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. 🙂
*****
Grant heard a whipping sound as he felt his feet being jerked out from underneath him. With his hands handcuffed behind him, he was helpless to do anything but cry out as his upside-down body bounced around. Finally, he came to rest, still suspended in mid-air by his feet.
The Black agent let out a series of guttural groans as he struggled to free his hands from the metal cuffs. He felt the pressure of the silver “dog collar” resting against his chin, and the blood rushing to his head, making him somewhat dizzy as his heartbeat echoed in his ears. Silently, desperately, he wondered where his team was. Certainly, they knew he was being held. Surely, they had found out about this hunt that Kester had arranged and had made plans to spring him before he could be killed.
Well, they’d better hurry, Grant thought. Otherwise, I’m either gonna get executed, or my head’s gonna explode.
Suddenly, he heard a rustle in the bushes he knew were behind him, followed by a young voice crying, “There he is!” There were a few more echoes of “Come on!”, and then a horde of people appeared in a semi-circle around him. From his impaired point of view, it appeared to be a group of brown- and blond-haired boys of maybe ten years old — first five, then ten, then twenty — dressed in brown uniforms with Nazi symbols, holding guns and crossbows. With one heavy click, the weapons were readied for action.
Grant swallowed hard. Was this the end?
For a split second, there was silence. Then, the shrill sound of a whistle pealed through the air, and a blue Jeep came speeding through the forest, stirring up dust as it slid to a halt.
The man Grant recognized as Vogel leaped out of the Jeep, still blowing his whistle, almost before it stopped. For a moment, Grant felt a pang of nerves, for it was Vogel who had put him in this situation. But in the next moment, Grant felt someone messing with his handcuffs.
“Stop!” It was Vogel’s voice, but Grant now understood that it was Nicholas behind a mask. “The hunt is over!”
“But don’t you want us to kill him?” one of the boys asked.
“No, I don’t want you to kill him. I want everyone back at the bunkhouse.”
“Yes, Leader,” the boys said in unison, their voices slightly disappointed, as they lowered their weapons.
Nicholas blew three sharp blasts on the whistle, and the boys began to march single file toward the bus. Then, Nicholas rushed to help Max with Grant.
At that moment, Grant felt his right hand spring free from the cuff. Max could not reach the rope that bound his friend’s feet. Instead, he handed Grant a knife, then he slipped one arm across Grant’s back and one under his knees and lifted him enough for him to reach up and cut himself loose.
“Aaargh!” Grant yelled in disgust, as Max lowered him to his feet, hurling the knife into the dirt. Nicholas, still in disguise, reached for Grant’s still-cuffed left hand and pulled it across his own shoulder.
“Sorry we cut it close,” Max apologized, placing his hand on Grant’s back as they made their way to the Jeep. “We couldn’t help it.”
“You okay?” Nicholas asked quietly, his right hand across Grant’s back, and his left hand resting on Grant’s shoulder.
“They’re insane!” Grant exclaimed angrily, rather than answering the question. “This is like a nightmare!”
“That’s the trouble, it’s no nightmare. It’s all too real,” responded Nicholas.
“Look, we’ve got to do something about this,”
Grant said vehemently, as Nicholas and Max helped him into the back of the blue Jeep. Then Nicholas climbed into the passenger seat as Max slid behind the wheel.
“We will,” Nicholas assured him, his voice a soothing contrast to that of his teammate. He handed Grant a bottle of water as he took out his communicator, pushed a button, and drew it close to his lips. “Jim, we found Grant. He’s safe.”
Jim felt the tension in his body release and emerge as a loud and heavy sigh. He knew it had been close. “Good work,” he praised.
“I’ve got to drive the boys back to the bunkhouse,” said Nicholas, glancing at Max. “They should be on the bus waiting for me.”
“Kester’s secret weapon,” Grant mumbled in disgust. “The filth he must be teaching them.”
“Well, we are going to try to turn that around before their big performance in front of Kester and his demented friends,” Nicholas promised, turning slightly in his seat to face his teammate.
Suddenly, an idea popped into Grant’s mind. “I want to help,” he offered. “Let me talk to them. Show them that they don’t have to be afraid.”
“But, Grant, you’ve already been through enough,” Nicholas protested, reaching out his left hand to place on his friend’s shoulder.
“You need to rest,” added Max, his eyes still fixed on the gravel road ahead.
“Guys, I’m fine,” the Black agent assured them. “I need to do this.” For me as much as for them, he added to himself.
The Jeep rolled to a stop beside the large bus, where the team could see the tops of the boys’ heads moving around inside. Max picked up the communicator that was lying next to him and pushed a button.
“Jim, we’re back at the bus,” he advised. “Grant wants to meet with the boys.”
Jim pondered this for a moment. Of course, the original plan had been for Nicholas - as Vogel - to educate the boys directly, while Grant accompanied Max back to their base of operations to continue work on the subliminal tapes they were using to help reverse the years of negative programming. But the team leader could see considerable merit in Grant’s suggestion.
“That could be very effective,” acknowledged Jim. But then his face clouded. “But is he up to it?”
“I’m good, Jim,” Grant returned. “I have to do this. It’s important.”
After a pause, Jim agreed, nodding although his teammates couldn’t see it. “Very well,” he answered. “You and Max follow Nicholas and the boys back to the bunkhouse. I’ll be joining you there.”
With that, Nicholas got out and climbed onto the bus. He started it up and pulled out, with the blue Jeep close behind.
Max and Grant made the short drive to the bunkhouse in silence. The blond agent parked at the bus’s left side, and the two men waited while the boys exited and walked inside single file, with Nicholas behind.
Max turned to look at Grant, concern still heavy in his eyes. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”
Grant nodded, then jumped out of the Jeep rather than opening the door. “I just need to freshen up a little.”
He walked around Max’s side of the vehicle, stopping to slap the blond’s shoulder fondly. “I’ll see you in a little while.”
“Good luck, buddy,” Max smiled, as he watched his friend round the bus and enter the bunkhouse.
*****
Once Grant was inside the bunkhouse, he quickly found the washroom. He walked to the mirror and looked long and hard at the reflection staring back at him.
Yes, he was a Black man. Yes, he was aware of the racism and prejudice in the world. But never before had he been so... humiliated? Degraded? Grant didn’t even know what the right word was to describe the hell that Kester had put him through. Bound and handcuffed in the damp wine cellar, his mouth duct-taped, with not so much as a drink of water. Waiting for Kester’s evil plans to manifest; knowing that the team couldn’t put the mission at risk to set him free. They had to make sure that Kester was stopped.
They had to.
Grant was furious enough at Kester that he could have rammed his fist through the wall. But he couldn’t be angry at the boys. They couldn’t help the torture to which they’d also been subjected. So, as hard as it was, Grant was steadfastly determined to maintain his composure. He couldn’t let the boys see him angry; it would only exacerbate their fear — of him in particular, and of the entire race he represented.
He jerked a dry paper towel from the nearby dispenser, ran some cold water on one corner of it, and dabbed the dried blood from the right corner of his lips. There. That was better. The scar was still there, but maybe it wouldn’t frighten the boys. Then he placed his hands under the cold water, brought them to his face and rubbed it. Finally, with a deep sigh, he emerged from the washroom and slipped quietly down the hallway toward the boys’ sleeping quarters.
*****
“We were going to take the life of another human being,” Nicholas, in Vogel’s voice, was saying, as Grant entered the room through the open door. The boys didn’t notice his arrival; they were captivated by their teacher’s words, and facing away from the door.
“Why?” Nicholas asked them.
Grant glanced around the perimeter of the room, where twenty-one twin-sized cots were set up, six feet apart. A dining-room sized table, draped with a dingy blanket, sat solitary in the middle.
“What do you know about him?” Grant’s teammate asked, as Grant half-sat and half-leaned up against the table. “Tell me.”
“He eats young children,” remarked a blond boy earnestly.
Nicholas’ mouth drew into a tight line. “What else?”
“He has horns on his head,” added the brown-haired boy standing beside the previous speaker.
Nicholas glanced up quickly and spotted his teammate, waiting patiently. “Now, listen to me very carefully,” urged Nicholas softly. “None of those things are true. I want you to go and talk to him and find out for yourselves.”
The disguised agent pointed a finger toward Grant, and the boys turned around slowly to look at him, noticing for the first time that he was there. Grant’s expression was solemn, neither smiling or angry. The boys turned back around to gaze at their teacher uncertainly.
“I command you to go over and introduce yourselves,” Nicholas insisted, his voice just slightly firmer.
The boys turned toward Grant once again, this time walking slowly towards him, with the blond-haired boy from earlier in the lead. Grant got to his feet and smiled slightly, his brow glistening with sweat.
“Hello,” he said softly, reaching out his right hand to the boy standing in front of him. “My name’s Grant.”
As the other boys looked on, the blond boy cast his big blue eyes downward to gaze at Grant’s outstretched hand, then back up toward the stranger. Finally, he grasped the man’s hand with his own.
“Hi, I’m Peter.”
Nicholas smiled and stood up, as he heard the next voice say, “I’m Mark.” He walked behind Grant and toward the exit; the boys were so captivated by the stranger that they didn’t even notice.
“I would like to get to know all of you,” Grant was saying, “and answer all of your questions,” as Nicholas removed his disguise and joined his other three teammates waiting outside the bunkhouse.
The End.
(c) 2021
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