He left them alive. Barely.
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.” Tom Clancys Splinter Cell Conviction
He emerged into the penthouse kitchen. Two guards. One by the espresso machine, one by the balcony door. Both with sidearms. Sam didn’t hesitate. He came up behind the first—a hand over the mouth, a sharp twist, and the man slid down the marble counter without a sound. The second guard turned. Sam threw a ceramic sugar bowl. The man’s pistol rose, but his eyes tracked the bowl for a split second too long. Sam closed the distance, grabbed the gun’s slide to prevent a round from chambering, and drove his forehead into the man’s nose. Down. He left them alive
“You’re going to nod once if you want to keep your tongue,” Sam whispered. “G-grimsdottir
He crushed the phone in his fist and melted into the alley.
He cuffed Galliard to the chair, took the man’s phone, and slipped out the same way he came—through the dark, silent as a spent round.
Three targets. One objective. No witnesses who can talk.