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. 🙂
Max stayed just close enough to keep Matthew Drake in sight as he left the City Botanical Gardens and started toward the hotel where Grant and the others were waiting. His ice blue eyes were fixed on the back of Drake’s head, and his muscles remained tense – ready to adjust his pace at any moment should the killer turn around.
He needn't have worried. Drake seemed laser-focused on his target, and his gaze didn't deviate in any direction.
Max watched as Drake, briefcase in hand, quickened his pace and moved swiftly behind a double-decker bus parked at the curb, and across two lanes of traffic. This could be a problem, Max thought, as he did likewise. He ascended a small set of stairs and hastily followed Drake’s path as the bus pulled away, only to be cut off by another bus – this one white, with light blue trim -- speeding by in the near lane. It took only seconds to pass, but to Max it seemed like hours. Come on.
Determined to keep going despite the impatient beeping of the red four-door directly behind the bus, Max raced across the street. He hesitated briefly, as if choosing which direction to go. He felt his stomach churning nervously as he turned toward his right and broke into a run, past a dark-haired woman in a telephone booth and toward a red bus parked on the street corner. At the end of the corner, he glanced to his left, and then to his right. Nothing. He couldn’t have gotten this far.
Max turned and ran back in the same direction from which he had come. As he reached the telephone booth, he let out a heavy sigh and fished his communicator out of his right pants pocket, dreading the update he was about to give his team leader.
“Jim,” he said, his eyes wide and still scanning in both directions, “I lost Drake.”
*****
A few moments later, Max jogged to the front entrance of the Crown Regent Hotel, where Jim was waiting.
“Sorry I lost him,” he said by way of greeting, dejection heavy in his voice. It had been his job to tail Drake – to find out exactly where and how he was going to strike. He had failed. And by failing to keep Drake in sight, he had unwittingly placed Grant in even greater danger. If anything happens to him…
“Yeah.” Jim’s simple response betrayed his own concern, his mouth drawn into a thin line. “Still no sign of him.” It was a statement, rather than a question, for Jim already knew the answer.
Max waited expectantly to be given the next assignment. When it didn’t come, he grew antsy. I can’t just stand here and wait...and do nothing…
“I’ll cover the back,” he offered, and rushed off before Jim could agree or acknowledge the gesture.
As the minutes ticked by, Max watched the rear doors from his position, propped on the roof of a beige sedan parked behind the hotel. Judging by the clip at which Drake was walking earlier, there’s no way it would have taken him this long to get to his destination. Max knew that the killer had to be close to, if not inside, the building by now, though since Max had lost Drake’s trail they had no idea what his method of execution was going to be.
It was some consolation, knowing that Nicholas was also inside, just a couple of doors down from Grant. Perhaps that would offer just enough protection to pull this off, without anyone – especially Grant – getting hurt. Hopefully.
Jim’s voice broke into Max’s thoughts. “Max, anything?”
“No, nothing yet,” the blond agent responded.
A few more anxious moments passed. Suddenly, Max spotted Drake, briefcase in hand, hastily leaving through the hotel’s service entrance. Quickly, Max crouched down beside the beige sedan and out of sight.
“Jim.” Max’s voice was tense. “Drake’s just come out of the back of the hotel.”
Max watched as Drake moved a few paces away from the building, set down his briefcase, and gazed upward. A second later, a plume of grayish-black smoke poured out of the upper-floor windows. Satisfied, Drake picked up his briefcase and started toward the sidewalk.
Anger mingled with the worry in Max’s heart as he popped up from his hiding place and resumed his dogged pursuit of Scorpio’s protégé. Keeping Drake in sight, Max keyed his communicator.
“What happened? Is everyone okay?” he asked urgently, knowing that Casey was waiting back at the would-be Raeburn, but not sure which or how many of the other three team members might have been hurt by whatever had caused the smoke Max had seen.
“We’re fine, Max,” came Nicholas’ calming voice. “There was an explosion in Grant’s room, but he seems okay.”
Max let out a heavy sigh of relief. He knew that Nicholas had been right there with Grant, and had seen everything. If Grant seemed okay to him, then it must be so.
“Max, have you got Drake?”
“Yeah, Jim,” the blond agent replied. “I’ve got him.”
“Keep him in sight,” Jim urged. “We’ll take care of Grant, and meet you later.”
*****
A few hours later, Scorpio, alias Alfred Chambers, was dead, and Matthew Drake was on his way to the hospital with a stab wound to the chest – a brief stopover for treatment before he would spend the rest of his life in prison. Jim, Max, and Nicholas made their way back to the hotel that for this mission had served as the Raeburn, where Casey and Grant had been waiting anxiously for their return.
“How’d it go?” Casey asked quietly.
“The mission is finished,” Jim answered. As he recounted the events that had occurred at Chambers’ penthouse, Max walked over to the small white loveseat in the hotel lobby where Grant was sitting. He placed a hand gently on Grant’s shoulder, and the Black agent looked up at him.
“How are you feeling?” the blond agent asked.
Grant shrugged and flashed Max a pearly white smile. “None the worse for wear,” he quipped.
Max did not return his smile; instead, he gave his friend’s shoulder a firm squeeze. “Grant,” he growled. “The truth.”
Grant sighed heavily. “A few cuts and bruises,” he admitted. “I’ll be sore for a while.” His brown eyes locked with Max’s blue ones. “But I’ll be fine.”
It was Max’s turn to sigh as he ran his free hand through his thick blond hair. “I wish you’d had more warning,” he offered apologetically.
Grant knew that Max had lost track of Drake on the way to the hotel, and he suspected that Max blamed himself for what had almost happened. Determined to reassure his new friend, he chose his words carefully. “Look, Max,” he responded, holding Max’s gaze. “Drake was smart. It’s the reason he hadn’t been caught. But if you hadn’t seen him come out the back doors, Jim wouldn’t have warned me. And I’d have blown up in that hotel room.”
Grant reached up to lay his right hand on Max’s, which was still resting on Grant’s left shoulder. “We did all right, Max,” he assured him. “All of us.”
Max finally allowed himself to smile. The sincerity in Grant’s eyes and voice was genuine. For the first time since he’d lost Drake’s trail, the burden of blame which had weighed him down like a heavy chain began to slip. “We make a good team, don’t we?"
Grant cast a glance toward Jim, and then smiled back at his blond friend, for he had just been thinking the very same thing. ”Yes, we do."
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