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About Tom Clancy's Splinter Cell
Product Description In response to the growing use of sophisticated digital encryption to conceal potential threats to the United States, the National Security Agency has ushered forth the new dawn of intelligence-gathering techniques. The top-secret initiative is dubbed Third Echelon. Its existence denied by the U.S. government, Third Echelon deploys a lone field operative. He is sharp, nearly invisible, and deadly. And he has the right to spy, steal, destroy, and assassinate to protect American freedoms. His name is Sam Fisher. He is a Splinter Cell®. About the Author A little more than thirty years ago Tom Clancy was a Maryland insurance broker with a passion for naval history. Years before, he had been an English major at Baltimore’s Loyola College and had always dreamed of writing a novel. His first effort, The Hunt for Red October, sold briskly as a result of rave reviews, then catapulted onto the New York Times bestseller list after President Reagan pronounced it “the perfect yarn.” From that day forward, Clancy established himself as an undisputed master at blending exceptional realism and authenticity, intricate plotting, and razor-sharp suspense. He passed away in October 2013. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. 1 It’s like being in a state of nonexistence. A vacuum. Darkness and light at the same time, and no sense of gravity. There’s no air, but I know I’m breathing. Certainly no sounds are present. I see and feel nothing. There are no dreams. That’s what sleep is like for me. I’m blessed, I suppose. I can will myself to sleep anywhere, anytime. I didn’t train to do it. It’s always been that way, ever since I was a kid. I simply tell myself, “It’s time to sleep now.” And I do it. I’m sure a lot of people in the world would envy this talent. I don’t take it for granted because in my business I have to catch sleep in the strangest places and at the oddest times. I feel the pulsating pressure on my wrist. It gently pulls me out of this dimensionless world, and I slowly regain the use of my senses. I feel the warm metal against my face. I hear far-off nondescript echoes. The OPSAT attached to my wrist continues to wake me. There’s a little T-shaped rod that protrudes from the flexible band when the silent “alarm” goes off. The rod rocks back and forth, nudging my pulse, telling my body that it’s time to rouse. When I first saw it demonstrated, it reminded me of a James Coburn spy movie from the sixties in which he played a secret agent who could stop his heart on command. This apparently put him in some kind of hibernation. He had a wristwatch with the same kind of T-shaped rod that poked him until he woke up. I remember laughing in the movie theater when I saw that. It was too ridiculous to take seriously. Now look at me. I take a few deep breaths. The air is stale and dry inside the ventilation shaft where I spent the last six hours. I flex my hands to get the blood circulating once again. I stretch my feet, even though they’re enclosed snugly in my boots. Then I open my eyes. There’s no more light in the shaft than there was when I first climbed into it. The OPSAT finishes its duty and the little T-shaped rod retracts. I bring my left hand to my face and press the button to illuminate the OPSAT’s screen. There are no new messages from Lambert. No incoming e-mail. All’s quiet in the world. The OPSAT is a handy little device that Third Echelon dreamed up for its agents. It’s really called an Operational Satellite Uplink. Primarily a tool for communication, it has many other uses as well. I particularly like the camera capabilities that allow me to snap digital pics of anything I want. I’m suddenly aware of how hot it is and I remember where I am. The ventilation shaft of the Tropical Casino in Macau. I’m lying horizontally in a space slightly smaller than a phone booth. It’s a good thing I’m not claustrophobic or I’d be a basket case by now. Since I had to wait for the right time to make my move,
