Deception

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.  🙂

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Summary:  A dangerous mission leaves the IMF wondering whether one of their own is friend or foe.

*****

Chapter 1

Prologue

"This is one amazing jelly donut," the curly-haired guard smiled from the passenger seat of the beige-colored armored truck.

"You're going to turn into a jelly donut, pal," his partner teased, and they both chuckled.

Suddenly, the driver's smile faded.  "What's this?" he asked, his voice low, as he applied the brake and the big steel-plated vehicle slowed.

"Looks like the bridge is out," answered his companion.  "There's a detour."

The driver shrugged as he turned sharply right, following the detour sign.  As the curve straightened, they found themselves on a two-lane road, considerably more narrow and curvy than the main thoroughfare had been.

"This is going to slow us down," grumbled the driver.  "Plus, with all these curves, it's hard to see what's up ahead."

His friend also looked frustrated for a moment, but then his face brightened and he pointed to the small monitor in the center of the truck's instrument panel. "Well, according to the navigation system, it's smooth sailing as far as the eye can see."

The greenish display showed no vehicles, in either direction, within a two-mile radius. His partner smiled.  "I keep forgetting about that," he admitted.  Then he nudged the gas pedal a little further to the floor, and the big truck picked up speed.  "Maybe we can save a little time, after all."

As the truck approached a steep, narrow curve, the driver checked the monitor once more.  Nothing.  So he backed off the gas just slightly and rounded the curve, the truck's left side wheels just a few inches over the center line - no big deal, since there was nothing coming.

By the time they saw the other truck, it was too late to react.  There was only time for the passenger to utter an "Oh, my God!" before the moment of impact silenced everything.

*******

From his lookout, a masked man in a black bodysuit watched through binoculars as the two armored trucks collided with one another, each certain no other vehicles were approaching, each rounding the curve partially on the other side of the road. 

The man watched as smoke billowed up from the front of both vehicles.  There were no signs of life in either truck.  He pushed a button on his walkie-talkie. "It's done," he growled.  "Let's move."

A few moments later, he joined his two similarly-dressed companions at the crash site.  They blended in with the approaching darkness as they sifted through the carnage until they located an entrance point.  Then they ignored the smoke and the dead bodies as they quickly gathered up the metal cases stuffed with cash.  In less than twenty minutes they made their getaway.

*******

Jim Phelps pulled up in front of the open-air market and climbed out of his Land Rover.  Immediately, the sound of an electric guitar caught his ear. 

He glanced around until he spotted its source - a young man who looked to be in his early twenties, with long, stringy dark hair, sitting backwards on a picnic table.

Jim casually strolled over to him and watched, a small grin on his face, until the song was over. "You're very talented," Jim commented, nodding toward what looked like a regular acoustic guitar, "but I didn't realize you could make an ordinary guitar sound like that."

The young man smiled and reached behind him at the square black piece of equipment sitting on the table behind him.  "I couldn't, without this amp," he answered, recognizing the codespeak.  "If you're interested, you're welcome to take a closer look."

He stood up and walked away from Jim, as the agent circled to the other side of the table.  Positioned behind the amplifier, out of sight, was the familiar black box. 

Jim scanned his fingerprint, opened the box, entered the code and inserted the disc.  Then he watched as it began to play.

"Good morning, Jim," began the voice.  "In recent months, thousands of secure bank accounts have been compromised and millions of dollars stolen through the use of sophisticated computer intelligence.  We believe the mastermind behind this economic terrorism is this man...."

Jim watched as the video feed showed a distinguished-looking gray-haired man in handcuffs being escorted by two uniformed U.S. Marshals.

"...Dennis Porter, a convicted cyber spy who was recently released from prison.  Each new attack is broader in degree and scope, and due to the nature of his previous offenses Porter is considered a threat to national security.  Unfortunately, so far there is no evidence linking him or anyone else to these crimes. 

Your mission, Jim, should you choose to accept it, is to determine Porter's guilt, and to stop him before sensitive government information can be compromised.  As always, should you or any of your IM Force be caught or killed, the Secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions.  This disk will self-destruct in five seconds.  Good luck, Jim."

As Jim closed the black box, his mind was racing.  He knew that this would be a challenging mission, but it was also one involving computer technology, and Jim knew that the team had its own secret weapon to even the score.  He smiled to himself in satisfaction as he got back into his Land Rover and headed toward his condo.

Chapter 2

"In the last six months, the U.S. has been hit by a series of events that can only be described as cyber terrorism," Jim commenced the briefing.

All four sets of eyes riveted toward the elder leader.  "Computer hacking?" Max questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"That's right, Max," Jim replied.  "It started off very small scale - a couple of bank accounts, a few thousand dollars."

"Testing the waters, no doubt," interjected Shannon.

Jim nodded.  "Over time, the attacks have gotten more and more serious," he continued.  "Four days ago, a leading national armored car company was hit, and its vehicle navigation system scrambled.  Two trucks collided head-on.  Four guards were killed, and the money stolen.  Over three million dollars."

"They're getting braver," observed Nicholas.

"And deadlier," added Grant.  "So who is it we're up against?" he asked, looking up at Jim.

Jim punched a few buttons on his keyboard and pulled up a photograph of a tall, lanky man with graying hair who looked to be in his mid-forties.  "The IMF believes the culprit is this man."

Grant drew in a sharp breath.  "That's Dennis Porter."

"You know him?" Max wanted to know.

"There isn't an IT person in the country who doesn't know Dennis Porter," Grant explained.  "He's a computer genius.  Much of the technology we use in the IMF would not exist without his discoveries." Grant looked at Jim quizzically.  "But isn't he still in prison?"

"Prison?" Nicholas echoed.

"Yes, Porter may have a brilliant mind, but he's also a known supporter of communism," Jim affirmed.   "He was convicted of treason for obtaining military secrets and selling them to the highest bidder.  He served fourteen years for his crimes.  But he was released six months ago."

"When the attacks started," mused Nicholas, and Jim nodded again in acknowledgment.

"Fourteen years for treason doesn't seem like much of a sentence," Max put in.  "How'd he get out so soon?"

Jim waved his hand.  "Some obscure technicality," he answered.  "Porter threatened a retrial but instead was granted early release.  Of course, he's left behind no evidence of any of these latest crimes, but the Secretary believes that Porter is sending the stolen money to certain countries whose relations with the U.S. are adversarial.  Clearly, he is a threat to national security, and must be stopped."

"So how do we do that?" asked Shannon.

"Porter doesn't work alone," Grant advised.  "He's probably surrounded himself with like-minded cronies to do his dirty work for him.  The only way to stop him is to infiltrate his group and beat him at his own game."

"That'll be your job, Grant," Jim said, his voice low.

"Our very own technological genius," Nicholas grinned fondly.

Grant smiled slightly at his teammate, but then let out an audible sigh, shaking his head slightly.  "If Porter is the mastermind, it's going to take all of us to bring him down."

There was a moment of grim silence, which was broken by Nicholas.  "Where is Porter's base of operations?"

"We're still trying to find that out," Jim admitted.  "We know his home address, because he has to report regularly to his probation officer, but that location has been searched and nothing was found.  So we're working two fronts at once.  We've placed an article in several of the leading IT publications, hoping that Porter takes the bait and leads Grant to his headquarters."

Jim picked up a glossy magazine from the coffee table in front of him, opened it, and folded the left-hand pages back.  Then he turned it facing Nicholas and Shannon. 

Nicholas grasped the periodical and held it so that Shannon could see.  Max walked over to them and peered over Nicholas' right shoulder, and all three of them grinned. On the page was a photograph of Grant, along with an article summarizing stellar IT credentials.  The article stated that he was new to Silicon Valley and was looking for consulting opportunities.

"That should whet Porter's appetite," Max quipped, as Nicholas closed the magazine and laid it back down.

"In the meantime, we've got widespread tracking software in place, monitoring a variety of organizations like the ones Porter likes to target.  If he makes a move, we'll know, and we can track him that way," advised Grant.

"What about the rest of us, Jim?" Shannon asked.

"Right now, everything depends on Porter," Jim conceded,  "and we'll plan our strategy once he makes his move.  The good news is, he's never been one to stay still for too long.  One way or the other, he's bound to act soon.  And when he does, we'll be ready."

Chapter 3

While Nicholas, Max, and Shannon stood by at their respective homes, ready to respond at a moment's notice, Grant stayed at Jim's condo, monitoring the tracking software and waiting by the phone.  Finally, thirty-six hours later, his tenacity paid off, and the laptop emitted a sudden beep.

"Jim," Grant said tensely, as he sat down and began to push buttons on the keyboard. 

His leader immediately walked over at a brisk clip and paused at Grant's right shoulder.  Together, they stared at the screen.

"We just got a hit on the tracking software.  Someone just hacked the Coast Guard Station here in the Bay area."  The handsome Black agent looked up at Jim.  "It has to be Porter."

"You should go out there," Jim urged.  "Take Max with you.  See what you can find out."

"Yeah, good idea," Grant agreed.

Jim made a call to the Coast Guard Station to pave the way for his agents' arrival, while Grant used his communicator to contact Max.  Within half an hour, Grant had picked up his blond teammate and the two were en route to Coast Guard headquarters.

*******

"George Carter, Technology Consultant," Grant said, by way of introduction, as he shook hands with the officer who greeted them at the door.  "This is my apprentice, Michael Hughes."

"Chief Petty Officer Tim Foster," he responded, returning the handshakes. "Thank you for coming on such short notice, Mister Carter.  Your expertise will be very valuable to us."

"It's my pleasure," Grant smiled.  "Let's see what we've got."

The officer led Grant and Max to the mainframe computer and entered the necessary codes that would allow Grant access.   Max sat down beside his teammate, while the officer stood behind them, looking on.  A few keystrokes in, and Grant quickly located the problem.

"There it is," he said quietly.

"What is it?" questioned Foster.

"It's a virus," he answered, "and a clever one, with a self-contained computer program inside it."

"A virus?" Foster was incredulous. "Can you stop it?"

"I'll do my best," Grant promised, his voice taut, as his fingers flew across the keyboard.  Both Max and the young officer watched in fascination. For the next ten minutes, there was total silence, except for the sound of Grant's fingers on the keyboard.  Finally, he sat back in his chair with a forced sigh and ran a hand through his hair.

"It's dead," he confirmed.

Max opened up the briefcase that lay nearby, and extracted a silver disc.   Grant opened the drive, and Max inserted the disc.

"I've disabled the program and I'll remove it from your system," Grant explained, "but first I want to copy it so that we can take it back to our lab and study it.  Perhaps we can find out where it came from."

"How did it get in here?" Foster asked.  "And how long has it been here?"

"There's no telling.  It looks like the programming was triggered by a regular system update, so it could have been dormant for days, weeks, months even."

"Can you tell if any sensitive information was leaked?"

Grant sighed again. "Compromising military secrets might have been the intention, but it looks like we intercepted the virus before that could occur.  The bad news is, whoever sent the virus was able to gain access to some confidential information."

"What kind of information?"

"Personnel records.  Names, addresses, birth dates, Social Security numbers.  It's hard to say how much data has been leaked.  You'd better warn all your personnel that anything connected to their demographic information may be at risk."

When they had finished copying the dead program to the compact disc, Grant and Max stood up.  "We will conduct further research on the source of this virus, and will contact you with our findings."

And with a sincere thank you and a firm handshake from the young officer, the two teammates left the station.

*******

A few hours later, Dennis Porter was busy rummaging through the data that his specially created virus had extracted before meeting its demise.  His partner, Paul Hamilton, peered over his shoulder.

"How much information were we able to get, boss?" he asked.

Porter grimaced.  "We got demographics on about a third of the staff," he replied.  "Not as many as we wanted, but enough to do some damage." He paused, as if milling over the possibilities in his head.  Then, he spoke again.  "So tell me about this...consultant... who found the virus," he urged, knowing Hamilton had been disguised as a custodian and had seen what had taken place at the Coast Guard Station earlier today.

"He was pretty impressive," Hamilton admitted, as he walked across the room and picked up a copy of a trade magazine.  "Came in, introduced himself, sat down, and within fifteen minutes he'd found the bug and destroyed it."

Hamilton sat down and opened the magazine without seeing it, eyes fixed instead on his leader.  "He copied what was left of the program on to a CD.  Said he could trace where it came from.  Is that possible?"

Porter thought for a moment.  "It could be," he conceded, "if he's smart enough."

"Oh, I think he's plenty smart," Hamilton remarked.  Then he looked down at the open magazine, and suddenly his face registered recognition.  "Hey!" he said loudly, jumping to his feet and slapping the open magazine with the back of his hand.  "That's the guy!"

"What?" cried Porter, incredulous.

"The consultant!  Here's his picture!"

Porter walked over to his teammate and snatched the magazine from his hand.  "You're sure?"

"'Course I'm sure!"

Porter gazed at the photograph.  "George Carter," he mused.  "Technology Consultant, eh?  Well, if he's that good, he needs to be working for us."

An idea began to take shape inside Porter's brain, and he smiled evilly.  "If he's so determined to find us, we'll let him find us," he told his partner.  "And while he thinks we're playing into his hands, he'll be playing into ours."

Chapter 4

By the time Grant and Max returned to headquarters, Nicholas and Shannon had arrived and were waiting along with Jim. Grant immediately set to work.  As his fingers glided over the keys, the other four agents gathered around to observe.

"I've disabled the virus, so it's not a danger to our system," Grant explained.  "I'm running what's left of it through a program that will hopefully tell us where it was sent from."

"How would it know?" asked Shannon.

"Computer programs carry a little code inside them which is unique to the machine on which they were created,"  answered Grant.  "If I can isolate that code, I can identify the type of machine it is."

After a few moments, Grant had identified the make and model of the computer that had created the virus.  He smiled in satisfaction and looked up at the others. "Each computer operates on a frequency that's unique to that particular make and model."  He held up a small, thumb-shaped device that he then plugged into the back of his laptop.  Immediately, a map of the area popped up.  "With this device,  I can pinpoint the location of every machine in the area which matches that frequency."

"But that could be thousands of machines," Max said skeptically.

Grant looked at him and raised an eyebrow.  "Let's hope not," he quipped. 

As the laptop beeped, blinking red lights on the screen popped up in half a dozen places throughout the city. "Well, that doesn't look too difficult," Shannon commented, trying to sound optimistic.

"It won't take much to narrow things down," confirmed Grant, matching her tone.

Suddenly, the telephone rang, mildly startling the five agents.  "We may not have to," Jim replied softly.  At his nod, Grant picked up the phone.

"George Carter speaking."

"Mister Carter," came the reply, "My name is Dennis Porter.  Perhaps you've heard of me?"

"Mister Porter, of course," Grant smiled into the phone, as the others listened in.  "I've read about your discoveries in the trade magazines.  It's an honor to speak to you."

"Well, judging by what I've been reading and hearing about you, the honor should be mine," the graying man responded.  "You have quite a brilliant young mind."

"What can I do for you, sir?"

"I am working on a very important project," said Porter vaguely, "and I could use a good consultant.  Are you interested?"

"Of course," Grant responded instantly, at a nod from Jim.  "My assistant, Mister Hughes, and I will be out there as soon as we can."

"Actually, Mister Carter," Porter disagreed, "this project is very sensitive in nature, so the services of your assistant will not be required at this time."

Grant shot Jim a look, and Jim raised his eyebrows.  "Oh, I assure you, my assistant is a valuable member of my team, but he's also very discreet.  There won't be any problems."

Porter sighed heavily, and when he spoke again his voice was that of a man barely masking his impatience.  "Look, Mister Carter, I ready have people working with me on this matter.  I only need one more, not two.  Now, if you want to work with me, the offer is open to you and you alone."

Grant, still looking at Jim, saw the elder agent nod his head slightly.  "All right, all right," he conceded.  "So where are we meeting?"

"The train station.  One hour.  We'll pick you up.  Bring your box of tricks." A click, and the connection was broken, and Grant put the receiver back into its cradle. 

"I don't like this," Max growled, his voice laced with concern.

"Neither do I, Max," concurred Jim.   His ice blue eyes gazed at the black agent.  "Dennis Porter is a dangerous man."

Grant smiled slightly.  "Guys, I appreciate your concern, but I'll be fine," he said, trying to sound reassuring but failing somewhat. "You know this is the only way I'm going to get inside."

Jim sighed.  "We know," he acknowledged.  "And we can't risk you wearing a wire.  I wish there was another way we could keep in touch with you."

"Maybe there is," Grant remembered suddenly, and he reached into his briefcase to extract a gold ring.  Nicholas grinned as he recognized it; he'd used a similar one while playing chess in Prague.

"I've modified this one somewhat," Grant advised them.  "You can still send me messages by Morse Code, but there's also a tiny speaker that will let you hear what's going on." 

He handed Max the small controller that would allow the two way communication to occur as he put the ring on his right hand. Jim nodded, his apprehension only slightly quelled. 

"Max, you drop Grant off at the train station, but stay close," Jim cautioned, and Max nodded his understanding.  "The rest of us will wait here.  As soon as you figure out what Porter is planning, let Max know."

"Yeah, will do."

"And be careful, both of you."

With that, Grant gathered up a briefcase full of various gadgets and gizmos, and he and Max set off for the train station.

Chapter 5

Max pulled into the train station and brought the Land Rover to a stop.  He watched, eyebrows furrowed, as Grant gathered up his things.

"I still don't like this," he muttered, unable to cover up the worry in his voice.

"Relax, partner." Grant smiled at his teammate's concern.  "I told you, I'll be fine."

"Keep in touch, all right?  And yell if you need something.  I'll be close by."

"Will do," Grant promised, and he reached over to pat the blond agent's shoulder affectionately before climbing out of the vehicle.

Max waited until Grant was settled and waiting for Porter, then he pulled off the road and hid in an inconspicuous grove of trees.  He keyed his communicator.

"Jim," he whispered, though no one else could hear him,  "Grant's in position."

Fifteen minutes later, exactly on time, a navy blue sedan pulled into the station.  A dark-haired man opened the driver's side door, got out, and circled around to the opposite side as Grant stood up.

"Mister Carter?"

"That's me," Grant replied with a smile and just a hint of trepidation.

The dark-haired man opened the rear door.  "Climb in," he requested, "and I'll take you to Mister Porter."

Grant did as he was told, and the blue sedan sped off, with the black Land Rover a few carlengths behind.

*******

The blue sedan came to a stop in front of a spacious brick mansion.  The black Land Rover found another small grove of trees and parked within it, a quarter mile away.  Using his binoculars, Max watched Grant get out and go inside, then he keyed his communicator.

"Grant's inside."

Nicholas, sitting at Grant's computer, punched a few buttons on the keyboard, and the screen zeroed in on one of the six locations Grant had identified previously.  "Now we know where Porter's headquarters is, thanks to the tracking device in Max's communicator," he smiled from behind his reading glasses.

"Good," answered Jim, with an air of satisfaction.  "Now, we wait.  The next move is Porter's."

  *******

"Make yourself at home, Mister Carter," commanded Dennis Porter as he and Grant exchanged a warm handshake.  "Would you like a drink?"

"I'll take a whiskey," Grant answered casually, as he sat down on the luxurious sofa.  "Then perhaps we can discuss this special project of yours."

"Of course," smiled Porter as he prepared the drink and handed it to his guest.  But before he could sit down, the man who had driven Grant in caught Porter's attention.

"Mister Porter," he said cautiously, his voice barely above a whisper, "may I talk to you for a moment? It's rather important."

"Certainly," Porter replied, reading the look in the dark-haired man's eyes.  Turning to Grant, he added, "I'll be right back."

Grant nodded, as Porter and his companion disappeared into the kitchen.

"What is it, Doc?" Porter asked urgently.

"The man calling himself George Carter," the dark-haired doctor advised, "is a secret government agent."

"What?  Are you sure?"

"Quite sure, Mister Porter."

"And just how do you know this?" demanded Porter.

"When I was working for the Prince," Doc explained, "and his drug smuggling operation, there was an operative on the inside named Collier."

"This guy?" Porter asked in disbelief, jerking a thumb toward Grant.

"No, his father," responded the dark-haired man, "but the man in your living room was on the outside with the rest of his team, and together they shut down the entire operation.  I recognized him from some surveillance footage."

"So he's probably got more than just his assistant working with him."

"I'd imagine so," affirmed his companion.  "There were three or four of them besides Collier, as best I recall.  I was lucky to escape with my life before the whole place blew up."  He looked Porter in the eye.  "So what are you going to do?"

Porter thought for a moment.  "It would be a shame to have to kill him," he mused.  "If he is a secret agent, he's probably even smarter than we think he is.  We could really use his expertise." Suddenly, an idea entered his brain.  "Do you think he can be turned?"

"I don't know, Mister Porter," Doc answered skeptically.  "Even the ocular laser technique couldn't turn his father."

"We have to try," insisted Porter.

"It's a pretty safe bet that he's in contact with someone from his team," Doc reminded him, "either with some sort of listening device or someone followed us in."

"Go check it out," Porter commanded, "and let me know."

*******

Max had been antsy ever since Grant had entered Porter's mansion.  He'd heard the driver ask to speak privately to Porter, and then nothing for the past five minutes.  Nervously, he keyed in a Morse Code message to Grant, asking him if everything was okay.  Grant cleared his throat, which was the predetermined affirmative response.

Grant had a couple of inches of whiskey left in his glass when Porter and the driver returned to the living room.   Porter poured a drink of his own, then he sat down across from the black agent.

"So," Grant began the conversation, trying not to betray his growing impatience, "how can I be of service to you, Mister Porter?"

Porter eyed his guest carefully.  "My little project has the potential to make you a very, very wealthy man, Mister Carter," he answered.

"Sounds like my kind of deal," smiled Grant.

"Ah, but it comes with a price," added Porter.

Grant frowned slightly.  "What kind of price?"

Porter took a long sip of his scotch before continuing.  "You have to be willing to betray your country," he responded slowly, "and I don't think you're willing to do that.  Are you, Mister Collier?"

Chapter 6

Grant flinched slightly at the use of his real last name.  Porter noticed the slight movement and broke into a wide grin.

"That's right, Mister Collier.  We know your name, and we know you work for the government.  And we know you are here to shut down my little project."

Grant smiled slightly as he casually rubbed his fingers over the gold ring he was wearing.  He slid it off and unceremoniously dropped it into his almost-empty glass of whiskey with a plop.  Then he chuckled softly.

"You don't seem surprised," said Porter, taken aback by his response but choosing for the moment not to ask about the ring.

"You think you know so much about me," Grant said sardonically. "You don't know a damn thing."

Grant stood up and started toward the bar.  Porter, defensive, started to stand, but sat back down as Grant got another glass, poured himself another whiskey, and returned to his chair.

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Porter.

"You think I'm here to shut you down?" he asked.  "I'm here because I want in."

Porter burst into a loud guffaw.  "Do you really expect me to believe that?" he sneered.

Grant shrugged.  "Believe what you want," he replied.  "It doesn't change the truth."

He leaned forward to pick up the familiar magazine off the coffee table in front of him.  He opened it to the profile he had planted, folded the page back, and tossed it back onto the table.  It hit the tabletop with a loud smack.

"Why do you think I'd put my face in this magazine, knowing your driver would recognize me from Benarli?" he asked.

"You knew that Doc worked for the Prince?"

"Of course," Grant responded smoothly.  "I'm the one who did the research.  I wanted you to call me, Mister Porter.  I wanted the chance to work with you."

Porter crossed his arms in front of his chest.  "You're telling me you'd turn your back on your country?"

Grant's dark eyes darkened further.  "My country never gave a damn about me," he answered, his voice taut.  "I was sucked into this life when I was ten years old, man.  This was my father's choice, not mine.  I never got a chance to do what I wanted to do.  All my country ever did was use me, send me all over hell, risking my life. And for what?"

"What about your team?"

Grant chuckled bitterly.  "My team," he answered, placing sarcastic emphasis on the word, "set my father up to be discovered, tortured, and nearly killed on that mission in Benarli.  They knew about it, and did nothing to stop it until it was almost too late."

Grant looked Porter dead in the eyes.  "I have nothing for them," he said coldly, "and I will never trust any of them again.  It's high time I did something for myself."

Porter was dumbstruck by Grant's comments, and Grant took advantage of his silence.  "Don't tell me you don't need my skills."

The moment was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone beside Porter's chair.  He picked it up, listened briefly without speaking, then replaced the receiver in its cradle.  Then he looked at Grant.

"There's no doubt we can use your skills, Mister Collier," he answered.

"I have something you want.  You have something I want.  What do you say we do business?"

Porter smiled slightly.  "Is this where your team comes riding in to save you and shut me down because they've been listening to this entire conversation?"

Grant mirrored Porter's thin smile as he nodded toward the ring in his whiskey glass.  "That's what's left of the bug," he answered.

"And the big guy in the black Land Rover outside - your 'assistant,'" Porter added.  "A teammate?"

Grant swallowed and nodded again.

"Why didn't he come storming in once he lost touch with you?"

"He's waiting for my signal," Grant replied.  "He's not allowed to move without it."

"Even if his buddy's in trouble?" Porter asked incredulously.

Grant shrugged again.  "People don't matter," he said, his voice matter-of-fact.  "Just the mission.  Everybody's expendable."

"Everybody?  Even your teammate outside?"

"Everybody."

Porter smirked.  "We'll see about that." He picked up the receiver beside him.  "Take care of him," he barked into it. 

No sooner had he replaced the receiver than a loud explosion lit up a small grove of trees about a quarter mile away.  Porter shot a pointed look at Grant, who stared poker-faced out the front window at the flames shooting up into the sky where the Land Rover used to be. 

After a moment, the Black man looked back at Porter and raised his eyebrows. "I guess that's what he gets for following orders," he said flatly.

Porter extended his hand toward Grant.  "Welcome to the team, Mister Collier," he said, as he broke into a wide grin.  "Now let's do business."

Chapter 7

"Are you, Mister Collier?"

Max's heart came up in his throat.  Frantically he messaged Grant to get out of there while simultaneously keying his communicator.

"Jim," he said urgently, "Grant's cover's blown.  They know who he is."

Nicholas and Shannon exchanged fearful glances as they crowded closer to Jim, who was still stoically collected as usual. 

Jim held up his hand, palm outward, as if Max could see it. "Stay calm, Max," he cautioned.  "Grant can handle it."

Suddenly Grant's audio transmission lapsed into a dead silence, and Max's anxiety increased exponentially. "Jim, we lost the audio."

Jim's face wrinkled slightly.  "He's had to get rid of the listening device in order to preserve the mission," he said thoughtfully.  "We knew this could happen.  But you'd better get out of there, Max."

"What about Grant?" Max protested.

"He'll signal us when he can," Jim assured him.  "Come on, Max, before you're spotted."

"I can't just leave him here, Jim."

"You have to, Max," Jim insisted, his voice finally showing a hint of worry.  "The mission comes first.  Head back here immediately.  That's an order."

Max hesitated only briefly before responding.  "I'm sorry, Jim," he said quietly.  "I can't.  Not until I know he's safe."

"Max," Jim urged.

"For God's sake, Max, come on," added Nicholas, whose anxiety mirrored Jim's and was also increasing by the second.

"I need to stay close by," Max objected, "just in case he-Oh, God!" Max interjected suddenly.

"Max!" Jim yelled.  "What's happened?"

There was no response.

"Max!  Do you read me!" Jim pleaded.

The three agents waited in tense silence as repeated calls to Max went unanswered.  After a few moments Nicholas was unable to take it any longer and scooped up the keys to the beige sedan.

"Something terrible has happened," he said fearfully as he stood up and headed toward the door. "I've got to get out there."

"I'm going with you," insisted Shannon, starting after him.

"It's too risky," Jim growled, halfheartedly, knowing his words weren't going to stop them.

"Jim, I'm not going to endanger the mission," Nicholas said quietly, "but I've got to find out if Max is okay."

Then, without another word, Nicholas took off toward the sedan with Shannon in tow.

*******

"We should be almost there." Shannon's voice was tense as she and Nicholas approached what Max's surveillance had told them was Porter's compound.  As the mansion came into sight, something off to the left caught her eye, and she sucked in a sharp breath. 

"Nicholas, over there."

The Land Rover had been reduced to nothing but a pile of smoldering metal. With one eye carefully watching for unwelcome company, Nicholas stealthily maneuvered the beige sedan into a wide place on the other side of the grove of trees.

"Dear God, I hope he wasn't still inside," Shannon sobbed.  Then she caught herself abruptly and bit her lip to compose herself.

Nicholas failed to answer, his mouth drawn into a thin line that told her he was contemplating the same thing.  As he parked and they exited the vehicle, they quickly scanned the area for any sign of their teammate. 

Nicholas was the first to spot him. "Shannon!" he hissed, as he ran to his friend's side. 

Max was lying crumpled against a tree in a somewhat unnatural position.  Fearing the worst, with his stomach in his throat, Nicholas reached out with trembling fingers to check for signs of life.  He was somewhat surprised, albeit pleasantly so, to find a weak pulse.

"He's alive," the dark-haired agent mumbled, causing Shannon to let out a sigh of relief.  But Nicholas noticed that Max's blond hair was stained crimson, and there was a matching bloodstain on the tree where his head now rested.  He knew that wasn't good.

"He's got a nasty head wound," he advised, his voice uncharacteristically tense, "and from the way he's lying probably some broken ribs at least.  My guess is the explosion threw him against the tree."

"Can we move him?" Shannon asked, instinctively reaching for Max's limp hand.

"We probably shouldn't," Nicholas conceded, "but we don't have a choice." Nicholas knew that moving Max risked causing further injury, but calling an ambulance to their location, within sight of Porter's mansion, was not an option either.  He also knew that Max was taller and heavier than both of them, and getting him to the car - especially while unconscious - would be quite a chore. "I wish he'd wake up, so that maybe he could help us out a little."

Gently, Nicholas patted Max's cheek, warm to the touch and blackened from his proximity to the burning metal.  "Max, can you hear me?" he pleaded.  "Come on, buddy.  Wake up."

But after a couple of moments, it was clear that Max wasn't going to wake up right now.  Nicholas forced a sigh, his concern mounting.

"We've got to get out of here," he said urgently, "before they see us."

"Tell me what to do," offered Shannon.

Nicholas thought for just a moment.  "Go open the back door, then come back here and grab his legs," he said, as he carefully draped Max's right arm around his neck and eased the blond agent's head over until it rested on Nicholas' left shoulder. 

Nicholas placed his left hand under Max's right arm. Shannon did as she was told, and on Nicholas' count they lifted the big man as best they could and half-carried, half-dragged him to the car.  Nicholas slid in the backseat first, gently pulling Max in beside him while trying to keep his bleeding head as steady as possible.

"Shannon, can you drive us?" he asked, as the female agent eased Max's legs inside.

"Sure," she answered, reaching into the front seat and handing Nicholas his communicator before closing the back door.  "Just tell me where."

As she climbed in and started the car, Nicholas keyed his communicator with his free hand. "Jim, we found Max.  He's alive, but he's hurt badly.  He needs medical attention."

Jim sighed heavily, his emotions caught somewhere between relief and continued worry.  "Take him on to the hospital and check him in under an assumed name.  Keep me updated.  I'm going to stay here in case Grant makes contact."

"Right."

Chapter 8

Nicholas sat in the waiting room, elbows on his knees, hands clasped, head down and staring at his feet, as he waited for news about his friend.  Shannon sat quietly beside him, gently rubbing his back. 

The emergency room staff had rushed Max in as soon as they'd arrived, and so far all that anyone would tell them was that they were "running tests." They were still waiting when Nicholas' communicator beeped softly. 

At first, he either didn't hear it or chose to ignore it. "Nicholas," Shannon said softly, calling his attention to the beeping in his jacket pocket.

Reluctantly, Nicholas got to his feet.  "I'll be back," he whispered, as he walked outside.  Once he was alone, he took out the device and pushed the button. 

"Yes, Jim."

"Any word?"

"Not yet," he answered.  "They're still working with him.  Have you heard from Grant?"

"Not directly," Jim sighed, "but I need you to come back here.  I have some information I need to show you."

"Now?"

"Shannon can stay with Max," Jim assured him.

Nicholas, worried and frustrated, forced a sigh as he broke communication.  He knew that the mission came first, but, damn it, right now he just wanted to stay there and wait for news about Max. 

When he went back inside, he saw Shannon still sitting in the same place she had been before, and he knew without asking that there was no news yet. He sat down on the edge of the seat beside his teammate and laid his hand on her shoulder as she looked at him, her eyes slightly moist.

"I have to go back to the condo," he told her, his voice low, handing her his communicator since she hadn't brought hers along. 

Shannon nodded sadly in empathy, knowing that Nicholas had no choice but to yield to their team leader.

"I hate to leave you both," he admitted.  "Will you be all right?"

Shannon nodded again, wordlessly, though she was biting her lip in order to maintain her composure.  As worried as she was about Max, she felt better with Nicholas' steadying presence there.

"Let us know as soon as you hear anything, okay?"

"I will," Shannon whispered the promise, as she reached over to wrap one arm around Nicholas' shoulders.

He returned the embrace, then kissed her cheek lightly.  "I'll be back here as soon as I can." Then he was gone.

*******

"Have you heard anything from Shannon?" Nicholas asked as soon as he entered the condo.

"No, nothing yet," Jim answered.

"I left her my communicator in case she got an update on Max," he advised, as he sat down beside his leader, who was staring at the computer.  "So, what is it you wanted to show me?"

Jim sighed heavily.  "I have reason to believe that Grant is working for Porter."

"Well, of course he is, Jim," answered Nicholas.  "That was the mission."

"No, Nicholas," Jim disagreed.  "It looks like he's switched sides."

For a moment, Nicholas was completely speechless, and during his silence Jim pulled up a screen on his computer.

"According to the tracking software, someone is trying to hack into IMF security files," Jim said quietly.  "Files that no one except Grant would have knowledge of."

"Jim, I can't believe that Grant would do this," Nicholas objected.  "You know how loyal he is to the team.  Maybe he's being coerced."

Jim shook his head.  "I don't think so," he replied.  "Grant had a backup to the ring he was using to communicate with Max.  But there's no signal at all coming from it.  It's completely offline, which means it's been destroyed.  And Grant's the only one who could have destroyed it."

"Jim," Nicholas said pensively, "if what you're telling me is true, that means that he had to have knowledge about what happened to Max." The dark-haired agent shuddered.  "Maybe even ordered it himself."

Jim dropped his head, which meant that he was thinking the exact same thing. Nicholas shook his head. 

"I'm sorry, Jim.  I can't accept that."

"It doesn't matter if you accept it or not, Nicholas," Jim said gently.  "The Secretary has been made aware of what's going on, and has ordered us to go after Grant."

Before Nicholas had time to digest this latest bit of information, Jim's communicator went off.  Nicholas grabbed it instantly.

"Shannon."

"I just spoke to the doctor," she responded, her voice tense.  "Max's CT scan showed a moderate concussion and a small brain bleed that will hopefully clear on its own.  He's optimistic that there's no significant neurological damage, but he won't know for sure until Max wakes up.  Other than that, he's got four broken ribs and a lot of bruises."

Nicholas let out a breath he didn't realize that he was holding.  "Sounds like he was extremely lucky, considering," he mused.

"He really was," agreed Shannon.  "I'm headed back to see him now.  The doctor thinks he'll be waking up soon."

"I'm on my way," Nicholas promised.  "Thanks, Shannon." Nicholas clicked off the communicator and started toward the door.

"Nicholas, I really need your help.  The Secretary said-"

"The Secretary is going to have to wait until I check on Max," interrupted Nicholas, his tone a barely concealed mixture of anger, worry, and frustration.  Then he disappeared through the front door without waiting for a reply, leaving Jim staring after him.

Chapter 9

A host of conflicting emotions ran through Nicholas' mind as he made the twenty-minute journey back to the hospital.  Of course he was worried - not just about Max, but about Grant as well, wondering what kind of environment he had found himself in at Porter's compound.  Missions which required one member to be out of touch weren't unusual, but that didn't make the current situation any less frustrating.

Despite what Jim believed, it was hard for Nicholas to accept that Grant might have betrayed their team, and the dark-haired agent found himself angry at Jim for even suggesting such a thing.  But what made him even more angry was knowing that someone had tried to kill Max. 

Nicholas vowed to himself that whoever was responsible would pay dearly for it.  And if that person did turn out to be Grant, well, Nicholas wasn't sure he could ever forgive him for that.

********

Shannon sat down in the chair beside her blond teammate and gently took his hand in hers.  With her other hand, she reached over to brush a stray wisp of hair from Max's forehead, and he stirred slightly at her touch.  Slowly, he opened his eyes.

"Hey, there," she smiled, her voice just above a whisper.

"Shannon," Max responded quietly, prompting Shannon to sigh with relief that he had recognized her.  Then the look on his face changed and his body tensed as he tried to sit up.  "Where's Grant?"

"Shh, take it easy,"  Shannon soothed, laying a hand on his shoulder and gently pushing him back down onto the bed.  "You've got to lie still, Max, and rest.  You've got a concussion and some broken ribs."

"Grant..."

"Nicholas is checking on Grant," she assured him.  "He'll be here in a little bit."

Just then, as if on cue, Nicholas walked into Max's room.  Seeing that his teammate was awake, he grinned in relief and approached Max's other side.

"How are you feeling, my friend?" he asked affectionately, gripping the blond's right hand in greeting.

"Like I've been shot out of a cannon," quipped Max.

"Or more like the cannon shot you," Nicholas replied in sympathy, as he sat down in the chair beside his teammate's bed.  "Do you remember what happened?"

"I lost touch with Grant," Max recalled, his face taking on a troubled look.  "I was arguing with Jim when I saw something flying toward the car.  I opened the door...then nothing until now."

"Thank God you opened the door, Max," sighed Shannon.  "That's what saved your life."

"No thanks to that tree that caught you when the car exploded," Nicholas added wryly.

Max chuckled softly as he looked over at Nicholas, then he sobered.  "Has anyone heard from Grant?"

Nicholas shot a quick glance at Shannon.  "He's deeply undercover right now," he answered vaguely.  "He'll contact us when he can."

Max seemed to accept his explanation without question, and the three agents made small talk for a little while.  But then Nicholas' communicator beeped.  Jim was trying to reach him.

Nicholas stifled a sigh and stood up, reaching out to squeeze Max's hand again.  "Jim needs me back at the condo," he advised.  "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Sorry I can't help, buddy," Max joked.  "I don't think they'll let me out of here."

Nicholas smiled, glad to see that his friend's sense of humor was still intact, and patted Max's arm.  "You just focus on getting better," he urged.  "We'll handle the mission."

"What about me, Nicholas?" asked Shannon.

"It's best you stay here with Max for now," the dark-haired agent answered, much to Shannon's relief.  "If we need you, I'll come get you."

"I'll walk you out," Shannon offered.  To Max, she said, "I'll be right back," then she and Nicholas left Max's room.

******

"Are you all right, Nicholas?" Shannon questioned, once they were out of Max's earshot.

Nicholas looked at her with surprise.  "Of course," he replied.  "Why do you ask?"

"I didn't want to say anything in front of Max," she advised, "but I saw your face when you came in, and again when your communicator went off." A pause.  "It's about Grant, isn't it?"

Nicholas sighed.  "He's made no contact with any of us," he admitted, "and he's apparently tried to hack into IMF security files." His voice grew quiet.  "Jim thinks he's gone rogue."

"Grant?  That's ridiculous," Shannon scoffed.

"I agree with you, Shannon," said Nicholas, "but the Secretary has ordered the team to go after him."

Shannon drew in a sharp breath.  "You're not serious."

"I wish I weren't," Nicholas sighed.  "Just don't say anything to Max right now.  He's going to be out of commission for a while anyway.  He doesn't need to know."

"Nicholas," Shannon thought suddenly, clutching his arm, "if this is true, he'll be devastated."

"I know," Nicholas replied sadly.  "That's why I don't want to tell him until we're absolutely sure." The communicator beeped again.  "I'd better go."

"Be careful," urged Shannon.

"Take care of Max," returned Nicholas as he stepped into the elevator.  Then the doors closed and Shannon returned to Max's room.

Chapter 10

"Jim," began Nicholas, as soon as he closed the door to the sedan and started toward the condo.

"Well, it's about time," Jim answered, clearly annoyed at being kept waiting.  "How's Max?"

"Better," Nicholas answered, unsure whether Jim was more worried about Max or the mission.   "He's awake, and there doesn't seem to be any long-term neurological damage."

"Good," Jim responded.  "It sounds like Shannon can handle things there, and Max is stable enough that we can pull her in too if necessary.  I need you here, Nicholas.  Now.  We'll talk more when you get here." And then he switched off the communicator without another word.

*******

When Nicholas arrived at the condo, Jim was staring at the computer screen.

"Have you heard anything from Grant?" the dark-haired agent asked.

Jim sighed heavily.  "The Secretary had some information planted in the IMF security files.  It's fake, but very convincing.  I also used Grant's newest invention to remotely tap into their phone line.  Now we just have to wait to see if they access the information and whether they try to sell it."

"And that's where I come in," Nicholas presumed.

Jim nodded.  "You're the only one who can disguise yourself enough that you won't be recognized."

A few minutes later, a series of tones indicated that either Grant or Porter was making a call.  As the tones continued to sound, several digits flashed up on a digital screen.  With lightning speed, Jim searched the number on the IMF database.

"It's registered to a ruler named Sarraf in a small Middle Eastern country," Jim said quickly. Nicholas nodded and picked up the phone on the fourth ring.

"This is Sarraf," he said choppily, utilizing a vague Arabic accent.

"Mister Sarraf," came Grant's confident voice, knocking his fellow agent off guard.  "I hear you're in the market for some information."

"You hear correctly," replied Nicholas, though it took everything he had to stay focused on his task.  "Are you able to offer some assistance?"

"I think Your Excellency will be pleased with what we have to offer," answered Grant smoothly.

"And what do you require in return for this... information?"

Grant named a price, and Nicholas shot a glance at Jim, who nodded tersely.  "All right."

"Good," confirmed Grant.  "My associate and I will be on the first plane out."

Jim shook his head quickly.  "That won't be necessary," Nicholas said quickly.  "I have other business in the western United States tomorrow anyway.  Why don't I just come to you?"

"That sounds perfect," Grant responded.

"Shall I meet you at the airport then?" proposed Nicholas, at Jim's prompting.

"No.  Too much security there.  Let's meet near the Golden Gate Bridge, just outside the gift center."

"I'm sure I can find it," answered Nicholas confidently, at Jim's nod. 

"My plane is due to arrive at dawn tomorrow, your time."

"Then let's make it nine a.m., before it gets busy."

"All right.  I will see you then," promised Nicholas, and the connection was broken.

The dark-haired agent drew a deep breath, then released it, as he replaced the receiver.  He looked at Jim.  "That was rough," he admitted.

"I know," Jim acknowledged, with a fatherly pat on the shoulder.  "It's rough for all of us."

"What do you think will happen to Grant, if he really is working for the other side?" Nicholas asked timidly.  He still did not want to believe it, but Grant had been very convincing, and if he sensed that it was Nicholas he was talking to, he never let on.

It was Jim's turn to sigh.  "Whatever happens, we have an obligation to bring him to justice," he said simply.

"Do we have enough to nail Porter, too?" the younger agent wanted to know.

"What we have is circumstantial at best," answered Jim, "but I'm sure he's behind all of this.  We can only hope that Grant will agree to testify against him in exchange for a lighter sentence."

"So we'll need to get both of them."

"Yes, with the Secretary's help.  And you'd better go grab Shannon.  We'll need her to act as a lookout." Jim looked at his wristwatch.  "It's getting late," he observed.  "It might be better if you wait until Max is asleep.  That way, you won't have to answer so many questions.  By the time he wakes up in the morning, we should have everything almost wrapped up."

Chapter 11

It was nearly ten when Nicholas pulled into the hospital parking lot and went upstairs to Max's room.  His brow was furrowed.  He had used his communicator to alert Shannon that he was on the way. But she hadn't answered him, and she wasn't waiting for him in the hallway as he expected.

Cautiously, he opened the door, and simultaneously became aware of two things:  Shannon looked flustered, and Max looked angry.

"What's going on?" Nicholas asked nervously, dispensing with the customary greeting.

"I should ask you the same thing," Max growled, struggling to keep his voice even.

"What do you mean?" Nicholas questioned innocently.

"You know damned well what I mean, Nicholas," he answered, his blue eyes piercing.  "Shannon's been avoiding my questions about the mission all afternoon, just like you're trying to right now.  And nobody will talk about Grant except to say that he is 'deep undercover'.  Just what is it that you guys aren't telling me?"

"Max." Nicholas made a conscious effort to keep his voice calm, hoping he'd have the same effect on his friend.  "You're getting better, but you have to take it easy.   The last thing you need right now with your concussion is to send your blood pressure through the roof."

"Then tell me what's going on," Max countered angrily.

Nicholas sighed heavily.  "I came to get Shannon, so she could help us nail Porter and finish the mission," he replied quietly.

"And what about Grant?"

Max saw the split-second look that passed between his teammates, and it only angered him further.  "Look," he added, "if you two don't level with me, then you can't stop me from signing myself out of here and going with you to find out for myself."

"You can't do that, Max," Shannon pleaded.  "It's too dangerous."

"Watch me."

Finally, Nicholas realized that Max wasn't going to rest until he knew everything.  He sighed again, then pulled the stool close to Max's bed and sat down.   "I talked to Grant earlier today," he said softly.  "He thinks I'm a Middle Eastern ruler whom he's meeting tomorrow to sell some classified information."

Max grinned lazily.  "And implicating Porter in the process," he inferred.

"Hopefully," Nicholas answered, and the look on his face made Max's smile fade once again.

"Surely you don't believe that Grant would do this on his own," Max said incredulously.

"Jim does," Nicholas replied gently.  "And so does the Secretary.  And we've been given the task to bring him to justice."

"You can't be serious," the blond agent grunted, shaking his head.  "Grant wouldn't just turn like that."

"For what it's worth, Shannon and I aren't convinced, either," admitted Nicholas, "but he's purposely avoided communication with us, so we have to assume that's the case." He sighed a third time.  "Besides," he added, "we have our orders."

Max was quiet for a long moment.  "Well, I know they recognized him, and I lost the audio link just after that," he said pensively.  After another moment of silence, his blue eyes darkened, and Nicholas and Shannon both knew that Max's thoughts had settled on the one topic they'd been avoiding.  "And then the Land Rover exploded," he added, his voice barely audible.

Shannon reached out and grasped Max's hand in empathy.  Max closed his eyes, shuddering slightly, and Nicholas laid a supportive hand on the larger man's shoulder. "He has to know what happened," Max whispered, opening his eyes again, "whether he just watched it, or gave the order himself.  The fact that he hasn't kept in touch with us tells me all I need to know."

"That's why we didn't want to say anything until we were sure, Max," said Shannon quietly, squeezing his hand.  "We know how close the two of you are."

"Maybe there's another explanation we haven't thought of," Nicholas offered reassuringly.

Max smiled slightly.  Leave it to Nicholas to wax optimistic, he thought.  "I wish I was going with you," he said aloud, an edginess to his voice.  "I'd ask him myself."

"Max," Nicholas began, giving the blond man's shoulder another squeeze.

"Relax, Nicholas, I'll behave," Max said hastily.  "But you have to let me know what happens."

"We will," Nicholas promised him.  The dark-haired agent nodded slightly at Shannon, who handed Max her communicator.  Max took it and smiled again at the two agents. 

Nicholas returned his smile briefly before his countenance sobered. "We'd better get moving, Shannon," he said reluctantly, as he stood up.  "I've got a mask to build."

"Be careful, both of you," Max pleaded.

"We'll be fine, Max," Shannon smiled.

"How about you?" Nicholas asked quietly, his hand still lingering on Max's broad shoulder.  "Are you going to be okay?"

"I'll be all right, Nicholas," Max answered, though neither his voice nor his forced smile were particularly reassuring.

"We'll check in with you tomorrow morning, before everything goes down," promised Shannon.  "Get some rest."

Max kept a smile pasted on his face as he watched them go, but he was certain that sleep would come fitfully tonight, if it even came at all.

Chapter 12

The next morning, as promised, Nicholas checked in with Max and was pleased to find out he was feeling much better - physically, at least, for it sounded as if he hadn't gotten much sleep the night before.  Not that the dark-haired agent was particularly surprised.

Afterward, Nicholas donned the mask that turned him into Sarraf and set off for the Golden Gate gift center in a rented black luxury car, with Jim and Shannon right behind him.

Nicholas pulled into the parking lot at the gift center, deserted except for a few cars parked several hundred feet away which belonged to the center's employees.  Jim and Shannon maneuvered the beige sedan inconspicuously between two other vehicles and waited.

Presently, a long, dark blue Cadillac turned into the parking lot.  From his vantage point, Jim could see that Grant was driving, and Porter was in the passenger seat.

Jim keyed his communicator. "They're here.  Ten o'clock," he said tensely, and Nicholas steeled his nerves as the dark-colored vehicle slid in beside him.

Nicholas and Grant both exited their vehicles at the same time. "Mister Sarraf?". Grant greeted.

"You have the merchandise?" Nicholas questioned.

"It's right here," replied Grant, patting his dress coat pocket.   "You have the cash?"

Nicholas held up a black briefcase.  The two men were fewer than ten steps away from one another.

"We'll make the exchange on the count of three," Grant suggested, and he began walking toward Nicholas as he counted.  "One...two...three."

As the merchandise and money changed hands, everything happened at once. "Hold it!" barked a male voice from several feet away.  A man dressed in a police uniform emerged from behind Jim's vehicle,  a rifle pointed toward  the two men. 

Both Nicholas and Grant lifted their hands into the air; Grant dropped the briefcase, but Nicholas was still holding the envelope containing the disc. 

Suddenly, the passenger door of the dark blue Cadillac opened, and Porter emerged, his hands bound behind his back. "Help me, officer!" he screamed.  "I'm Dennis Porter, and this man took me hostage and used my computer to hack into top-secret government websites.  The proof is right there in the other guy's hands!"

As everyone watched,  Jim Phelps emerged from the beige sedan, along with a gray-haired gentleman that both Nicholas and Grant recognized as the Secretary. The senior leader looked at his officer and nodded toward Porter.  "Take this man downtown to give his statement," he commanded, and the officer complied.

Once Porter was out of sight and earshot, Nicholas removed his mask.  Grant did not look surprised to see his teammate, nor was he surprised when the Secretary approached him.

"We'll take it from here, Mister Phelps," the Secretary advised with a wan smile.  Then, as Jim and Nicholas watched nervously, Grant reached again into his dress coat pocket and removed a second envelope.

"I think you'll find everything you need, Mister Secretary," Grant smiled.

The Secretary shook Grant's hand warmly.  "Outstanding job, Mister Collier.  Your country thanks you for your service." Nicholas and Jim stood speechless for a moment, mouths agape, as Shannon walked up to join them. 

Finally, as Nicholas continued to stare, Jim found his voice. "But I thought...?"

"That Grant was a traitor?" the Secretary chuckled.  "I know.  I'm sorry we couldn't tell you what was going on.  We knew that Porter had crossed a line and had gotten access to highly classified information which, in the wrong hands, would have sent our country straight into World War Three."

"And Jim and I already knew that one of Porter's cronies was connected to a past mission," added Grant.  "He recognized me, and would have recognized everyone else, too."

"For those reasons, Grant had to sever ties with all of you and work directly with me," the Secretary finished.  "It was too risky to let you in on things.  It would have put the rest of you in danger."

So many things were running through Nicholas' mind... unanswered questions, relief, anger, confusion, frustration... But before he could open his mouth to say anything, Grant suddenly looked around, noticing for the first time that one of their own was missing.

"Where's Max?" he asked.

At that moment, the barely concealed anger within the dark-haired agent rose up, superseding all of the other emotions.  Grant had to have witnessed the explosion.  How could he not know?

Nicholas' eyes darkened.  "Still in the hospital," he growled, "and pretty damned lucky to be alive."

Grant's face suddenly paled, and he fell to his knees, looking as if he were on the verge of collapse.  Shannon laid a worried hand on his shoulder as he looked up at Nicholas, then Jim, his eyes moist.  "Dear God," he choked out, "he wasn't supposed to be there."

Jim cleared his throat and looked at his feet.  "I begged, but I couldn't get him to leave," he said quietly.  "He was worried about you."

The sympathy that had momentarily gripped Nicholas, as he'd realized that Grant hadn't intended for Max to get hurt, faded away in a split second.  His brown eyes, normally soft, shot daggers at Jim.  "You knew about this?" he demanded.

The Secretary had been watching their exchange for several moments as the tension among the agents grew stronger.  He suddenly held up a hand. "Gentlemen," he soothed, "I think we could all use a debriefing.  And I realize this is unprecedented, but if you don't mind, I'd like to participate."

Nicholas shrugged.  "Suits me," he replied, sarcasm still heavy in his voice, "but we'll have to do it from Max's hospital room." He stared evenly at Jim and Grant, who had risen to his feet and was standing beside the elder agent.  "He deserves some answers, too."

"Very well, then," the Secretary smiled.  "I'll meet you all there in an hour."

"I'll let Max know," Nicholas said tensely, and without another word he turned away from his team and walked toward his rental car.  Shannon smiled faintly at Grant and Jim, then rushed to catch up with Nicholas.  Grant followed Jim to the beige sedan, and one by one they drove out of sight.

Chapter 13

As soon as he slammed the driver's door, Nicholas took out his communicator. "Max," he began.

"Hey, Nicholas," the blond agent returned from his hospital bed.

"Everything went well, and everybody's fine, including Grant."

Max nodded, inferring from his friend's words that Grant had not betrayed his country, after all.  But he still had a great many questions, especially given the almost angry tension he could hear in Nicholas' voice. "What happened?"

Nicholas sighed.  "Everyone's coming there for debriefing in an hour," he answered, "including the Secretary.  Hopefully, we'll all get some answers.  I just wanted to let you know."

"Thanks, buddy," said Max, and as the communication ended he rose carefully from his bed to slip into something more presentable than his hospital gown.

Nicholas laid his communicator on the seat beside him and returned his right hand to the steering wheel, gripping it so hard his knuckles whitened.  Shannon, noticing, reached over and laid a hand on Nicholas' leg in empathy.

"Take it easy, Nicholas," she said softly. "I know you're angry."

"How could they, Shannon?" the dark-haired agent responded, his voice still dangerously tense.  "How could they put Max in danger like that, knowing bloody well what could happen?"

Shannon couldn't help smiling to herself at Nicholas' protectiveness.  "Max is going to be fine," she reminded him carefully.  "Maybe you could give them a chance to explain things."

Nicholas turned briefly from the road ahead to meet Shannon's eyes. "Maybe I could," he conceded, feeling himself relax just a little. Then the pair was silent as they made their way to the hospital.

*******

Nicholas and Shannon got to the hospital first and made small talk with Max while waiting for the others to arrive.  Then Nicholas fell into an awkward silence as Grant and Jim entered the room.

"How are you doing, Max?" Grant asked softly.

"I'm okay," Max answered coldly, his voice gruff.

Then the Secretary came in, and they sat down to discuss the just-completed mission. "I know that everyone has questions," the Secretary began, "and I want to make sure they're all answered.  I just don't really know where to begin."

"Well, I thought we were all pretty clear about the mission, right up until we lost communication with Grant," Nicholas said bitterly from his seat on the stool beside Max's bed.  "Then it all seemed to go to hell."

"How did they recognize you, Grant?" Max asked.

"One of Porter's men was the doctor who tortured my father during our mission in Benarli," the Black agent answered quietly.

"And you knew that beforehand?" Shannon chimed in.

"Yes," admitted Grant.  "I found out when Iwas staying at Jim's, doing research, waiting for Porter to make a move."

"Then Jim knew, too."

"That's right, Max," Jim confirmed.  "We knew there was a chance that Grant would be recognized.  We chose not to tell the rest of you because we couldn't let your concern for Grant interfere with the mission." Jim dropped his head.  "We realize now that we made a mistake."

"You had to know that you put Max directly in harm's way," said Nicholas, his voice still with a dangerous edge.

"Nicholas, it's all right," soothed Max, laying a hand on Nicholas' arm.

"No, Max, it isn't," his dark-haired friend disagreed, then he turned back toward Grant.  "Instead of warning him, you ended all communication with the team."

"That was my call, Nicholas," advised Jim.  "Once Grant was identified, he was instructed to destroy the ring.  We thought it would convince Porter's men that Grant was working alone." Jim looked sadly at Max.  "I knew that they might spot you, Max," he said quietly.  "That's why I tried so hard to get you to get out of there."

"I never meant for you to get hurt, partner," promised Grant, in a half-whisper.  "You have to believe that.  I thought you were clear."

"I'm sorry I failed you," finished Jim.

"You didn't fail me, Jim," Max disagreed, slowly realizing his own role in what had happened.  "I just didn't listen to you."

"Of course you wouldn't leave Grant, Max," protested Nicholas, his teammates' explanations having done little to quell his anger.  "You were worried about him, as any loyal teammate would have been," he added, placing the slightest emphasis on the word loyal.  "Maybe it would have made a difference if they'd told you the Land Rover might blow up with you inside it, eh?"

Nicholas felt the tension in the room pushing against him, threatening to smother him.  He needed some air.  He got up to walk out of the room.

"That's enough, Nicholas," Jim chided gently, reaching out in an attempt to grasp the dark-haired agent's arm as he walked by.

Nicholas jerked away from Jim's touch but stopped in mid-stride, his brown eyes flashing fire.  "There sure seems to be plenty of loyalty to go around here lately," he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice.  "Need I remind you that you tried to convince the rest of us that Grant had turned his back on his team?"

"I'm afraid you can blame me for that, Mister Black."  The room grew silent as the Secretary spoke.  "I'd like a chance to explain, if you don't mind."

Slowly, Nicholas returned to his stool, where Max patted his shoulder in silent appreciation of his friend's protectiveness.  He flashed a quick smile at the blond agent, then nodded silently toward the senior official.

"The original plan, of course, was to have Mister Collier pretend to align with Porter, all the while gathering evidence against him," the Secretary began.  "As soon as Porter was certain that Grant was on his side, he gave him free reign of the computers and instructed him to do some 'research.'"

"What I found on Porter's computer was some highly classified and dangerous information - part of a government operation that was above even Jim's security clearance," continued Grant.  "I obviously couldn't tell Jim about it, so I used the backup communicator to contact the Secretary directly."

"It was I who instructed him to cease all communication with the team, and to purposely hack into the security files, knowing it would raise suspicion and prompt Mister Phelps to contact me."

"So you were selling the con," Shannon inferred.

"Basically," the Secretary agreed with a shrug.

"But why?" Max wanted to know.  "Why would you want us to believe that Grant had crossed the line?"

"I overheard Porter talking to Doc just after the explosion," Grant answered, with a wary glance at Max.  "Porter's plan was to set me up to take the blame for all of his dirty deeds, and to have my own team come after me."

"Mister Collier and I knew that any contact with you guys would jeopardize everything," the Secretary continued, "and limit his access to Porter's computer.  So we basically bought time until he got all of the evidence he needed.  Then we planted the fake security data, and you know the rest. 

"Since Porter was pretending to be your hostage, we did a little pretending of our own. As soon as we had him in custody, the rest of my men stormed his headquarters and arrested both Paul Hamilton and the man you knew as Doc."  He smiled sightly at Max.  "It was Doc who fired the bullet that blew up the Land Rover.  Thanks to Mister Collier, we were able to shut down Porter's entire operation."

Chapter 14

"So this whole mission was about deception," Nicholas concluded, his anger beginning to dissipate as he stood up and began to pace around the hospital room. "We deceived Porter, Porter and Grant deceived one another,  Grant and Jim deceived the rest of the team, and Grant and the Secretary deceived us all."

"Not really deceived, Nicholas," Jim corrected him.  "More like withheld information."

"Well, whatever you call it," Nicholas retorted sharply, "it's something we do on every mission, with every criminal.  Deceiving, withholding information, supplying incorrect information." He looked squarely at Jim, and his voice softened slightly.  "After hearing your explanations, I suppose I can understand the reasons why you did what you did." Nicholas shifted his gaze from Jim to Grant.  "But withholding information from your own team only serves to compromise trust."  He shot a glance at Max.  "And risk lives."

Jim opened his mouth to say something defensive, for the benefit of the Secretary, but the senior leader spoke first. "I couldn't agree more, Mister Black," he responded.  He looked at Jim, who looked back at him in surprise.  "Your team is one of the finest in the IMF, and the trust you have with one another is a key factor in that.  While I'm not sure there's another way we could have avoided it this time and still done what we needed to do, I will never again suggest or authorize anything that will put at risk the trust and integrity of my most successful team." The Secretary panned his gaze around the room, making eye contact with each member in turn.  "You all have my word on that."

"Thank you, Mister Secretary," smiled Jim, and the two men shared a warm handshake to seal the promise as the Secretary got to his feet.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be getting back to the office.". He walked to the side of Max's bed and reached out his hand.  "I hope you get well soon, Mister Harte."

"Thank you, Mister Secretary," Max grinned as he, too, shook the senior leader's hand. The Secretary turned toward the door. 

Jim stood up.  "I'll walk you out, sir," he offered. But the Secretary held up his hand and shook his head. 

"That won't be necessary," he responded.  "You have business here." Then he disappeared into the hallway as the door closed behind him.

As soon as the Secretary was gone, Nicholas approached Grant and Jim, who were standing side by side near the door.  "I'm sorry I got so angry with both of you," he said sincerely.

"Nicholas, you had every right," Jim insisted.  Then, with a cursory glance toward Max, he added, "We know you were just trying to protect your team."

Nicholas smiled slightly.  "Yes, but I should have trusted you."

"We should have trusted each other," Jim corrected, reaching out to clasp Nicholas' hand in a firm shake, giving him a fatherly pat on the shoulder with his other hand.

Nicholas released Jim's hand, then turned toward Grant.  "For what it's worth, I'm glad you're still one of the good guys," he quipped.

"Yeah, me too, pal," Grant grinned, as he shook his friend's hand and gave him a brotherly hug.

"That's three of us, Grant," added Jim - his way of apologizing for believing Grant had gone rogue - and the two old friends shared a warm embrace.  Then Grant stole a sideways glance at Max, and the ever perceptive Nicholas took the hint.  He forced a sigh.

"Well," he said breezily, "all this talking has worn me out.  I'm going home to rest for a while." He drew close to Max's bed again and grasped the blond's hand.  "I'll be back to visit later on."

"All right," Max answered.  Then he laid his other hand on top of Nicholas' and smiled gratefully.  "Thanks for everything, Nicholas."

The dark-haired agent just smiled back at him.

"Will you drop me off at home, Nicholas?" Shannon asked, the first time she had spoken in some time.

"Of course," he answered.

Shannon paused long enough to plant gentle kisses on the cheeks of Max and Grant, and to pat Jim's shoulder fondly, then she followed Nicholas out the door.

Jim had also taken the hint, and he cleared his throat audibly.  "That reminds me," he said, "I have some things I need to take care of back at the condo." And after shaking Max's hand warmly, he too made his exit, leaving Grant and Max alone in the hospital room.

Grant walked over to Max's bedside to take Nicholas' place on the stool.  But there was a long, awkward moment of silence before Grant finally spoke.

"So," he began, "how much longer till you're out of here?"

"Well, they're doing another CT scan tomorrow," Max answered, then a sideways grin curled across his face.  "If my brain is still there, I suppose they'll send me home," he quipped, trying to lessen the tension that had become oppressingly thick.

Grant chuckled for a moment, then his countenance grew serious.  "Look, Max, I'm really sorry about what happened to you."

"Grant, you don't have to apologize," Max began.

"I need to say this," the Black agent insisted. 

Max nodded slightly, and then Grant continued. "I heard Porter tell Doc to fire the weapon.  I saw the explosion in the trees," he recalled with a slight shudder.  "I wasn't worried, because I thought you had gotten safely out of there.  When Nicholas told me that the Land Rover was still there, with you inside, it shook me to the bone.". Grant's eyes were moist as they locked onto Max's own.

"Grant..."

"I would never have let them hurt you, if I'd known, regardless of the mission."

"I know, Grant.  It's okay," Max interrupted gently, reaching for Grant's hand, rushing to reassure his friend before he lost all composure.  "I'm going to be fine."

"Yeah," Grant acknowledged, his voice a whisper, "but will you ever trust me again?"

"You don't even have to ask.  For what it's worth, I never believed you had gone rogue in the first place, partner."

Grant smiled at Max's use of the word, the confirmation that his friendship and trust were still intact.  He reached up and caught Max's shoulders in a warm embrace - gentle, so as not to further injure Max's sore ribs.  Finally, the fractured team was back together again, and never again would deception and mistrust divide them.

The End

(c) 2018