Adapt and Survive || Splinter Cell: Conviction (Book)

Chapter Two

Light and dark swirled before Sam as he fell ten feet to the bottom level of the complex. He managed to bring his feet underneath himself before crashing into the concrete floor, saving him from the instant death of snapping his neck, but his right knee crumpled with a painful pop, and Sam's momentum carried him backwards. He fell hard onto his back and felt several ribs crack from the blow. They had already been bruised from the car crash into the river just a few days ago and couldn't hold up under the extra strain. Still, Sam was somehow able to get his arms underneath himself and push himself up over his shoulders to land in a heap near the bottom of the ramp, gasping to fill his emptied lungs.

At the same time, shouting and gunfire echoed down from above.

Sam reached to his earpiece to hail Ben, but found it missing, probably lost in the fall. Wincing at the movement, Sam reached up to rip his goggles off, both out of necessity and frustration at their failure. They would do him little good now in any case in the mostly well-lit lobby of the ground floor. Finally pulling some air into his lungs, Sam pushed himself to his feet, grunting at the pain flaring through his leg and side.

Ahead and a little to Sam's right, Ames was descending the ramp almost at a leisurely pace, a self-satisfied smirk spreading his cheeks. When he reached the bottom, Ames snapped up a pistol and trained it on Sam's head.

Sam couldn't help the sneer that curled his lip.

Ames cocked his head. "Good to see you again, Sam."

"Wish I could say the same," Sam shot back. He straightened himself as best he could, not wanting to show any kind of weakness, though he doubted Ames would miss the slight hunch to Sam's left shoulder or the unnatural bend in his right knee. Wanting to give himself more time to recover and, frankly, out of pure curiosity, Sam continued, "You warned them, didn't you? That we were coming?"

The smile that overtook Ames' face was all the answer Sam needed, though Ames didn't leave it there. "You're damn right I did." He was angry now, his brow furrowing. "You thought you had beaten me, didn't you? Thought your little stunt with the gasoline had me curling into a ball in the corner? But you idiots left me all alone, gave me plenty of time to escape. And instead of running away, I came here. Came here and warned everyone off. Your little auction? The buyers? They're all gone. They'll be half a day away by now, beyond your reach." Ames smiled again. "You've failed, Sam."

"The arsenal, I've seen it," Sam countered, though he could already guess at Ames' reply.

The man scoffed. "You've seen part of it. A third, maybe. But nothing of much importance. The really good stuff was loaded up as soon as I was able to get word to the man in charge."

"And who might that be?"

Ames seemed to study the expression on Sam's face for a moment before answering. "You really don't know, do you? And everyone thinks so highly of you." Ames rolled his eyes. "The great Sam Fisher. I'd have thought you would have figured it out by now." He shook his head. "I'm not going to be the one to spoil the surprise."

Sam could feel the conversation turning now, that pull on his chest borne of countless encounters that told him a fight was imminent. Only, in this arena, with the current circumstances, Sam had no chance. Ames had a gun to his head and it would take but a second for him to end Sam's life. Even if Sam somehow managed to dodge the first bullet with some unexpected movement, Ames was too good a shot and cover was too far for Sam to make it more than a few steps.

But Sam did have one ace up his sleeve. He knew Ames. Knew his strengths and his weaknesses. Knew them better than probably Ames himself. But then, that had been Sam's job. Back when he had been on better terms with Third Echelon, Sam had seen to a lot of Ames' training himself and the rest he had at least overseen. Even now Sam believed Ames would have made a good Splinter Cell—in fact he could have been one of the best. But Ames' temperament had always held him back. Sam had said as much in his final evaluation of the man and Ames clearly believed Sam to be the reason he had been relegated to "lesser" tasks. But that grudge only confirmed Sam's assessment that Ames was quick to anger and, in a job like this, keeping a level head was as important (or perhaps even more important) than any other skill or weapon in a Splinter Cell's arsenal. Of course, then there were the unresolved childhood issues still simmering beneath the surface of Ames' carefully manicured façade—the fire that had taken Ames' family when he was young and the lingering guilt that Ames hadn't burned along with them.