Hey, he was getting there, don't rush him.

But Jack is right, according to where they're standing versus those suspicious as hell door markings, that should be where they need to go. Sinclair smiles wide at Jack and rolls the blueprint up, heading for the door to the hallway.

Not counting chickens.

There are no chickens being counted.

But if this isn't the door to a submarine bay, he's going to eat his shoe. Or at least he'll eat one of Jack's corpse snacks.