use you as a human shield."

Ames opened his mouth, but Hansen shouted, "Enough! Now, we either sit here on our hands, or we try to figure out what the hell's going on."

"How do we do that without them knowing about it?" asked Valentina. "We can't use our network or our personnel. They'll want to know why we're querying."

"She's right," said Ames. "We'd need someone outside of 3E but maybe still inside the NSA."

"Or the CIA," said Hansen, lifting his brows. "I have a friend. I owe him a favor, but maybe he'll make it one more for me, and I'll pay him back triple."

"What do you have in mind?" asked Noboru.

"If Grim and Fisher are talking, it must be through a cutout, and there's a chance that my CIA contact can drop a few names. Some of these guys in Europe work for more than one three-letter agency. If we can get the name of this cutout, maybe we can pay him or her a visit. . . ."

"That's a long shot," said Valentina. "It'll be like going to talk to Chenevier. The cutout won't hand over Fisher."

Hansen snorted. "Maybe, maybe not. But apparently, we have nothing else to do--until Moreau calls with a sudden and miraculous update."

"I'm all for it," said Ames. "Best idea you've had in, like, forever."

"You don't want to complain?" asked Hansen, dumbfounded.

"Hell, no. Call your buddy right now. But you can't use any of our cell phones. We need to get you one without Uncle Marty finding out."

Valentina opened her purse and tossed a cell phone to Hansen. "Try this."

"Yours?"

She cocked a brow. "Don't ask too many questions. And by the way, our Tridents should be here in an hour or so."

"How'd you pull off that?" asked Hansen.

She hardened her tone. "Like I said, don't ask too many questions."

AMESwas very enthusiastic about finding Fisher because earlier in the day, when they'd stopped to buy lunch, he'd gone into the restroom and contacted Stingray.

Word from Kovac was that Ames could not allow Fisher to get anywhere near Vianden, Luxembourg. Fisher must be stopped before he got there.

The whywas none of Ames's business. Kovac somehow knew that was where Fisher was headed. But more important, these orders placed Ames in a ridiculously complicated situation.

He couldn't tell the team that he knew where Fisher was going because he'd be unable to explain how he knew, which, in turn, would threaten his cover and his security as a mole.

But this . . . this was unexpected and quite beautiful. He would fuel Hansen's frustration and goad him into learning the truth about Sam Fisher's real mission--and Ames felt certain that Fisher's mission directly involved Kovac, which raised the stakes to the highest level of their organization.

And when you played a game that important, you'd be a fool not to have an insurance policy. Ames had already made certain that if Mr. Kovac decided to make him the fall guy, then together they'd take an express train straight into hell. Now all Ames needed to do was find a way to reveal the Vianden link via Hansen's desire for the team to investigate on its own. Or maybe Hansen wasn't the key. . . . Maybe someone else was. . . .

HANSENused Valentina's phone to call his buddy back at Langley to see if the good old CIA could bail out the good old NSA--not, ahem, that there was any rivalry between those organizations. Hansen had to leave a message. Valentina and Gillespie went to their room to change. They were going down to the restaurant for dinner.

Ames ordered a T-bone from room service, and he raided the liquor, finishing off a couple of small bottles of whiskey before he realized how drunk he was getting.