Banshee (S2E9): Missing Scenes

Disclaimer:  I do not own either of the Mission: Impossible series or any of the characters therein.  I receive no compensation or any other tangible benefit from this story.  I am just a fan who enjoys taking the team out for an adventure every now and then.  🙂

*****

While Jim and Max were busy demonstrating the virtues of the Mac-10 sub machine gun to McCarron and O’Rourke, the other three agents left the stables and made their way back to headquarters to prepare for the evening’s performance.

Nicholas had just finished helping Grant adjust the audio on the tape recording of the old people’s song when Shannon entered the room. She was dressed in a long, white, almost stringy robe, lightweight by design so that it would billow easily in the wind.

“This is supposed to convince McCarron that I’m the Banshee?” she asked skeptically, spreading her arms out for emphasis.

“That’s only part of the disguise,” answered Nicholas. “Come with me.”

Nicholas rose up from his position beside Grant and walked across the room to his makeup kit, with Shannon right behind him. In one hand, the dark-haired agent picked up a pair of black fingerless gloves; in the other, a package of artificial fingernails that looked to be at least two inches long. He handed them both to Shannon.

“Details,” he smiled. “Those nails will take a while to set, so you’d better go ahead and get them on.”

“I can’t put my makeup on wearing those things,” Shannon advised.

Nicholas looked at her, and his brown eyes were glistening. “I can help you with your hair and makeup,” he said softly, “if that’s okay.”

“Sure, Nicholas,” Shannon responded, blushing slightly. “I’d like that.”

Shannon slipped on the gloves, then painstakingly applied the fingernails as Nicholas prepared the makeup and brushes they would need. When she was finished, she sat down in a chair right across from her teammate, her hands flat and palms down on the table in front of her in order to allow her nails to set.

“Okay, first we’ll do the white foundation,” Nicholas began, as he picked up a small jar, dipped a brush into it, and began to apply the heavy substance to Shannon’s face. While some pressure was necessary to produce the desired result, Shannon found that Nicholas’ touch was gentle. She closed her eyes and tried to remain still, as the brush traveled across her forehead, down the bridge of her nose, and over both cheeks. When he was through, she opened her eyes again.

Nicholas was picking up a dark brown jar and a fresh makeup brush. “Now we’re going to enhance your eyes,” he told her. “You’ll need to keep them closed till I’m finished, okay?”

Shannon nodded and complied. Nicholas wielded the brush even gentler now, and it whispered around her eyes and atop her eyelids. Shannon was touched by the care and patience with which he worked.

“All right, that’s done,” he announced after a few moments. Shannon opened her eyes, and Nicholas smiled at her as he picked up the last jar.

“One more step,” he informed her. “This will further define your features, but also give the illusion of sunken cheeks to make you look more ghostly.” He used the narrow black brush to trace her eyebrow, then expertly drew a line from the corner of her eye to the corner of her mouth. “Otherwise, the Banshee will look more beautiful than frightening.”

Whether it was the vague hint of flirtation or the slight tickling of the brush against her cheekbone, Shannon wasn’t sure. But something made her jump slightly, and she felt butterflies flittering about in her stomach. Nicholas quickly withdrew the brush.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Nicholas,” she said hastily. “I hope I didn’t mess you up.”

“You didn’t,” Nicholas assured her quietly. His eyes narrowed. “Is something wrong?”

“Just a little ticklish there,” she said dismissively.  The concern on Nicholas’ face did little to lessen the butterflies she felt inside.

“Ah,” Nicholas replied, understanding. “We’re almost done.”

Shannon did her best to withstand the tickling sensation as Nicholas moved his brush to the other side. A moment later, he was finished.

“All done,” he said brightly. “Now, for the finishing touch.”

Nicholas got up from his chair and positioned himself behind Shannon, then he tenderly smoothed her shoulder-length brown hair back and secured it with a hair tie. He gently placed the wig on Shannon’s head and fluffed the gray-white frizz until it framed her features nicely. His warm fingers brushed slightly against her cheek in the process.

“Perfect,” he pronounced, reaching for a handheld mirror and holding it up for Shannon to view.

Shannon gasped. Nicholas was very, very good with makeup. She hardly recognized herself.

“Thank you,” Shannon said in a half-whisper, as she stood up and gazed into Nicholas’ soft brown eyes.

“You’re welcome,” her dark-haired teammate returned, in the same tone.

They stood there, frozen in time for a moment, saying nothing more but speaking volumes with their eyes.

*****

While Nicholas and Shannon were engrossed in perfecting Shannon’s disguise, Jim and Max returned to the lighthouse.  Jim went to a different room to make some final arrangements for the evening’s events.  Max spotted Grant, who was still sitting next to the soundboard.  He ran his hand through his hair nervously, then pulled up a chair beside his teammate.

Grant said nothing at first; in fact, he didn’t even turn to look in Max’s direction, focusing instead on making sure the audiotape of the old people was properly linked to the handheld controller he’d be carrying tonight.  Max’s stomach lurched, and he wondered if Grant, like himself, was still thinking about their last hostile exchange earlier this afternoon.

*****

The four of them were talking at McCarron’s Pub – McCarron, Jim, Max, and Grant.  O’Rourke, as always, was in his position behind the bar.  Jim had just revealed to McCarron that he, too, was in the arms business.

“I didn’t mean to pry, but I do a little dealin’ m’self,” smiled McCarron.  “Maybe if we became partners, we could open up new markets together. Towns, counties, then maybe the whole country.” The Irishman took a sip of his drink as he finished speaking.

“I’ve seen your bloody dealings in Africa,” replied Grant, putting on his hat. “That was enough for me. You can count me out.” Grant rose up from the table, picked up his coat, and slung it over his shoulder as he left the bar.

Once Grant was out of earshot, McCarron spoke again. “That young man has a great deal of knowledge now about us all.”

“Too much, I think,” agreed Jim.

“I can fix it.”  Max set down his glass of whiskey and stood up.

“Yes, perhaps you’d better,” agreed Jim, as Max slipped on his leather jacket.

“Just a minute, said McCarron, interrupting Max as he walked by, just as O’Rourke approached the table with another round of drinks.  McCarron produced a small pistol from beneath the table and handed it to Max.  “You can use this, he offered.  “Ha!  For sure, there’s so much shootin’ goes on around here, another small pop won’t be noticed.

“Go with him, O’Rourke,” he added.  O’Rourke cast a wary glance at Max, as Jim and Max both looked back at him.  “You can take the shotgun from behind the bar. Just to be sure.”

“I don’t need anyone’s help,” huffed Max, as he tucked the pistol in his waistband, while O’Rourke placed the drink refills on the table.

McCarron looked up at Max with a broad grin. “Humor me, lad.”  He gazed at Jim for a long moment, and then raised his glass again.

Max smirked, then he took off after Grant, with O’Rourke at his heels.

Grant was strolling away from the pub at a casual pace, effortlessly leaping the wooden fence, as Max and O’Rourke emerged from behind a tree.

“There he is!” yelled O’Rourke, pointing at Grant.

“Yeah, I see him,” answered Max curtly.  “I’ll take care of it.”

Hearing the voices behind him, Grant glanced briefly backwards.  Seeing the two men, he broke into a run, and the chase was on.

Like his teammate, Max had no trouble leaping the low wooden fence, while his slower Irish companion had to weave himself between the slats. Grant leapt another gate and began to sprint, followed closely by Max. Again, O’Rourke had much more difficulty.

“Please preserve me,” he prayed to the gods, panting, as he ran.

The chase continued across a spacious meadow.  Grant ran until he reached the top of a cliff. Then he threw down his jacket and ran down the side of the rock facing in record time, crossing a muddy creek at the bottom of the valley.

Max glanced over his right shoulder, making sure that O’Rourke was within earshot behind him. Then he aimed the pistol toward Grant, in the valley below him, and fired a single shot.

Grant, who was attempting to climb the rock wall on the other side of the valley, made the ruse look credible. He slung his arms backward and cried out in pain, and the momentum of his actions caused him to lose his balance and fall into the muddy water below.

“Well, I don’t think we need to worry about him anymore,” boasted Max, as O’Rourke came up beside him. Max grinned and nodded his head slightly, and then turned to walk away.

“Maybe not,” answered the Irishman, causing Max to stop in his tracks, his smile fading. “But that’s why I’m here. To make sure.”

O’Rourke aimed his shotgun toward the fallen agent, and Max heard a telltale click. The blond agent gazed anxiously at the weapon and saw O’Rourke’s trigger finger twitch. He took an uneasy breath, his heart and mind racing with fear. Having an audience was one thing, but he couldn’t let the Irishman kill his teammate. He had to think of something, and fast.

“Yeah, do it,” Max goaded suddenly. “I’d be happier if it were you. Not that I believe that story.”

O’Rourke moved his head slightly, while his aim remained steady. “What story?” he asked curiously.

“Oh, it’s just a superstition. Go on, shoot him.”

O’Rourke lowered the shotgun and turned to look at Max. “What the thunder are you talkin’ about?”

It’s working, Max thought hopefully.

Confidently, he took two steps toward his companion, the smile returning to his lips. “Ah, they say it’s bad luck to shoot a Black man.” Max nodded toward Grant and scoffed. “Not that I believe it.”

O’Rourke gazed uneasily at his target, then back at Max, and his face betrayed the sickening feeling in his gut.

“Go ahead,” Max prodded, nodding again toward his friend. “Shoot him.”

“Why should I do it?”

“‘Cause McCarron sent you to make sure.”

“Blast your eyes!” retorted O’Rourke, nodding toward Grant and signaling with his shotgun. “You do it!”

Max’s voice was quiet, but his tone held a hint of edginess. “I told you, it’s just a superstition.”

“Well, you do it! Go on!”

“All right!” Max yelled, his blue eyes popping, his feigned indignation coupled with the tension of the moment. Cautiously, with one glance back towards O’Rourke and the pistol in his hand, he made his way down the rocky cliff, while the Irishman watched from above.

Max approached Grant, who was still lying on his back in the muddy water. The blond stared at him for a few seconds, then Grant broke the silence.

“Did you have to argue so damn hard?” he asked, his eyes still closed, with an air of hostility in his voice.

“I’m just making it look good,” Max panted, matching Grant’s tone.

“‘Preciate it,” Grant muttered sardonically.

Max cocked the pistol and aimed it at Grant’s chest, then at the last second he lowered his arm and fired a shot into the water just a few inches from Grant’s side. The water splashed up into Grant’s face; still, the Black agent barely moved, an illustration of the unflinching trust he had in his teammate.

As Grant lay still, Max climbed back up the rock facing, stopping at the top to shove the pistol in his waistband and lay a restraining hand on O’Rourke’s shoulder.

“I wouldn’t go down there if I were you,” he cautioned, looking down at Grant’s prostrate form. “You won’t like it.”

Then Max headed back toward McCarron’s Pub. After a few additional seconds of staring down at Grant, O’Rourke glanced uneasily toward the sky, hearing the rumble of thunder in the distance, and then followed suit.

Grant opened his eyes and cautiously raised his head. Sure now that the two men were gone, he got to his feet and ran back towards the lighthouse, splashing water as he went.

*****

“I thought I left you in a muddy creek somewhere,” growled Max, as a way of breaking the ice.

Grant glared at him without cracking a smile as he recalled how long he laid there, feeling the muddy water saturate his wool sweater.  He knew that Max would have an audience – in fact, it was essential to the plan.  He couldn’t understand what the two men were saying at the top of the cliff, but he didn’t expect Max to take forever to sell the con. 

“You damn near did,” he said bluntly.  “I soaked up so much water that I had trouble getting up out of there.  What the hell took you so long?  Were you just showing off in front of O’Rourke?”

So that’s what had Grant so irritated, thought Max.

“I was trying to keep him from killing you,” he answered quietly.  “Did you not see the shotgun?”

Max looked into Grant’s eyes, and he knew the answer even before Grant shook his head.  When he’d heard O’Rourke cry out and glanced behind him, Max’s body was positioned almost directly in front of the Irishman, concealing the weapon he’d held in his right hand.

“McCarron sent him to make sure you were dead,” the blond agent continued, “but I didn’t expect him to try to take a shot at you.”

Grant shuddered slightly, realizing that at some point, while his eyes were closed, O’Rourke had had him in his gunsights.  “What’d you do?” he asked softly.

Max grinned. “Appealed to his superstitious side, of course,” he replied.  “It took a while, but I talked to him until he was practically begging me to go finish you off.  Couldn’t let him take any suspicions back to McCarron and blow our cover.”  Max’s voice grew somber.  “I’m sorry it took me so long, pal.”

For the first time, Grant realized how worried his teammate must have been, and he felt a little guilty about being hostile.  “No worries, man.”  He let out a nervous laugh, trying to break the tension in the room.  “I doubt if O’Rourke would have made that shot, anyway.”

“Maybe not,” Max conceded, “but I wasn’t taking any chances.”

“Thanks, buddy,” Grant said sincerely, reaching out to slap his teammate’s broad shoulder.  As he glanced toward the window, he noticed that the sun was about to drop below the horizon, and they still had a lot of preparation to do before dark.  He looked toward Nicholas and Shannon, who had finished up their work on Shannon’s transformation and now were just standing there, looking at one another.

“Hey, guys,” he called.

Nicholas and Shannon both jumped slightly and turned toward Grant, noting for the first time that Max was with him.

“We’d better get going,” continued Grant, as Jim emerged from the adjacent room to join the others.  “It’ll be dark soon.”

*****

At nightfall, the four agents moved swiftly but stealthily through the wooded area near McCarron’s Pub. Max led the way, with Grant at his heels.

Shannon walked closely behind Grant. There was a brisk wind tonight; that would certainly help her to become a convincing hologram, but she could feel her hair being tossed around and wondered if it was still in place.

She turned around, knowing that Nicholas was only a couple of steps behind her. She reached out to touch his arm. When his eyes met hers, she nodded expectantly.

Nicholas recognized the wordless query. “Great,” he confirmed. Shannon nodded once more and rushed to join the others.

Nicholas stared after her for an extra second. “Beautiful,” he added to himself wistfully, then he rushed to make the necessary alterations to the lighting in the pub.

The End.

(c) 2021