"Lambert, I'm inside," Sam whispered, his voice barely audible over the comms. "The Darah Dan Doa haven't noticed a thing yet."
As he began the data siphon, the door hissed open. Sam pressed himself into the ceiling corner, legs braced against the walls in a perfect split-jump. Below him, Sadono himself walked in, flanked by two armed militants. The guerrilla leader looked at the terminal, his face illuminated by the pale blue light of the progress bar.
The heavy monsoon rain drummed against the corrugated metal roof of the Dili embassy, a rhythmic mask for Sam Fisher’s movements. He was a shadow within shadows, the three green dots of his multi-vision goggles the only evidence of his existence in the pitch-black corridor.
"Good work, Sam," Irving Lambert’s voice crackled back from Third Echelon HQ. "Suhadi Sadono is playing a dangerous game. If those smallpox containers aren't neutralized, 'Pandora Tomorrow' becomes a reality. Find Douglas Shetland. He's our only lead to the encryption keys."