Reprisal (S1E17): Missing Scene

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.  🙂

*****

“Acker!  Acker!”  Jim switched off the cordless phone and laid it down on the piano.  Then he laid a hand on Shannon’s shoulder.

“He’s at the Saint Mark Hotel,” he reported, picking up his suit coat.

“Jim, it must be a trap!” Shannon protested.

Jim ignored her comment.  “Call the police,” he ordered.  “He says he’s going to kill Marilyn.”  Then without another word, he made his exit.

*****

Jim’s mind was racing as fast as the champagne-colored Chrysler New Yorker he was driving, as he sped toward the Saint Mark Hotel.  He hadn’t driven that fast in a long, long time.  All he could think about was watching the disc and seeing Laura Ann being zipped up into that body bag.  He prayed that he would get there in time to save Marilyn, although realistically he knew that if Acker was already at the hotel, that wasn’t likely.

As he pulled up in front of the hotel, he noticed that a heavy police presence was already there.  That wasn’t entirely unexpected; he knew that Shannon was on the phone with law enforcement as he was leaving the studio.

He got out of the car and hastened toward the building.  The hotel had a front section of clear glass, and Jim could see that a crowd had already formed.  He dashed between two police cars and up the steps.  As the glass doors opened, he stopped and watched as the crowd that was gathered near a large fountain began to disperse.

Suddenly, a blond woman in a dark blue dress opened her mouth wide and pointed toward Jim.

“That’s him!”  she exclaimed.  “That’s the murderer!”

A handful of police officers drew their weapons and sprinted toward the white-haired agent.  Jim ran as fast as he could, climbed into his car, and sped away.  He heard one of the officers fire his weapon.  The first shot missed, but the second shot took out Jim’s back windshield.  He skidded through a left hand turn and raced back to his condo, where he knew Lisa and his team would be waiting.

*****

Murderer.

That’s what the woman had called him, just before the police had come running.  So Marilyn was dead, he deduced.  Dead at Acker’s hands.  He had been too late.

At some point, Jim looked in his rear view mirror at the blackness behind him and realized the police were not following.  He knew that the Secretary had interceded with local authorities following Laura Ann’s murder.  They had promised to hold off on his arrest for a few more days.

Now, more than ever, Jim was clinging to that promise.

Absently, with little recollection of how he’d gotten there, Jim reached the turn into the parking lot of his condo and took it a little too fast.  He whipped the New Yorker into a parking space.  As he exited the vehicle, he was not surprised to see that Lisa and his four teammates were outside the condo and walking toward him.

“Oh, my God, Jim!”  Shannon was the first to speak as she noticed the busted-out rear windshield.  Her hand flew to her mouth involuntarily.  “What happened?”

“The police shot at me,” Jim answered slowly, almost robotically.

“Are you all right?”  Nicholas asked instantly, his brow furrowed with worry.

Jim glared at his dark-haired teammate, his tone a mixture of sadness and anger.  “They missed me,” he said matter-of-factly.  “Marilyn wasn’t so lucky.”

“I’m so sorry, Jim,” Lisa said sincerely, as she took Jim’s hand and gently guided him inside the condo, with Nicholas and Shannon a step behind.

Max lingered at the car for a moment.  He stood near the trunk and peered inside, with Grant at his shoulder.  They both spotted the tiny sliver of metal at the same time.  Max swallowed hard and looked at Grant, whose expression mirrored Max’s own.

Jim was standing in the condo’s briefing room when the other two agents returned.  Max didn’t meet Jim’s eyes as he spoke.

“The bullet that shattered the back windshield lodged in the ceiling of the car,” he reported, his voice low, “probably not more than a foot from where Jim’s head would have been.”

Shannon sucked in her breath audibly.  “You could’ve been killed!”  she exclaimed.

“It should’ve been me,” Jim mumbled sadly as he dropped his head.  “Not her.”

“Jim, you can’t blame yourself for this,” urged Nicholas.

“I failed her,” Jim retorted angrily.

“No, Jim,” Lisa disagreed gently.  “You did everything in your power to try to reach her.”  Jim looked up at Lisa, and she continued.  “Acker is the villain here.  If you’re going to blame someone, blame him.”

Finally, after a long moment, Jim’s hardened gaze softened just a little.  “Thanks, Lisa,” he said softly.  He walked over to his keyboard and turned on the local news.  Then he returned to Lisa’s side, gripping her shoulder with his left hand as the six of them watched the screen.