Sam Fisher- Scanning Face

  Shoving his trifocals down over his eyes, Fisher zoomed in on a man who’d just left the main entrance. He came down the short flight of steps, slowed as he reached the terrace, then reached into his suit pocket to fish out a cigarette. No, it wasn’t a real cigarette but one of those electronic versions: he was trying to quit. The Bluetooth receiver in his ear caught Fisher’s attention. Fisher and Briggs were wearing their subvocal transceiver patches on their throats—the SVT patches were easily smuggled past customs in Turkey as “Band-Aids”—and thus Fisher immediately called in this guy.

  “I have him, too, Sam,” said Briggs.

  “Could be just some assclown playing on his cell phone and smoking,” said Charlie. “But if I can get a better look at his face, we'll run him through facial recognition.”

  “Patch into my trifocals,” Fisher ordered him.

  “Gotcha, Sam, okay, zoom in some more.”

  “Zooming.”

  “Tell him to say cheese.”

  Fisher did. Only in Russian. Charlie liked that, said he’d captured an image, and began running it.
...

  “Will do. And there we go, got him,” said Charlie. “Dude’s name is Travkin, FSB. Shot, scored! He’s got to be one of our men.”

- Blacklist Aftermath, Chapter 17