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You get to it. Though they weren’t kind enough to give you a flashlight of your own, the meagre amount of light slipping past the cardboard over the door and the ambience from their torches is enough that you’re able to see what you’re looking at, though you have to squint to read text.
There’s a lot here, so you methodically go through each shelf, looking for anything that mentions the things the two men told you about. Unfortunately, this is a pretty big room, and there are a lot of shelves. There’s all sorts of boxes and chests, some unlabelled, containing God knows what. You open a few boxes out of curiosity, but it seems that most of the contents are junk. In one you find a pen, a clothes hangar, and several ping-pong balls. In another are several origami dragons. You leave them untouched, just in case.
There’s a few dates on these things too. Most of them are recent, some from the 60s and 50s, others from the wartime years. There’s even one you find engraved on a thick wooden chest that’s so worn you can only make out 17-. How old is that thing?
Eventually, you come across something that might be of use. It’s a small wooden box, the label is from 1 March 1962, and it has the words OPERATION TOPAZ printed on it. You quickly snatch at the paper pinned to it. Sure enough, printed in extremely faded letters is the name of the supervising specialist, Dr
Aloysius Wong. Location of Recovery: Burma. You open the box.
Inside are several sheafs of paper, seemingly boring data sheets you can’t figure out, but at the very bottom is a small case. You lift it out and open it. Inside is a kitchen knife. You quickly put it back and shut the box. Don’t want those two looking over and noticing you’ve got a knife in your hands.
It seems they’re not really paying much attention to you, just flashing their light against the shelves and examining some things, just like you are. You’re about to go back to doing that yourself when you hear something over the speakers.
