End Game by Tom Clancy

Author:Tom Clancy [Clancy, Tom]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, General, Action & Adventure, Juvenile Fiction, Fantasy & Magic, Science Fiction, Computers, Virtual Reality, Computer Crimes - Investigation, Computer Crimes, Internet (Computer Network)
ISBN: 9780425171134
Publisher: Berkley
Published: 1998-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

KIMBERLY Gillespie turned northwest, heading straight for the pine trees near which Moreau reported he had last spotted Fisher. She was moving in directly behind him, from the south, and began to slow as she neared the first cluster of pines, their boughs still. Not a sound. She raised her rifle, made sure the fire selector was set for Cottonball.

She tried to ignore her eyes. The burning. The old aches and pains. The guilt of taking from him what she shouldn't have, and still hoping that somewhere, deep down below all those shields against emotion, there was a man who would, at the very least, remember her.

She once again smelled the chicken they'd roasted that night, tasted the wine--too much wine--and listened to him speak softly in that near whisper that at once captivated and drove her insane with lust. And for just a moment, she was back there, feeling his lips on hers, and then . . .

"This was a mistake," he'd said afterward. "You were my student."

"And now I'm your lover."

He shook his head. "I'm sorry this happened. You can do better. You deserve better."

"Relationships are about people, not numbers on a calendar."

"It's not the numbers I'm worried about. It's me."

Gillespie's foot came down and snapped a branch. Loudly.

She mouthed a curse. Froze.

Then she waited a few breaths more and crossed to open ground, heading west now.

Had she heard something? Breathing? She thought for a moment that he was close, watching her, his gaze warm on her cheek. She wanted to call his name, beg him to turn himself in, to end the game here and now. She could help. She would do anything. She imagined him emerging from behind the trees, hanging his head, reaching out to her.

She heard herself, "Sam, come home. Just come home."

Then she shook free the thoughts, willed herself back to the task. She scanned the trees. That's right, back to work. Get rid of the baggage. She'd made a promise to Hansen. All right. If Sam had cut to the north instead of crossing the road . . . But she couldn't abandon the plan or the others. She had to keep moving. It was all part of small-unit tactics. She could still hear his admonishments as she continued, carefully measuring her steps, wincing at the crunch of twigs.

Her pulse began to slow, and then, reaching out with all her senses, she tried to detect him, taking her mind beyond the flesh to see if maybe, just maybe, the connection they'd had could transcend physical distances.

A cold breath washed over her.

She stopped, looked around, and something told her that Sam Fisher was already long gone.

THEY were getting just a little too close for comfort, thought Moreau. He was alone, using the Trinity System, floating over the reservoir now and watching as Fisher neared the Esch-sur-Alzette's train station. Fisher stepped onto the dirt shoulder just as a motorcyclist came barreling toward him. Moreau winced and through a gasp cried, "Get out of the way, Sam!"

This was hardly planned.

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