Operation Barracuda (2005) by Tom - Splinter Cell 02 Clancy Page B

pulling punches and don’t want to hurt her, she throws me off of her and manages to get to her feet. I hang on to one leg—it’s like hugging a tree trunk—and she pulls me along the carpet back into the office. Damn, she’s going for the guns.
    “Wait!” I shout, but she pulls the Winchester off the wall, cocks it, and aims it at my head.
    I raise my hands. “Mrs. Prokofiev,” I say, “please calm down and just listen to me.”
    “Who are you? What do you want?” she demands. Her voice is deep and hoarse.
    “I’m a private detective,” I blurt out. “I work for the Russian government. I’m gathering information about your husband’s extramarital activities!”
    This gets her attention. “What did you say?”
    “Please, may I stand?”
    She keeps the rifle trained on my forehead. I don’t doubt she would pull the trigger if provoked. Only now do I notice that there are curlers in her gray hair and she’s got cold cream on her face. Hideous.
    “All right, stand up, pig!” she shouts. I do so but I keep my hands high. I’m sure I could disarm her and send her to Dreamland if I wanted to, but I have a better idea.
    “My name is Vladimir Stravinsky and I work for the Russian government,” I say. “Your husband is in some trouble. I’m here to see what I can find. I honestly thought you weren’t at home.”
    “What did you do to Ivan the Terrible?” she snarls.
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “Ivan! My dog!”
    “Oh. He’s just asleep. It was a tranquilizer. He’s not harmed, I promise.”
    She squints at me and frowns. “What’s this about Stefan?”
    Stefan? Oh, her husband. “Mrs. Prokofiev, are you aware of your husband’s extramarital activities?”
    “His what ?”
    “May I lower my hands?” I ask as politely as possible. “I can show you some, um, pictures.”
    She glares at me, unsure whether or not to trust me. Finally, she nods her head but keeps the barrel in my face. “What are you talking about?” she whispers.
    “Your husband has a mistress in Ukraine. In Kyiv, to be exact. A fashion model.” I decide to rub it in. “She’s in her twenties.”
    The woman’s eyes flare. I swear they turn red for a moment. “I don’t believe it!” she says.
    “It’s true. I’m afraid this affair he’s having is causing some concern in the Kremlin. The general has been neglecting some of his, er, duties.”
    “You lie, pig!” She lifts the rifle to her eye, taking a bead on my nose.
    “I can show you pictures!” I say.
    Mrs. Prokofiev slowly lowers the gun again and jerks her head. “All right. Show me.”
    I hold out my wrist and reveal the OPSAT. “They’re on here. This is like a digital camera. Look.” I quickly bring up the shots I took in Kyiv and display them to her, one by one. Her facial expression exhibits incredulity at first and then her pallor changes from white to red, even through that awful cold cream. If she could breathe fire, she would.
    “I’ll kill him,” she mutters. The woman lowers the rifle and commands me to stand. She appears a little unsteady, so she moves to the desk and sits in the general’s chair. “What is going to happen to him?” she asks.
    “I don’t know. I’m just gathering information for now.”
    “You don’t need to do anything,” she says. “I’ll kill him first.”
    I figure this is anger and bravado talking. “That’s not necessary, Mrs. Prokofiev. I’m sure that—”
    But I’m interrupted by the sound of cars moving past the office window. I remember that the driveway leading to the garage is on the side of the house directly next to the office.
    “My husband!” she says, standing. “He is home!”
    I curse to myself. “I’ll have to hide.”
    She waves her finger at me. “No. Do not hide. Go out the back door. I will keep him occupied when he comes in. Hurry!”
    I nod, thank her, and leave the office. Ivan the Terrible is beginning to wake up. He sees me and growls sleepily. I jump over his body and he