CIA knew it was a gamble, and a rigged one at that. The others in the agency called the man an inhuman beast, more commonly - a retard. He was not prone to cooperate, only to bargain and throw tantrums and endlessly ask for more. Yet, in that man, that Ruber, CIA saw something he never quite had himself.
Ruber was animalistic, primitive, vulgar, everything CIA hated in a partner. Everything that could lead to the operation spinning wildly. Everything that could lead to CIA not being in charge anymore. But he also was a big guy. For CIA, or for anyone else.
And today, in this godforsaken airfield, near this plane destinied to fall from the treacherous sky - this was all that mattered. CIA believed in the survival of the fittest. And strength was not the only trait crucial to live and see another day. Sometimes the ability to sic one predator on another was much more important.
And now, the gears have started to turn at last. Bane was within his grasp. The black car stopped near him, the doors opened at once.
- Dr. Pavel, I presume?