Heels thump on stairs as the unconscious smugglers are dragged down the stairs. The process is not quick, especially since Wallace's shoes no longer fit, but eventually the prisoners are loaded into the back of the truck, along with a few cases of "samples". The doctor bag, the biscuit tin, and the cardboard box with the glass conch are all in the front of the truck.<br/><br/>Wallace struggle to stay awake the moment she sits down. It is clear the transformation was very taxing physically -- the fact both smugglers didn't rouse when being half-dragged and half-carried down two flights of stairs lends credence to that. Another draw on one of the American cigarettes, the heat and nicotine and the acrid taste help her keep her eyes open.<br/><br/>Dany is nearly exhausted by the time you close the tailgate. He checks his pistol, sliding the action back part of the way to see if a round is chambered before putting the safety on.<br/><br/>"I'll ride in the back. In case they wake up."<br/><br/>Gordon turns the ignition. An orange-red jewel-light on the dash glows dimly. Feeling for the choke he pulls it out, then presses on the starter with his foot. It only takes two depressions of the starter before the diesel engine catches. Slowly pushing in the choke he depresses the clutch and moves the gear stick into reverse. Turning in the courtyard, he hand over-hand's the wheel, wrenching it from far left to far right, before putting the truck into first gear.<br/><br/>Pulling through the alley, emerging on an empty street in the ruins of Berlin, Gordon returns to the Kammergericht, eventually joining the sparse night traffic of the main streets.<br/><br/>The garage door is already open, a Soviet guard with a PPS-43 SMG and an American with a Tommy Gun approach cautiously. Soon the situation is explained, and guards escort the prisoners, now barely conscious, to cells below.<br/><br/>The three of you are escorted to a briefing room, a different one than you attended in the morning.<br/><br/><div class="floatright">(https://i.imgur.com/o9MHSQLm.jpg)</div>The Duty Officer joins you before you can stir sugar and creme into coffee. Lt Colonel Braxton Young, USAAF, Blonde hair going grey on the sides. He crosses to the desk and sits, flipping open the cover of his notebook. He holds a pencil in his hand.<br/><br/>"Gentlemen. Lady. This is something new. Androshenko sent you to the morgue this morning. What's going on? Who's she? Where's Wallace?"