Moscow 17 November, 1989 11:34 P.M.
Ethan tried to stir in the tiny, wooden crate and was unable to. Relatively large quantities of sawdust occupied most of the available room in the tiny crate, impeding almost all motion Ethan attempted. He tried not to sneeze as he sat, motionless in the crate.
The crate was suddenly jostled and lifted. Several voices spoke unclear Russian in the distance, and Ethan's abilities in Russian were not sufficient to understand what they meant. He certainly hoped that he wouldn't have to do much, if any, talking during this mission, but Jim assured him that he would not have to talk to anyone. Ethan knew still that even one guard asking him a question might be enough to blow what cover he may be able to secure.
The crate was dropped unceremoniously onto what Ethan figured to be a metal landing of some kind. He noticed after a few minutes that the gentle sway he had been accustomed to for the last half hour had ceased; he was no longer on a ship. He listened carefully for distant voices or the scuffle from the shoes of a worker.
I'm in, Ethan said at last over the miniature radio affixed to his head.
Jim said quickly, not wanting to use the radio any more than Ethan. Jim's voice filtered over the small speaker in Ethan's left ear.
Rolling to first landing, Ethan said. He lifted the lid off the crate, designed to come off easily when pushed from within but appear secure from without, and rose slowly up. He stifled a sneeze from the stirred sawdust and silently left the crate.
Two Russians were sitting toward a large and open door. They were conversing, a little angrily, about something, but appeared to be oblivious to Ethan's presence. Beyond them, a small canal had been carved out of the ground. A boat was just leaving the large door. Ethan recognized it immediately as the one he had been planted on an hour earlier.
Ethan turned from the loading dock area and looked for an exit that would lead deeper into the base. He had been thoroughly briefed and even had a map of the station, inasmuch as IMF knew it, loaded on his field scanner.
The base was a small information node, as the Soviets called it. It had a giant computer terminal that stored coded information about the KGB's operatives and also served as a KGB safe house for its agents in eastern Europe. Jim had hoped that breaking into via the back door would allow enough access time for Ethan to download the computer's database.
Ethan approached the far door of the loading dock. He tried the handle and was amazed to discover the door was unlocked. Ethan opened the door slowly, careful to avoid any creaking, and slipped past.
The narrow corridor beyond was very dimly lit so Ethan walked slowly. The walls were made of poorly mortared brick with a gaping hole here and there revealing rodent-bitten electrical wiring. The cement floor was wet, with small amounts of water pooling here and there. A single light bulb dangled from the ceiling, barely illuminating the corridor.
Ethan said quietly. A small metal box was affixed on the far wall next to a less than adequately attached door. Ethan ran to it and opened the box, revealing a digit pad behind. Ethan took a deep breath, looked on his left hand and punched a series of numbers into the pad. He braced for an alarm to go off, but the door unlocked instead.
I have access, Ethan said into the radio.
Proceed with caution, Jim instructed. Don't shoot unless you have to. Zero body count if possible.
Ethan said, involuntarily reaching for the silenced automatic pistol he had hidden in his overcoat. Hunt out.
Ethan grabbed the chipped brass doorknob and turned it slowly. The door seemed to swing open by itself, and Ethan nearly fired off his pistol, but no guard jumped out at him. He holstered his firearm and stepped slowly into the darkness.
