Endgame (1998)
Tom Clancy
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
EPILOGUE
THE BESTSELLING NOVELS OF
TOM CLANCY
THE TEETH OF THE TIGER
A new generation--Jack Ryan, Jr.--takes over in Tom Clancy's
extraordinary, and extraordinarily prescient, novel.
"INCREDIBLY ADDICTIVE." --Daily Mail (London)
RED RABBIT
Tom Clancy returns to Jack Ryan's early days--
in an engrossing novel of global political drama . . .
"A WILD, SATISFYING RIDE." --New York Daily News
THE BEAR AND THE DRAGON
A clash of world powers. President Jack Ryan's trial by fire.
"HEART-STOPPING ACTION . . . CLANCY STILL REIGNS." --The Washington Post
RAINBOW SIX
John Clark is used to doing the CIA's dirty work.
Now he's taking on the world . . .
"ACTION-PACKED." --The New York Times Book Review
EXECUTIVE ORDERS
A devastating terrorist act leaves Jack Ryan
as President of the United States . . .
"UNDOUBTEDLY CLANCY'S BEST YET."
--The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
DEBT OF HONOR
It begins with the murder of an American woman
in the backstreets of Tokyo. It ends in war . . .
"A SHOCKER." --Entertainment Weekly
THE HUNT FOR RED OCTOBER
The smash bestseller that launched Clancy's career--
the incredible search for a Soviet defector
and the nuclear submarine he commands . . .
"BREATHLESSLY EXCITING." --The Washington Post
RED STORM RISING
The ultimate scenario for World War III--
the final battle for global control . . .
"THE ULTIMATE WAR GAME . . . BRILLIANT."
--Newsweek
PATRIOT GAMES
CIA analyst Jack Ryan stops an assassination--
and incurs the wrath of Irish terrorists . . .
"A HIGH PITCH OF EXCITEMENT."
--The Wall Street Journal
THE CARDINAL OF THE KREMLIN
The superpowers race for the ultimate Star Wars
missile defense system . . .
"CARDINAL EXCITES, ILLUMINATES . . . A REAL PAGE-TURNER." --Los Angeles Daily News
CLEAR AND PRESENT DANGER
The killing of three U.S. officials in Colombia ignites the
American government's explosive, and top secret, response . . .
"A CRACKLING GOOD YARN." --The Washington Post
THE SUM OF ALL FEARS
The disappearance of an Israeli nuclear weapon threatens the
balance of power in the Middle East--and around the world . . .
"CLANCY AT HIS BEST . . . NOT TO BE MISSED."
--The Dallas Morning News
WITHOUT REMORSE
His code name is Mr. Clark. And his work for the CIA
is brilliant, cold-blooded, and efficient . . . but who is he really?
"HIGHLY ENTERTAINING." --The Wall Street Journal
Novels by Tom Clancy
THE HUNT FOR RED OCTOBER
RED STORM RISING
PATRIOT GAMES
THE CARDINAL OF THE KREMLIN
CLEAR AND PRESENT DANGER
THE SUM OF ALL FEARS
WITHOUT REMORSE
DEBT OF HONOR
EXECUTIVE ORDERS
RAINBOW SIX
THE BEAR AND THE DRAGON
RED RABBIT
THE TEETH OF THE TIGER
SSN: STRATEGIES OF SUBMARINE WARFARE
Nonfiction
SUBMARINE: A GUIDED TOUR INSIDE A NUCLEAR WARSHIP
ARMORED CAV: A GUIDED TOUR OF AN ARMORED CAVALRY REGIMENT
FIGHTER WING: A GUIDED TOUR OF AN AIR FORCE COMBAT WING
MARINE: A GUIDED TOUR OF A MARINE EXPEDITIONARY UNIT
AIRBORNE: A GUIDED TOUR OF AN AIRBORNE TASK FORCE
CARRIER: A GUIDED TOUR OF AN AIRCRAFT CARRIER
SPECIAL FORCES: A GUIDED TOUR OF U.S. ARMY SPECIAL FORCES
INTO THE STORM: A STUDY IN COMMAND
(written with General Fred Franks, Jr., Ret., and Tony Koltz)
EVERY MAN A TIGER
(written with General Charles Horner, Ret., and Tony Koltz)
SHADOW WARRIORS: INSIDE THE SPECIAL FORCES
(written with General Carl Stiner, Ret., and Tony Koltz)
BATTLE READY
(written with General Tony Zinni, Ret., and Tony Koltz)
TOM CLANCY'S GHOST RECON
TOM CLANCY'S ENDWAR
TOM CLANCY'S SPLINTER CELL
SPLINTER CELL
OPERATION BARRACUDA
CHECK M ATE
FALLOUT
CONVICTION
ENDGAME
Created by Tom Clancy and Steve Pieczenik
TOM CLANCY'S OP-CENTER
OP-CENTER
MIRROR IMAGE
GAMES OF STATE
ACTS OF WAR
BALANCE OF POWER
STATE OF SIEGE
DIVIDE AND CONQUER
LINE OF CONTROL
MISSION OF HONOR
SEA OF FIRE
CALL TO TREASON
WAR OF EAGLES
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
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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): ENDGAME
A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with Ubisoft, Ltd.
PRINTING HISTORY
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The author gratefully acknowledges the support and cooperation of the following individuals:
Grant Blackwood, for his collaboration, creativity, and great sense of humor.
Vietnam veteran and retired chief warrant officer James Ide, for his considerable technical experience, research assistance, and unceasing passion.
Jackie Fiest, for her proofreading, enthusiasm, and technical knowledge of the Splinter Cell universe.
Tom Colgan, for his continued support and encouragement as editor of these books.
Sam Strachman, for his trust and belief in the Splinter Cell book franchise and caretaking of its ideas.
Tom Clancy, for creating a body of work that continues to inspire readers and writers everywhere.
PROLOGUE
KORFOVKA, RUSSIAN FEDERATION NEAR THE CHINESE BORDER EIGHTEEN MONTHS AGO
THE first blow loosened one of Ben Hansen's molars and sent his head wrenching to one side.
Captured . . . killed . . .
He never saw the second blow, only felt Rugar's pointed knuckles drive into his left eye.
Captured . . . killed . . .
Hansen's head whipped back, then lolled forward as warm blood spilled down his chin.
Now Rugar's screams grew incomprehensible, like panes of glass shattering across the hangar's concrete floor.
Make no mistake. If you're captured, you will be killed.
Hansen tugged at the plastic flex-cuffs cutting into his wrists and binding him to the chair. He finally mustered the energy to face Rugar, who loomed there, a neckless, four-hundred-pound, vodka-soaked beast crowned by an old Soviet Army ushanka two sizes too small for his broad head. He was about fifty, twice Hansen's age, and hardly agile, but at the moment that hardly mattered.
Rugar opened his mouth, exposing a jagged fence of yellowed teeth. He shouted and more glass shattered, accompanied by the rattling of two enormous steel doors that had been rolled shut against the wind.
Hansen shivered. It was below freezing now, and their breaths hung heavy in the air. At least the dizziness from the anesthetic was beginning to wear off. He tried to blink, but his left eye did not respond; it was swelling shut.
And then--a flash from Rugar's hand.
Captured . . . killed . . .
The fat man had confiscated Hansen's knife.
But that wasn't just any knife--it was a Fairbairn Sykes World War II-era commando dagger that had once belonged to the elusive Sam Fisher, a Splinter Cell few people knew but whose exploits were legendary among them.
Rugar leaned over and held the blade before Hansen's face. He spoke more slowly, and the words, though still Russian, finally made sense: "We know why you've come. Now, if you tell me what I need to know, you will live."
Hansen took a deep breath. "You won't break me."
For a moment Rugar just stood there, his cheeks swelling like melons as he labored for his next breath. Suddenly he smiled, his rank breath coming hard in Hansen's face. "It's going to be a long night for both of us."
Rugar's left ear was pierced, and the gold hoop hanging there caught the overhead lights at such an angle that for a moment all Hansen noticed were those flashes of gold. He realized only after the blood spattered onto his face that Rugar had been shot in the head, the round coming from a suppressed weapon somewhere behind them.
All four hundred pounds of the fat man collapsed onto Hansen, snapping off the chair's back legs as the knife went skittering across the floor. Hansen now bore the Russian's full weight across his chest, and he wasn't sure which would kill him first: suffocation or the sickly sweet stench emanating from Rugar's armpits.
With a groan, he shoved himself against the fat man's body and began worming his way out, gasping, grimacing, and a heartbeat away from retching.
He rolled onto his side and squinted across the hangar, toward the pair of helicopters and the shadows along the perimeter wall and mechanics' stations.
And then he appeared, Sergei Luchenko, Hansen's runner. The gaunt-faced man was still wearing his long coat and gripping his pistol with its large suppressor. An unlit cigarette dangled from his thin lips.
Hansen sighed deeply. "What happened? Why didn't you answer my calls?" He groaned over the question. "Strike that. I'm just glad you're here."
Sergei walked up to Hansen, withdrew a lighter from his breast pocket, and lit his cigarette.
"How about some help?" Hansen struggled against the flex-cuffs.
"I'm sorry, my friend. They sent me to kill you."
"Bad joke."
"It's no joke."
Hansen stiffened. "Not you, Sergei."
"I don't have a choice."
Hansen closed his good eye, then spoke through his teeth. "Then why did you save me?"
"I didn't. The kill must be mine. And . . . I didn't want you to suffer."
"This is not who you are."
"I'm sorry." Sergei drew a compact digital video camera from his pocket and hit the RECORD button. He held it close to Hansen. "You see, he is alive. And now . . ." Sergei raised his pistol.
Hansen cursed at the man.
There would be no life story flashing before Hansen's eyes; no images of his youth growing up in Fort Stockton, Texas; no scenes from his days at MIT, which he had attended on a full scholarship; no moments from that bar with the director, Anna "Grim" Grimsdottir, who had recruited him out of the CIA to join Third Echelon and become one of the world's most effective field operatives--a Splinter Cell. No, there would be nothing as dramatic or cinematic as that--just a hot piece of lead piercing his forehead, fracturing his skull, and burying itself deep in his brain before he had a chance to think about it.
The gun thumped. Hansen flinched.
And then . . . Sergei collapsed sideways onto the concrete, a gaping hole in the back of his head.
Hansen swore again, this time in relief. He squinted into the shadows at the far end of the hangar. "Uh, thank you?"
No reply.
He raised his voice. "Who are you?"
Again, just the wind . . .
He lay there a few seconds more, just breathing, waiting for his savior to show himself.
One last time. "Who are you?"
Hansen's voice trailed off into the howling wind and creaking hangar doors. He lay there for another two minutes.
No one came.
Tensing, he wriggled on his side, drawing closer to his knife, which was lying just a meter away. He reached the blade, turned it over in his hand, and began to slowly, painfully, saw into the flex-cuffs.
When he was free, he stood and collected himself, his face still swelling, the hangar dipping as though floating on rough seas. And then, blinking his good eye to clarity, he lifted his gaze to the rafters, the crossbeams, the pipes, and still . . . nothing. He turned back to the bodies and shook his head in pity at Sergei. Then he glowered at the fat man, who even in death would get the last laugh, since disposing of his body would be like manhandling a dead Russian circus bear.
There was still a lot of work to do, but all the while Hansen couldn't help but feel the heat of someone's gaze on his shoulders.
He shouted again, "Who are you?"
Only his echo answered.
1
HOLMES OFFICE COMPLEX HOUSTON, TEXAS PRESENT DAY
MAYA Valentina saw it in the man's gaze, which flicked down from her low-cut blouse to her well-tanned legs to her feet jammed into a pair of stilettos. She tossed back her hair, which fell in golden waves across her shoulders, then put an index finger to her lips, as though to nervously bite her nail. Oh, yes, he liked the shy schoolgirl routine, and Valentina could pass for a freshman, too, though she was nearly twenty-eight.
