If you haven't seen the movie (or watched the IMAX prologue way back in December in front of Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol), then obviously there are spoilers here.
CHAPTER ONE - SOMEWHERE IN EASTERN EUROPE
A bad omen, Dr. Leonid Pavel thought. The middle- aged scientist sat tensely in the middle of the vehicle, flanked by grim-faced men armed with automatic weapons. More soldiers guarded the prisoners in the rear of the cruiser: three silent figures with hoods over their heads. They sat rigidly, their hands cuffed, under the watchful gaze of the guards.
Pavel squirmed uncomfortably, feeling more like a prisoner than a passenger. He ran an anxious hand through a mop of unruly white hair. Sweat glued his shirt to his back. Am I doing the right thing? he fretted. What if I’m making a terrible mistake?
Other sounds began to be heard. Just when he had convinced himself that he should never have accepted the Americans’ offer, the cruiser arrived at its destination—a remote airstrip overlooking a war- torn city. Artillery fire boomed in the distance, the reverberations echoing off the desolate hillsides. Sirens blared. The sounds of the conflict, which had been going on for months now, reminded Pavel why he had been so eager to flee the country for a safer, more civilized location. This was no place for a man of his intellect—not anymore.
The cruiser squealed to a stop, and the guards hustled him out of the vehicle. An unmarked turbojet airplane waited on the runway, along with a small reception committee consisting of a bland-looking man in a suit and a small escort of armed guards. Although the soldiers bore no identifying uniforms or insignia, Pavel assumed they were US Special Forces, probably from the CIA’s own secretive Special Activities Division. The elite paramilitary teams specialized in sabotage, assassination, counter-terrorism, reconnaissance...and extractions. Pavel hoped he could trust them to keep him safe, especially after his recent narrow escape.
His driver shoved him toward the man in the suit.
“Dr. Pavel?” The man smiled and held out his hand. “I’m CIA.” He did not volunteer his name, not that Pavel would have believed him if he had. The anonymous American agent handed a leather briefcase over to the driver of the land cruiser, who accepted it eagerly. The briefcase contained more than enough funds to make this risky delivery worth the driver’s while. He gestured behind him.
“He was not alone,” the driver announced.
The CIA man spotted the hooded men in the back of the cruiser. He frowned at Pavel.
“You don’t get to bring friends.”
“They are not my friends!” the scientist protested. Indeed, he wanted to get as far away from the hooded men as possible. You don’t know what they’re capable of doing!
“Don’t worry,” the driver told the CIA agent. “No charge for them.”
The American contemplated the prisoners dubiously.
“Why would I want them?”
“They were trying to grab your prize,” the driver explained, smirking. “They work for the mercenary. For the masked man.”
A look of excitement came over the CIA agent’s nondescript, unmemorable features. He gave the prisoners a closer look.
“Bane?”
The driver nodded.
“Get ’em on board,” the CIA agent ordered his men, swiftly revising his plans. Clearly this was an opportunity he wasn’t about to pass up. He extracted a cell phone from his jacket. “I’ll call them in.”
Pavel swallowed hard. He didn’t like the way this was going. He shuddered at the memory of the attempted kidnapping, and at the very mention of his attackers’ infamous commander. Bane had become synonymous with atrocities, at least in this part of the world. Had it not been for the militia’s timely intervention, he would now be in the killer’s clutches.
Given a choice, he would have left Bane’s men far behind them.
Within minutes, they were in the air, flying low over the remote mountains in an attempt to avoid detection. Special Agent Bill Wilson checked on Dr. Pavel, who was safely tucked into a passenger seat, before turning his attention to their prisoners. Beneath his cool, professional exterior, Wilson was thrilled at the prospect of finally getting some reliable intel on Bane. To date, the notorious mercenary had defied the Agency’s best efforts to neutralize or even co-opt him. They didn’t even know what he looked like beneath that grotesque mask of his. The man was a mystery— with a body count.
Forget Pavel, Wilson thought. If I can get the 411 on Bane, that would be quite the feather in my cap. There might even be a promotion in it for me. Maybe a post in Washington or New York.
The hooded men knelt by the cargo door, their wrists cuffed behind them. Special Forces commandoes stood guard over the prisoners. Wilson grabbed the first captive at random.
“What are you doing in the middle of my operation?” he demanded.
The prisoner kept his mouth shut.
Fine, Wilson thought. We’ll do it your way. He hadn’t expected the man to crack without a little persuasion. He pulled a semiautomatic pistol from beneath his jacket and placed the muzzle against the man’s head. The prisoner flinched, but remained silent. Wilson decided to up the ante. He raised his voice so that all three prisoners could hear him even through their hoods.
“The flight plan I just filed with the Agency lists me, my men, and Dr. Pavel here. But only one of you.”
He threw open the cargo door. Cold air invaded the cabin as the wind outside howled like a soul in torment. Wilson grabbed onto a strap to anchor himself. He nodded at the Special Forces guys, who seized the first prisoner and hung him out the cargo door. The wind tore at his hair and clothing, threatening to yank him out of the paramilitaries’ grip. Wooded peaks waited thousands of feet below.
“First to talk gets to stay on my aircraft!” Wilson shouted over the wind. He cocked his weapon. “So... who paid you to grab Dr. Pavel?”
The men remained silent. Bane’s goons were loyal, Wilson would give him that. He would have to push harder.
Time for a little sleight of hand...
He fired his weapon out the door, the sharp report of the gun blasting through the wailing wind. The SAD guys yanked the stubborn prisoner back into the plane, and then clubbed him with a baton before he could make a sound. In theory, the other two prisoners would think that their comrade was dead and thrown overboard.
Maybe that would loosen their tongues.
“He didn’t fly so good,” Wilson lied. “Who wants to try next?”
The Special Forces men shifted to the second hooded prisoner. Moving with practiced efficiency, they hung the would-be kidnapper out the door, high above the mountains. The drop was enough to put the fear of God into just about anyone.
“Tell me about Bane!” Wilson demanded. “Why does he wear the mask?”
Only the wind answered him.
Frustrated, Wilson placed his gun against the second man’s head. He was getting fed up with the prisoners’ stubborn refusal to cooperate. Did they think he was just joking around here? He cocked his gun again, but still . . . nothing.
“Lot of loyalty for a hired gun!”
“Or,” a new voice interrupted, “maybe he’s wondering why someone would shoot a man before throwing him out of an airplane.”
Source : feeds.ign.com
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