Obvious answers, not specific ones. "What I don't get," Sitwell had also noted, "is why now?" After all, they'd had weeks where the new regime basically left them alone. Even leading a double life (that was generously romantic; his work for Fury was mostly sitting around waiting for a call), Sitwell had more down time than he knew what to do with. He hadn't had that since middle school. If it wasn't for all of the generous women in his life, he would need to take up a new hobby. Needlepoint?
As excruciating as those long, dull hours could be, they were preferable to this sled and snow, though. At least he was warm and cozy sitting in HQ and meticulously refiling old reports (finding gaps for Fury to take advantage of that he might have missed). And Coulson's jokes there didn't seem to outdated. Sarah Palin hadn't been of any interest to S.H.I.E.L.D. since the psychic implant. He wasn't even sure anyone was still running her anymore or if she was on an infinite feedback loop.
"Ha!" Sitwell declared triumphantly as his screen gave a valiant flicker of life, then frowned and shook it as it went black again, almost missing the structure looming in the now visible distance while he focused to trying to make the technology find it. "Hey!" he said instead when he happened to cut his gaze up in frustration, then pointed to the dark mass. They looked down on it, into a wide, white valley covered in virgin snow, and the castle cut into the hill on the other side.