Sam Fisher- Vs Two Snipers

It took Fisher a moment to reorient himself; with a start, he realized the sniper's new field of fire was centered on him. He killed the camera, raised the binoculars, and focused on Sniper One. All he saw in the magnified field was a head-on view of a bulky NV scope and a hood-covered head resting against the rifle stock.

  Fisher dropped flat.

  He heard a swish-pfft. A puff of dirt erupted beside him. He rolled right. Another bullet slammed into the dirt. He pushed himself into a crouch and double-stepped to his right behind the trunk of a baobab.

  Five seconds passed, then ten. They knew his general location but didn't have a clear shot. Both snipers had shifted their aim toward him in unison; that was beyond coincidence, which could mean one thing: He'd been tagged, either visually or electronically. He switched to NV and scanned his surroundings, looking for likely observation posts. There were none; he was shielded to the left and right by the baobab grove and behind by the storage huts.

  So he'd been electronically tagged.

  He was pinned down.
...

  HOW and when he'd been tagged would have to wait for later. Or would it? he thought, a memory coming back to him. What had Grimsdottir called the encryption program she'd found on the data from the Duroc's helm console? Another Marcus Greenhorn masterpiece.

  Another Marcus Greenhorn masterpiece . . .

  His eyes were drawn to the OPSAT strapped to his wrist. Could it be? He'd used the OPSAT to scan both the Duroc's helm console and Greenhorn's USB drive, and so far every encryption or virus they'd come across had been created by Greenhorn to protect whoever had hired him.

  Had a Trojan horse hidden inside the OPSAT been piggybacking a tracking beacon on top of his own comm channels? It was possible, he decided. There was one way to find out. The method was decidedly low-tech, but it would do the job.

  He took the OPSAT off and laid it at the foot of the tree, then backed away, using the baobab's trunk as cover until he was at the edge of the grove. He turned and sprinted parallel to the grove until he was certain Sniper Two's view was blocked by intervening buildings, then turned again and darted into the shadows between a pair of storage huts.

  He waited for the teenage guard to pass by, then stepped onto an empty crate and slowly raised his head up until only his eyes showed over the hut's roof. He raised his binoculars and checked Sniper One. The man hadn't moved. He was still focused on the baobab tree shielding the OPSAT.
...

  He curled himself into a seated firing position, SC-20 cradled in his arms, elbows resting on his knees. Individually, the shots didn't worry him, but each sniper probably had the other in his peripheral vision. As soon as one went down, the other would instantly know about it.

  Fisher chose the one on the admin building's roof first; the one atop the crane had no easy cover, no quick escape. He zoomed the scope until the crosshair's reticle was centered on the man's forehead. He took a breath, held it a moment, then released it slowly. Gently he squeezed the trigger. The SC-20 bucked on his shoulder. In the scope, he saw the man's head snap back, haloed in a dark mist of blood.

  He changed position, reoriented, zoomed in. Atop the crane, the first sniper had in fact seen his partner die and was already moving, rolling right toward the control cab's ladder. Fisher adjusted his aim, leading him just a hair, then fired. The man jerked once, then went still.

  Fisher keyed his subdermal. "Sleepers; two; clean. Moving to the admin building."

- Checkmate, Chapter 24, 25