Chapter 2

Air Force One landed in England without incident. Reporters flocked to the scene when a stewardess found the Iraqi ambassador unconscious, having been rendered so by a sticky shocker. Sam Fisher, being the ace spy that he was, slipped away from the jet through the landing gear well.

"Okay Lambert," said Fisher through his headset, "where do I meet our MI6 contact?"

"He's waiting in the parking lot," responded Lambert ,"You might want to remove the spy gear though."

"Really…" quipped the spy sarcastically. Sam glanced down at his gear: Five-Seven suppressed pistol, laser mic, combat knife, flash and chaff grenades, and a grenade launcher.

He was going to have to stash this stuff if he was going to be incognito. An idle luggage trolley sat only ten meters, providing the stashing place for his plethora of weapons. Sam ran toward the vehicle and dived behind it. Grabbing the first suitcase he came to, an old battered brown case with "Viva Mexico" stickers stuck to it. Ignoring the tacky labels, Fisher popped open the case, liberating several articles of clothing, which he neatly tucked on to the buggy. Fisher then removed his gear and crammed as many gadgets as he could into the case.

Getting through the airport was no problem, although Fisher drew the occasional sideways glance from people wondering what a guy in a black jumpsuit was doing in the middle of the England international airport. Sam could feel the once-overs people were giving him. The people, however, were unconcerned, seeing no weapons and therefore no cause for alarm. Although Sam did have to elbow whack a nosy tourist who kept poking his flak jacket.

A plain black limo sat in the parking lot. Sam walked casually over to it and rapped on one of the windows.

"Who is it?" said a voice on the other side.

"Airport security, would you please step out of the car?" said Sam. There were few things he liked better than messing with people.

To the Splinter Cell's surprise, the door popped open, giving him a good whack in the kneecaps, causing him to groan in pain. Two British men sat in the limo: one was dressed like a 60's swinger, the other in more business like attire.

"Let me guess, you're my MI6 contact?" asked Sam.

"Hop in Mr. Fisher, we have much to tell you," said the business brit.

Fisher got into the limo and it pulled out of the airport and onto the highway. The sleek black stretch sedan was equipped with a mini-bar, shag carpet and a condom dispenser.

"So why am I here?" asked Sam.

"You're here to help us save the earth from total destruction," said the business man," but first, introductions are in order: I am Basil Exposition and this is Austin Powers, International Man of Mystery."

"Man of Mystery? Just my luck, I get stuck with a James Bond wannabe," gripped Sam.

"Hey! I am not!" Austin said indignantly, "I've saved the world three times, and made three feature films about said adventures."

"Well I've saved the world from international terrorists four times. And starred in four video games, three novels and soon a movie of my own, about those exploits."

"Alright that's enough!" commanded Basil, "It's time for your briefings: At 1100 hours, a group of heavily armed cyborg ninjas, lead by Fat Bastard, attacked a biological weapons laboratory and made off with a contagion labeled ND133."

"ND133? Am I the only one who's having Déjà vu moment?" Sam asked rhetorically. He remembered the mission to destroy the deadly small pox virus back in Pandora Tomorrow.

"Yes, and we believe that Dr. Evil is involved," said Basil, "The first stop you should make to find Evil's hideout is Club Doomsday in downtown Munich."

Meanwhile, in the Seattle Space Needle Dr. Evil, second evilest man in the galaxy next to Darth Vader and way badder than the Bush Administration, ran is bling laden fingers over the trapezoidal "Pox Box" that contained his latest world domination scheme.

"Excellent work, Fat Bastard," drawled Dr. Evil

"All right you got yer' pox," said Fat Bastard with a thick Scottish accent," now where's ma' munny?"

"Now we both know you don't want cash, so I took the liberty of having Number Two collect your favorite food: Baby meat!"

"Baby meat!" Exclaimed the obese Scotsman and ran toward a cart filled with baby back ribs. These babies came from an illegal baby farm in Singapore, and Dr. Evil's henchman Number Two had to brave the many horrors the Singaporians threw at him. The mere mention of Singapore caused Number Two to curl into a fetal position and suck his thumb.

"Alright ladies and gentlemen," Dr. Evil said, "Here's the plan: we use the small pox, and we hold the world ransom for," he paused for drama, "one hundred billion dollars!"

The quasi-mad scientist then roused everyone into a fit of evil laughter.