The city below you is motionless, asleep; the dry air is stirred by the helicopter's blades. The noise doesn't bother you, as you are focused on the upcoming mission.

"Firebird 2-1 to Tombstone, we are in position. Time is 0436, 20 mikes to the handoff, one hour to extraction. Get the intel and leave Safe House before 0510. Now entering Radio Silence. Good luck Sergeant… Hawkins, out"

Sergeant Dunn, with his hands already around the doubled rope, nods his head and gives the signal. The four-men squad rappels down to the airway like a unique entity, detaches the ropes, and crouches in a circle.

"Pac, mission recap"

As the UH-1Y Venom gains height above his head, Dunn turns it to his left.

"Meeting point is 2 klicks east. We take position 10 mikes before set time. I take the package, Dunn and Irish guard my back, Reck keeps an eye on us from the west building. Radio silence until we reach Safe House, 1 klick south. If anything goes wrong…"

The young soldier slowly blinks, then starts listing with a flat voice:

"… package is priority"

"This is highly valuable Intel that could link Cheng to the Russians. Our singing bird today is a former Spetsnaz that Mother Russia has disowned, so we shouldn't expect any funny moves from him. Still, stay with your eyes peeled. All clear?"

cuts Dunn.

You nod along the Graves and Pakowski, and immediately move out when prompted by the Sergeant.

"So, whose property is all this again?"

"A local resident"

Pac asks, with a wide movement of his arm, pointing from their position down to a parked Gulfstream G100.simply replies Dunn.

"I'm bettin' the guy's related to Uncle Sam"

mumbles Irish, eyeing a nearby villa. The whole facility seems to have all the lights conveniently shut down; beyond the wall embracing the garden, a poor city spreads out to the skyline dominated by growing skyscrapers.

A focused silence suddenly possesses the group, while the weight of the upcoming mission drops on your shoulders. You march silently for 2 kilometers of dark alleys, until the Staff Sergeant raises his closed fist; then he gives the sign.

As Pac takes the lead of the group, you take the right corner of the alley, while activating your NVS-22. Looking for a practicable spot is pretty difficult in one of the poorest block of the city; you take position between a pile of rotting garbage and the rusty remains of an old Cinquecento's bodywork, and begin again the rappelling routine.

The waiting game is both the easiest and most unnerving section of any mission, and not your favorite one; you stretch your shoulders muscles in relief when the VIP shows up in the yard below you, two minutes late.

As the Russian General greets him with a gesture of the hand, Pakowski steps ahead under the weak light of a crooked street lamp, his face not betraying his tension; behind the young soldier, the outlines of Kimble and Dunn are barely noticeable. The other party seems to consist of only one additional member, although you are sure that your Russian counterpart is somewhere on the roofs in front of you. Hoping there will be no need to use it, you strengthen your grip on your M16.

The General reaches for his pocket with his right; he grasps something, and simply hands it to Pac with half a smile. Then, as he lays his hand just under the Russian's, everything goes to shit in two seconds: with a soft, clean sound, a silenced shot pierces the Russian's temples from side to side, landing on the floor on his left; before the body even starts falling, both Clayton and the other Russian imprecate in their respective language and sprint to the closest alley; Irish and Dunn take the alley on their back with a sudden about-turn, avoiding stepping into the light. You catch a distant glint, 80 meters north of your position: at least two snipers on a slightly higher rooftop.