By David Michaels
He's Sam Fisher: 3rd Echelon certain operative. And whilst a shipment freighter loaded down with radioactive fabric is headed in the direction of the coast of the us, he has mins to disable the send - or die attempting.
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Extra info for Checkmate (Tom Clancy's Splinter Cell)
A determine used to be status at the deck. the guy raised his arm. Fisher jerked his head again. gunshots rang out. a couple of holes seemed within the hall bulkhead. “Give it up,” Fisher referred to as. “Whatever you’re pondering, don’t do it. ” No reaction. “We can paintings this out. simply drop your gun—” Footsteps pounded, then light away. Fisher peeked round the nook back, observed not anything. He begun down the ladder. on the backside, to his correct, round a stanchion, he observed the glow of the flashlight at the different aspect of the engine. He stepped to the stanchion, pressed himself to it. anything clanged. Like sheet steel clattering to the deck. entry hide, Fisher suggestion. circulate, circulation now! Gun raised, he stepped out. The final crewman was once crouched beside the engine, palms fumbling within an entry hatch. “Stop! ” Fisher commanded. the guy grew to become his head, stared at him for a couple of seconds, then became again and stored operating. Fisher fired two times. the fellow grunted and rolled onto his facet. Fisher rushed ahead. He kicked the man’s gun away. It skittered around the deck. the guy, slightly awake, set free a rainy, bloody cough and grinned at him. “Too late,” he croaked. contained in the engine’s entry hatch, a blue LED readout blinked from 10 to nine, then to eight. Fisher grew to become and ran. WITH a countdown operating in his head he used to be up the ladder in seconds. He became, charged up the bridge ladder, became back, and headed for the door. 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . He threw open the hatch, rushed via, sprinted towards the railing, vaulted over it. at the back of him, someplace deep in the Duroc, there got here a muffled crump. Fisher absently suggestion, First cost; gasoline tanks will keep on with. . . . It took him a cut up moment to orient himself within the air. He regarded down. the sea floor rushed towards him. He curled right into a ball, hoping to guard himself from the warmth and shrapnel that was once coming. Then he used to be underwater. All went silent. Resisting the urge to kick to the skin, he flipped over and kicked demanding, palms unfold in a large breaststroke. He heard a whoomp and felt himself shoved from at the back of because the surprise wave hit him. The air was once compressed from his lungs. He began rolling. while he stopped, he righted himself within the water. Above his head, the skin glowed orange for a couple of seconds, then pale. Lungs burning, his each intuition screaming for air, he pressured himself to stick submerged. the risk now was once swimming pools of burning oil and gasoline. If he surfaced into certainly one of them, his lungs will be seared. His heartbeat pounded at the back of his eyes and he felt a fuzziness creep into his mind as his physique ate up the final molecules of oxygen left in his procedure. Wait, he commanded himself. Wait . . . He counted to 5, then ten, after which seeing not anything above him, he kicked to the skin. He gulped air until eventually his imaginative and prescient cleared, then regarded to the place the Duroc have been. there has been not anything. Chunks of fiberglass and tiny wallet of burning gasoline dotted the skin, however the yacht used to be long gone, sinking towards the seafloor. To his left he observed a twinkle of sunshine. within the distance, nonetheless a couple of miles away, a searchlight performed over the water’s floor.