Transmission#: 12-70-15-96 / Designate: JULIET
Operation Charybdis has been deployed to Johannesburg, South Africa to eliminate Mason
Jackson, Ryan and CIA team to meet with MI6 assets
2230 hours December 2, 1978

Lieutenant Jonathan Price wiped the sweat from his forehead and returned to the Infrared Scope on his L64 Enfield rifle. It was his first op with MI6 since he had been loaned to it by the Special Air Service. There wasn't much to complain about: everything was still pretty much the same, from the pay to the missions. The only thing that did change was the level of secrecy of the missions: when in the SAS, it had been top secret, this was beyond top secret; this mission didn't even exist in government files.

He looked over to his partner for the mission, Lieutenant Arthur Kirkland. He was five years Price's junior, but he displayed a competence that went beyond his years. He knew little about the man personally, but what he did know was that he was good enough to merit a lot of private sessions with the royal family.

Across the hallway from him was the leader of this so-called Operation Charybdis, Agent Ryan Jackson of the Central Intelligence Agency of the United States of America. He had been chosen for this mission because of his intimate knowledge with their target, a Captain Alex Mason. Price had taken the time to read the man's file, which read like a James Bond novel without all the girls. He'd certainly been to a lot of places: Cuba, Vorkuta, Baikonur, Vietnam, Laos, he'd been there, all right. He had over five hundred enemy kills, and about ten helicopters and nine tanks under his belt. He'd even participated in the attack and subsequent destruction of a Soviet freighter and underwater station. But the real problem with him was that he had been brainwashed by the Soviets during his incarceration in Vorkuta, posing him as a threat to his fellow operatives. After the events surrounding the sinking of the Rusalka, he had been following his own agenda whenever he can—it had cost the CIA nine Israeli athletes back in Munich, in 1972. Finally, the agency had had their last straw—he had to go.

"Remember, Mason is a smart person," Jackson told the operatives. "Recent intelligence says that he hired a local gang of black thugs to guard his safehouse, and he's undoubtedly booby-trapped any information that he's got. We've got only one shot at this. Let's make it count."

"What about Mason's accomplices?" asked Price. "Hudson and Weaver?"

"We'll cross the bridge when we get to it," replied Jackson. "Right now, our target is Mason. Okay, Price, you and Kirkland will take point; I'll provide cover."

Price nodded, as well as Kirkland. The lieutenant entered the hallway and saw two South Africans engaged in conversation and with their backs on him. He didn't understand the Afrikaner tongue they were talking in, and right now, he didn't care.

"I'll take the one on the right," Price told Kirkland. "You have the one on the left." Kirkland nodded and aimed for his target.

The South African gangster could only watch as a bullet went through his companion's neck before he too was felled by the British operatives.

"Hallway clear," Price reported.

"Look for Room 307," said Jackson. "The supervisor said the Mason was renting that out."

"Roger that," said Price. "Kirkland, throw a stun grenade."

Kirkland nodded, pulled the pin off of a stun grenade, opened the apartment door by a crack, and forced the grenade in. It went off with a loud bang, stunning anyone unfortunate enough to be inside.

"Go!" said Price. Kirkland kicked the door in and entered the room, followed by Price and Jackson. "Clear!" he shouted.

"Nobody's home," said Price.

"That's impossible," said Jackson. "The CIA advance team said that Mason had never left this apartment for the last seven days."

"Well, he's not here now. That much is clear."

Jackson aimed his flashlight at the wall of the apartment, where a large map of the world had been posted. There were yellow, orange, and red pins scattered around the map, and there was no concentration of a particular color. Finding nothing of value, he turned his attention to the table. There, he found a piece of paper with only two names written on it, along with a sequence of numbers. It read:

Hans Berg 3 12 4 8 4 9 7 6 5 9 2 8 19

Heinz Doofenshmirtz 15 21 15 5 6 3 5 4 14 5 25 1

"I know where he's going to be next," muttered Jackson.

"Where?" asked Price.

"Wherever these people are," said Jackson, showing Price the paper.