The chain of command stretched all the way to Washington D.C. where they went ballistic over an American flight crew being drugged and coerced into an illegal conspiracy in Russia.
It was the doorway to everything and nothing I'd expected. There was no decor save the bodies snaked with tattoos and little more strewn about on minimal furniture in various poses only the drunk and drugged can manage.
The Cold War was over, the Wall had been down less than a decade and I was winging my way to the Russian Far East on an ice bucket. That's when the curtain pulled back and a shadow fell across the page.