TEXT: IRK(U)TSK Exterior night shot of foreign looking street. Cut to close up panning shot of a jukebox. All the writing on it is in Cyrillic. A Russian language bluesy ballad is playing. Cut to scenes of glasses and a beer tap, then pan from the bartender's hand (which is pouring a drink) to two men sitting at a back table speaking in Russian. Man: You came alone, yes? The man is nervously tapping his fingers on the table. Close up on the man's hand as it taps and then another hand, which reaches over to stop the movement. Camera pans up: It's Vaughn. Vaughn: The information, Anatoly. Anatoly (in English): I'm an officer. I swore an oath never to betray State secrets. Vaughn: You said it was important; highest national security... What is it? Anatoly: Russia's been developing Black Thorine. Vaughn (unbelieving): Developing? Researching... Anatoly: Producing; we've made some. We've only been able to distill a small amount; ten milliliters: enough for a single vial. This government...will stop at nothing to contain this information. Vaughn: So why tell me? Anatoly: Because the vial was stolen. Vaughn's eyes widen in reaction. Vaughn: By whom? Anatoly reaches into his coat and pulls out a small, folded piece of paper and hands it to Vaughn. Anatoly: This is the routing number to my superior's bank account. He's recently come into a great deal of money. Both men look up as the door to the bar opens. Two men in military uniform approach them. One of them pulls a gun and aims it at Anatoly. Soldier (in Russian): Lieutenant Anatoly Grodsky, come with us. Vaughn looks at the soldiers and then at Anatoly as he stands up from the table, knowing that whatever happens, it's not going to be good. Suddenly, Anatoly tries to pull his pistol, but is
SUMMARY:
Sydney expresses her full hatred for Sloane during a mission to intercept a cache of an extremely powerful explosive called Black Thorine.