Checkmate (Tom Clancy's Splinter Cell)
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He is Sam Fisher: Third Echelon special operative. And when a cargo freighter loaded down with radioactive material is headed towards the coast of the United States, he has minutes to disable the ship - or die trying.
it onto the man’s chest. The man gave a grunt and sat up. Fisher fired. He heard a soft thump, followed by a faint pffft. The man shook his head as though he’d been slapped, said, “What the—” then slumped sideways in his chair. I’ll be damned, Fisher thought. He hadn’t doubted Redding’s word, but there was no substitute for real-world testing. He dragged the man behind the couch, then smashed the two nearby nightlights and keyed his subdermal. “Napper; clean.” Only two left, Fisher thought.
baobab’s fruit pods, also known as monkey bread. Fisher was only too familiar with them. Tracking down the French arms dealer had taken weeks. After their MREs had run out, he and his team had subsisted on monkey bread and roasted snake. He settled down to wait, but it took only minutes before the men stubbed out their cigarettes, got up, and started ambling toward the shipyard. Fisher waited until they turned the corner around the crane, then got up and sprinted forward. He paused at the edge
professionalism. Or was it his ego? Either way, he was going to finish the job. He crouched beside the outer wall of the admin building and inspected the door. Despite the peeling paint and dilapidated appearance, the lock was an industrial-grade drop bolt with a reinforced jamb. Tough but not invincible. More often than not a lock was a lock, and this one too surrendered to his picks in thirty seconds. He opened the door a crack and did a quick NV/IR scan with the flexi-cam. Seeing nothing, he
first one, placed at the outer edge of the thirty-kilometer Exclusion Zone, was manned by guards drawn from the Ukrainian Army; every soldier was required to spend six weeks guarding the zone. No car was allowed to enter the Zone, lest it be contaminated. Outsiders were required to park their clean vehicles in the checkpoint parking lot, then walk through, where they were logged in and assigned a “dirty” vehicle from the motor pool. The Inner Ring, eleven kilometers from Reactor Number Four,
where a senior chief radioman was waiting. “Link established, encrytion running. Call sign Xerxes.” “Thanks, Chief. Give us the room.” The senior chief ushered the other radiomen outside and closed the door behind him. Fisher donned the headset and keyed the microphone. “Go ahead, Xerxes.” “Sam, we’ve got a problem. Two hours ago there was an incident with a BARCAP,” Lambert said, referring to Barrier Combat Air Patrol. Whenever a U.S. Navy carrier was on patrol, it was guarded by a ring of