Klodno Petrochemical Plant (Eastern Europe)...
Guards try to ward off the dark grip of night with sweeping searchlights. Nikita cuts a chain link fence, pulls a black mask over her face, and passes through. Michael watches her go, then pulls on his own mask and follows. In the dark holes between arcs of light, other Section One operatives invade with furtive scrambling over rising steel beams and grates. The main spotlight is compromised when a shadowy op silently kills the guard manning it with a wire garotte , then takes the dead man's place. Michael attaches a bomb to a tank of chemicals.
MICHAEL, via commset: The charge is set. Pull out.
The Section One operatives begin their withdrawal. They are discovered, and weapons fire erupts. The Section op behind the spotlight spears guards one by one with a shaft of light, exposing them to deadly Section One fire. Soon all the operatives converge on the van beyond the perimeter fence. Michael activates the remote detonator. Nothing happens. He rips off his mask and presses the button again. Nothing. He runs back to the bomb location, pries off the plastic cover and quickly remedies the problem. Nikita calls out Michael's name from the back of the van. The plant guards now have the advantage; they are advancing, firing. Michael is hit and goes down. He activates the bomb with the remote, engulfing most of the enemy in sheets of hot flame. He staggers on, is shot again. He fires back unsteadily, but one more hit knocks him down. Nikita cries out, starts to leave the van, but is restrained by the other operatives.
The van races off. Michael is left to fend for himself, on the ground, grimacing in pain...
OPERATIONS: Congratulations on a successful mission. The chemical weapons plant was completely destroyed.
NIKITA: What about Michael?
OPERATIONS: Overnight analysis suggests one chance in three that he is alive. And even if he is, one chance in ten of bringing him out. He'll be missed.
NIKITA incredulously: That's it?
OPERATIONS: Yes, that's it.
NIKITA not bothering to conceal her disgust: 'He'll be missed.' I don't care about the oddsl I'll go back for him. I'm sure the others will, too.
OPERATIONS: I wish I could send you."
He walks away.
Section One, Communications...
Birkoff sits at his station, completely absorbed in his work. Nikita strides up and glares at him, trying to control her anger. She unleashes her fury by kicking Birkoff's chair. It spins around.
NIKITA, angrily: What's this crap about overnight analysis and ten to one odds?
BIRKOFF: I ... did a feasibility study, isolated key factors, ran a sim ...
NIKITA: This is Michael we're talking about. Couldn't you have fudged the sim? Maybe rigged the odds a little?
BIRKOFF: I did. Objectively, it's a hundred to one odds against bringing him out. Maybe a hundred fifty. Sorry, Nikita. Michael is on his own.
Klodno State Hospital, Eastern Europe...
A nurse, Angie Georgiev, leaves the hospital and walks to her car. She slides into the driver's seat and shuts the door. A bloody hand reaches over from the back seat and pushes the door lock down. Angie gasps as a gun is pressed into her neck.
MICHAEL: Start the car. Angie obeys. Your place. No tricks.
ANGIE, forcing herself to remain calm and thinking fast: You're hurt. You need doctor.
MICHAEL: A nurse is close enough.
ANGIE: The police are not always kind to foreigners. Perhaps if you turn yourself in they won't...
MICHAEL: Shut up and drive.
He presses the gun into Angie's face for emphasis. He is in pain, pale and trembling from fatigue and loss of blood. He has little reserves left, and Angie senses his desperation. She puts the car into gear and drives.