Tom Clancys Splinter Cell Conviction -

Sam checked his SC—no pistol. No sticky shockers. Just his bare hands, a pair of flex-cuffs, and the fuse of cold rage he kept banked behind his ribs.

Galliard’s eyes went wide. He nodded.

The safe house smelled of stale coffee and regret. Sam Fisher knelt by the window, the fractured moonlight catching the silver in his stubble. Three years ago, he’d walked away from Third Echelon. They told him his daughter, Sarah, was dead. Killed by a drunk driver. He’d buried her empty casket. Buried himself in grief. Tom Clancys Splinter Cell Conviction

The broker’s muffled voice came through Sam’s fingers. “G-grimsdottir. Anna Grimsdottir. Third Echelon. She’s gone rogue—Reed forced her to fake Sarah’s death file.” Sam checked his SC—no pistol

“The old Reflecting Pool bunker. Under the Lincoln Memorial. But Fisher—Reed knows you’re coming. He wants you to. It’s a trap.” Galliard’s eyes went wide

Sam leaned close. “Good. Traps are just ambushes that haven’t flipped yet.”