The Man from Taman

Tiergarten War Memorial, 17 June Street
West Berlin, British Sector in Germany
30:00 to Zero Hour

Across Straße des 17. Juni a Soviet guard of honor detail somberly marched about in front of western tourists in front of the marble war memorial to the Red Army war dead who'd conquered Berlin prior to its division. But on their side of the street, two agents belonging to the International Secret Intelligence Service, L.L.C., gingerly threw a large, obviously man-sized ski bag into the trunk of their rented VW 1600.

Closing the trunk, Lana Kane, the first agent, stared at the tourists and the monument, none of whom seemed remotely curious about the man-sized parcel they'd been handling.

"Kind of a weird place, huh?"

"It's West Berlin, Lana," the second agent, Sterling Archer, pointed out impatiently, leaning against the car. "It's full of weird places."

"I mean for a you-know-what!" she fired back angrily.

"What, a defection?"

Lana's groan was loud enough to actually get the attention of a pair of Soviet soldiers who were passing by. They glanced across the street briefly, shrugged, then returned to their conversation. Lana was still fuming when Archer considered her statement more thoughtfully.

"Well, given its proximity…"

"Call me crazy, but in the whole West German enclave, you think ISIS's East German contact would pick somewhere better than in front of a Russian war monument."

"Exclave," Archer corrected her matter-of-factly.

"What?"

"West German exclave. It's surrounded entirely by East Germany. That makes it an exclave. Read a geography book for once, Lana!"

Lana stared at Archer. "Get in the car," she commanded sharply.

The drive down 17 June Street and Bismarck Street to the Autobahnzubringer was smoother, with no trouble aside from the occasional sound of the man-sized bag's contents shifting in the trunk on the real wheel suspension.

"Geeze, I thought the Germans were supposed to know how to build cars," Archer mumbled.

"Maybe if you didn't drive like we didn't have a Russian defector stuffed in the trunk alongside all your Scorpions fan crap…"

"You shut your mouth, Lana! They're a national treasure, you don't speak ill of the Scorpions in West Germany!"

"I thought we weren't in West Germany," Lana taunted back.

The two sat in silence. "You know, because of the ex-…"

"I know Lana, shut up!" Archer barked back, before slamming his foot on the brake pedal.

Lana face pounded against the dashboard. "What the shit, Archer? It's just the freaking Scorpions!"

"No, Lana, no one gives a crap about German heavy metal because my cufflinks are missing!" Dead serious, he pointed at his left sleeve where, in fact his cufflinks were missing.

Lana stared at him before getting out of the car. "I can't believe this."

"Lana, I seriously doubt they just fell out of this German shoe box just right now!"

"I'm checking to see if your shit driving didn't kill our defector!" she snapped back. "Now open the trunk!"

Archer complied, before getting out of the car himself and propping himself on the hood angrily. Lana lifted the trunk, stared at the ski bag briefly before unzipping it. It contained a wiry Asian man, dressed in an olive-drab military uniform with bright red collar insignia, badges and a colorful ribbon bar, looking a little carsick.

"You okay?"

It took him a minute to respond. "Is there any reason I am not allowed to sit in the back with you? It's not as though I was…kidnapped…" he said with an awkward silence but surprisingly little accent in his English.

"Right…that's actually not a bad point. Let me just…uh…move some of this heavy metal merchandise…"

"Thank you," he said quickly.

"Archer, he's going to sit in front."

"What about my freaking cufflinks, Lana? What are you going to do about those?"

(Cue Title Sequence)