One Step Ahead

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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.  

 

Summary:  When Jim disappears, the IMF must take on a whole different kind of mission.

Prologue

“This disk will self-destruct in five seconds.  Good luck, Jim.”

Jim Phelps sat in stunned silence, his eyes cast straight ahead, lost in his own thoughts.  It wasn’t until the faint wisp of white smoke began to billow up from the black rectangular box that he finally shook himself back to reality and rose up from his sitting place.

The villain’s countenance burned in his memory.  It was a face he hadn’t seen in twenty years…and one that he thought – no, hoped – he’d never see again.  This would be a dangerous mission for the team, but one he couldn’t refuse.

As he made his way back to the Escalade, he was unaware that he was being watched.

*******

The stocky man in the straw hat, the hair at his temples graying, sat staring through his binoculars from the backseat of the grey limousine.

“This is how he finds out what the next mission is,” he told his henchman without breaking his gaze.  “Then he usually goes back to his condo and calls in the rest of the team to plan their strategy.”  The man’s mouth curled into an evil grin.  “But not this time.”

“Shall I grab him now, sir?” the henchman asked, his large muscles tensing in anticipation.

“Not yet, Stewart,” his boss replied.  “Let me be a hundred percent sure it’s him.”

As Jim turned around and headed for the Escalade, the villain lowered his binoculars.  “That’s Phelps, all right.  You know what to do.”

The muscular Stewart crept stealthily from the driver’s seat, crouching in a grove of bushes near the Escalade, waiting for the right moment.  Jim walked past him and paused at the driver’s door, fumbling for the key.

Stewart noiselessly approached Jim from behind.  Jim suddenly sensed his presence and his body tensed, but in the same instant Stewart threw his big arms around Jim’s head and caught him in a sleeper hold.

Jim instinctively tried to fight back, to scramble out of the larger man’s grip, but his world was already getting fuzzy and soon everything faded to black. The key to the Escalade fell out of Jim’s hand and landed on the pavement below.

Stewart tucked the piece of paper under the wiper blade as instructed, then he slung Jim’s body across his shoulder and carried him to the limo where his boss was waiting.

“Good job, Stewart,” he praised his henchman.  “Now we’ll see how long it takes Phelps’ team to plan his rescue.”

And the grey limousine drove away.

Chapter 1

The phone rang just as Grant was putting the finishing touches on his newest invention.  “Hello?”

“Hi, Grant.”

“Oh, hey, Nicholas,” Grant responded with a smile. “How’s it going?”

“That depends,” Nicholas answered vaguely.  His voice was tense.  “Have you heard from Jim?”

“Today? No.  Why?”

“Well, I spoke to him early this morning,” Nicholas explained, “and he said he was going to check on a mission at nine o’clock, and that he would call me when he got back.  But that’s been six hours ago.  He hasn’t called, and he’s not responding to his house phone or communicator.”

“I’m sure he’s fine, Nicholas,” Grant said reassuringly, used to his teammate’s tendency to worry.  “You know Jim. He probably found out something he wanted to research further before contacting the rest of us.”

“Maybe,” conceded Nicholas, in a tone that was completely unconvinced.  “But it’s not like him to be completely out of contact.”

“Give him a couple more hours,” Grant suggested, ignoring the point.  “Then, if you haven’t heard from him, call me back.”

“Okay,” Nicholas sighed, then he said goodbye and broke the connection by pushing the button.  A second later, he released the button and dialed Max’s number.

When Max answered the phone, Nicholas had the same conversation with him that he’d had with Grant.  “I don’t know, Nicholas,” Max said uncertainly. “I agree it’s alarming, but there could be any number of reasonable explanations as to why you haven’t heard back from him yet.”

Seeing that he wasn’t getting anywhere with Max, Nicholas found himself a little annoyed that neither he nor Grant seemed to validate his concerns about Jim.  Was he really just overreacting?   Nicholas ended the call with Max quickly, and then telephoned Shannon.

This time, the reaction was different.

“That doesn’t make sense, Nicholas,” admitted Shannon.  “Something isn’t right.”

Nicholas sighed. “Thanks for not thinking I’m jumping to conclusions,” he said sincerely.

“So what do we do now?” Shannon asked. “Go look for him?”

“I need to stay close to home for a little while longer, in case Jim calls the house phone,” Nicholas said, disappointed that he couldn’t do more to help.

“I’ll go look for him,” Shannon offered.

“You shouldn’t go alone, Shannon,” Nicholas protested.  “If something has happened to him, you could get hurt, too.”

“I don’t see the others standing in line to help right now,” Shannon retorted, a bit bitter at her other two teammates.  “Besides, I’ll maintain contact with you on the communicator.”

“All right,” Nicholas finally relented, “but be careful and let me know if you see anything odd.”

“Will do,” she promised.

Shannon remained in constant contact with Nicholas as she drove around the usual paths in search of any trace of Jim or his vehicle.  Thirty minutes went by, then forty-five, then an hour.

“Shannon,” Nicholas said dejectedly after Shannon had been searching for just under ninety minutes, “you might as well get back here.  It’ll be dark soon, and I don’t like the idea of you being out there alone.”

Despite her growing concern about Jim, Shannon couldn’t help but smile at Nicholas’ protectiveness.

“Besides,” he was saying, “I probably need to call Grant and Max back and have them meet us here.”

“Right, Nicholas,” Shannon responded, as she looked to her right in search of a place to turn her car around.

Suddenly, she caught sight of something just off the main highway.

“Nicholas,” Shannon hissed into the communicator, her voice tense.

Nicholas was instantly on alert. “What is it, Shannon?” he demanded.

“I think I just found the Escalade,” she answered, her heart coming up in her throat.

Nicholas sat bolt upright in his chair, all of his muscles tensing at once.

“I’m going to check it out,” she advised.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Nicholas asked worriedly.  “What if it’s a trap?”

“What if Jim’s hurt?” she countered.  “I need to find out, Nicholas.”

Shannon, not waiting for permission or acknowledgement but taking her communicator with her, exited her own car and approached the Escalade cautiously.  She noticed the letter and number combination on the license plate and her stomach lurched.

“It’s Jim’s car, all right,” she confirmed to Nicholas.  Nervously, she peered into the vehicle’s cab, but she saw nothing except his communicator lying on the passenger seat.

“There’s no sign of Jim,” she reported. “No blood, no obvious signs of a struggle, no evidence of car trouble.  His communicator is in the car…” Her voice trailed off as she stepped on something hard and lumpy.  “And I found Jim’s keys lying on the ground beside the driver’s door,” she continued as she picked them up.

Nicholas frowned.  “This isn’t good, Shannon,” he said quietly.  “I’d better call the others.  Get back here as soon as you can.”

Shannon started to respond, but then a fluttering piece of paper stuck under the windshield wiper blade caught her attention.  Not having anything handy to handle it with, she grasped it by the tiniest corner in order to minimize the number of fingerprints she left behind.

She looked, and written on the paper was a telephone number.  Tensely, she reported her discovery to Nicholas.

“Maybe Jim left it as a clue?” he ventured hopefully.

“I don’t think this is Jim’s handwriting,” Shannon disagreed.

Nicholas’ heart skipped a beat. “Then it can only mean one thing,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

Once Shannon let him know that she was safely in the car and headed back toward his apartment, Nicholas telephoned Grant.

“Hey, pal,” he greeted.  “Has Jim made it back yet?”

“No, Grant,” Nicholas responded. “Shannon and I believe he’s been abducted.  Come over to my apartment.  Shannon’s on her way, and I’ll call Max.”

“You’re serious,” Grant said soberly.  It wasn’t a question.

“I’m afraid so.  See you in a little while.”

Chapter 2

Forty-five minutes later, the four teammates were sitting in Nicholas’ living room, and Shannon was filling Grant and Max in on what had happened when she’d found the Escalade.

“Nicholas,” Grant ventured, his voice low and a sober expression on his face, “Max and I both owe you an apology for dismissing your concerns about Jim earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it,” replied Nicholas with a half-smile, waving his hand dismissively.  “We just have to work together to find him.”

“So what’s the plan?” Max asked.

Nicholas gazed at him incredulously. Was Max talking to him? As he scanned the other two faces, it was clear that all three of his teammates were looking to him to be the surrogate team leader now that Jim was missing.

Nicholas recalled a conversation that had taken place among the team just after their very first mission together, when they had nailed the man who’d murdered Jim’s best friend but they weren’t sure if Jim would be staying with them as team leader. And there was another talk that he and Jim had had about it months ago, after they’d lost one of their own.

In both instances, it seemed as if everyone expected him to fill the leadership role in the event that Jim couldn’t, despite his insistence to the contrary.

“I don’t have a plan,” Nicholas said earnestly, “and I’m no team leader. We’re all in this together, equal partners.”  He met each pair of eyes with his own, striving to convey the sincerely of his words.  “But I do have a few ideas.”

Nicholas glanced outside, where darkness had already fallen.  “Unfortunately, I don’t think there’s much we can do tonight.”

“But what about Jim?” Shannon protested.

“Well, whoever took him must have some purpose for doing so,” Nicholas reasoned.  “If they’d just wanted him gone, they’d have killed him on the spot.”

“That makes sense,” Grant responded.

“So we’ve probably got some time,” Max put in.

“Tomorrow,” Nicholas said, his jaw set, “we’ll go get the Escalade, try to uncover what we can about this new mission, and see who’s on the other end of that telephone number.”  He looked tiredly at his team.  “For tonight, I’m not sure that any of us should be alone.”

“Why do you say that, Nicholas?” asked Shannon.

Nicholas shrugged.  “Call it a gut feeling,” he replied.  “You’re all welcome to stay here if you want.  I have a guest bedroom and a couple of couches.”

“Thanks, buddy,” responded Grant, getting to his feet and reaching out to give his friend an affectionate shoulder slap, “but I’ve got some things to take care of at home.”

Nicholas opened his mouth to protest, but Grant held up his hand. “It’s okay; I’ll take Max with me,” he continued, “and tomorrow morning we’ll go get the Escalade and meet you back at Jim’s place.”

Nicholas nodded in satisfaction.  Then he turned to Shannon, his eyebrows raised in an unspoken question.

Max also stood up, after reaching over to grab the keys to the Escalade off the coffee table, and turned to follow Grant.  But as Shannon watched, they both lingered, gazing at her and awaiting her response to Nicholas’ unspoken invitation.  Clearly, all of them wanted to make sure Shannon was safe.

To Shannon’s surprise, all of the attention, while flattering, made her defensive.  “I think I’m capable of taking care of myself, guys,” she insisted, only mildly annoyed at her friends’ protectiveness.

“I know you are, Shannon,” Nicholas said softly.  “All of us are.  But I’d still feel better if you’d stay.”

“Well, I suppose I could,” she answered, a little embarrassed – though not uncomfortable – at the thought of being alone in the apartment with Nicholas, despite her alarm at Jim’s disappearance.

The three men smiled, satisfied that they would all be safer tonight, then they exchanged goodbyes and Grant and Max headed for Grant’s place.

*******

Nicholas and Shannon sipped Irish tea and talked until late into the night, about almost every topic imaginable. It was easier than letting the quiet in; for when the conversation lulled, thoughts of Jim came creeping in.

Finally, when both were taking turns stifling yawns, Nicholas rose from the couch and went upstairs to prepare the guest bedroom for Shannon, who followed closely behind.

“Are you sure that’s enough blankets?” Nicholas asked.

Shannon chuckled.  “Nicholas, you’ve already put three comforters on the bed.  I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know,” he replied skeptically. “It’s pretty cold out.”

Then, as Shannon watched, Nicholas’ smile faded and his countenance sobered.  He turned from her, walked toward the window, and stared out into the night.

“You’re thinking about Jim, aren’t you?” Shannon’s voice drifted softly from behind him.

Nicholas nodded wordlessly.  “I wonder if he’s hurt, if he’s cold, if he’s hungry…”  His voice trailed off.

“Nicholas,” Shannon soothed, as she gently grasped his shoulder and turned him around until he was facing her.  She looked deeply into his worried brown eyes, and lowered her hand to give his upper arm a reassuring squeeze.

“We’ll find him,” she promised.  “He’s tough.  He’ll be okay.”

Nicholas smiled faintly, not really convinced but touched by Shannon’s kindness.  “You’d better get some sleep,” he almost whispered.  “If you need anything, I’ll be right across the hall.”

“If you need anything,” Shannon returned, taking his hand.  She didn’t finish the sentence; she didn’t need to.

They stood there for a long moment, their eyes locked, until finally Nicholas lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly.

“Thanks, Shannon,” he said sincerely, lingering for one more moment before exiting the guest room, closing the door behind him.

*******

Nicholas awakened to the smell of freshly perked coffee drifting up the stairs.  For a moment, he was confused.  He lived alone, so who was downstairs making coffee?

Then, slowly, the brain fog lifted and his senses returned to him.  Jim had been taken yesterday, and Shannon had stayed in the guest bedroom last night.  So that’s who’s making the coffee, he reasoned, a smile creeping involuntarily across his face.

Nicholas slipped on the cotton pajama top, the companion to the bottoms he was already wearing, and buttoned it up as he walked downstairs.  As soon as he came into sight of it, he looked toward the kitchen, and his breath shut off in his chest.

Shannon was reaching up into the cabinet to take down two coffee mugs.  She was wearing one of his long T-shirts.  The shirttail stopped halfway down her upper thigh, leaving  Shannon’s long, slender legs exposed.

“Good morning,” she smiled at him.  “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black, two sugars,” he replied absently.

Shannon saw him looking at her, and she blushed.  “I found this shirt hanging in the closet in the guest bedroom and decided it would be more comfortable to sleep in than my jeans.”  She looked squarely at Nicholas. “I, um, hope you don’t mind.”

Nicholas’ voice was low. “No,” he replied, “I don’t mind at all.  I could have offered you some pajamas,” he added, a bit apologetically.

“It’s fine, Nicholas, really,” she smiled as she prepared his coffee.  “Did you sleep?” she continued, though by studying his features she already suspected the answer.

“Some,” he admitted.

“Not much,” she clarified worriedly, and his expression told her she was correct.

“How about you?” he rebutted. “Did you sleep?”

“Some,” she sighed, carefully placing the steaming mug in his hands.  He accepted it, and she kept her warm hands wrapped around his as he held onto it.

She looked into his eyes.  “I really think we’ll feel better once we figure out what we’re dealing with.  Then we can do what we do best.”

“Plan and carry out a mission,” Nicholas finished.  “A mission to rescue our friend.”

The ringing telephone startled them both, and they realized that they were still standing there, their gaze locked, with Shannon’s hands wrapped around his.

“That’s probably Grant,” Nicholas reasoned, as Shannon reluctantly withdrew her touch.

“I guess I’d better get dressed,” Shannon said quietly, her cheeks flushing.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Nicholas responded in the same tone, and he watched her as she ascended the stairs.  Then he realized that the phone was still ringing and rushed to answer it.

Chapter 3

“Hey, Nicholas.”  Grant ‘s voice was tired.  He and Max probably hadn’t gotten much sleep, either, Nicholas figured.  “I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything…?”

“No,” he replied quietly.

“Max and I are going after the Escalade now,” Grant advised.  “Meet you back at Jim’s in an hour?”

“Good,” Nicholas affirmed.  “Be careful,” he added.

“Will do,” Grant assured him.  “You all, too.”

An hour later, Nicholas and Shannon pulled into the parking area in front of Jim’s condominium and slowly got out of the car.  Grant and Max arrived a moment later, and Max used Jim’s key to open the door.

It felt strange – wrong, somehow – for the four teammates to be there without their leader.  But they knew that if Jim’s disappearance was related to a mission, and if there were any clues to be found, they would be on Jim’s computer.  So they decided to start there.

Grant, of course, was the technological guru of the group, so he sat down at the keyboard and logged on.

“But, Grant,” Shannon said, her eyebrows furrowed, “doesn’t Jim have a password?”

“Yes,” Grant answered, “but he gave it to me months ago.  Just in case.”

“What are you looking for, Grant?” Max asked.

“Anything that sticks out,” Grant responded.  “Recent documents or uploads, anything that’s been accessed multiple times recently.  I’m pulling Jim’s phone records from the last week or so to see if there’s anything unusual going on there.”

For several long moments, there was silence in the room while Grant worked.  Finally, he pushed himself back from the computer and rubbed his eyes with one hand.

“Anything?” Nicholas inquired.

“Nothing,” Grant replied, the disappointment heavy in his voice.  “No recent uploads, very little recent activity period.  Even the phone records show nothing unusual.”

“So Jim’s abduction was either completely random,” mused Shannon, “or it is directly connected to the assignment he just received.”

Grant nodded, then he looked up at Nicholas. “I think it’s time you call that telephone number.”

He reached into his ever-present briefcase and pulled out a recording device, which he installed underneath the earpiece of the landline telephone.  Then he nodded toward Nicholas, who began to dial.

The telephone rang three times, and then there was a click as someone on the other end picked it up.

“It took you long enough to call,” came a deep, gruff male voice.  “I know you’re tapping this line…probably trying to trace it, too…so I’ll make this short and sweet.  We have Mister Phelps, and he’s fine for the moment.  Gather up fifty thousand dollars and call this number back at exactly seven o’clock tonight for further instructions.  Otherwise, he dies.”

Click.

The phone had gone dead before Nicholas even said a word.  He knew even before he looked at Grant that there hadn’t been enough time to trace the call.

Nicholas cursed aloud.

“A random demand,” muttered Max.  “They probably want to set up a meeting to make a trade.”

“We have to play along, at least until we know who were dealing with,” Nicholas stated.  “We don’t know what these people are capable of.”

“But where are we going to get a hold of that kind of money?” Shannon asked.

Grant looked at Nicholas.  “I think it may be time to involve the Secretary,” he said quietly.  “I found the security  code Jim uses when he calls the IMF.”

Nicholas hesitated, knowing that only the team leader had security clearance to communicate with the Secretary.  Masquerading as a villain was one thing; pretending to be a friend was entirely different.

“I’m sure Jim wouldn’t mind, under the circumstances,” Grant prodded, reading his mind.

Nicholas sighed heavily, knowing Grant was right.  He dialed the number to IMF headquarters while Grant wrote down the security code.

When the connection was made, Nicholas spoke.

“Yes, this is James Phelps,” he began, reading off the security code.  The other agents gasped.  It wasn’t completely Jim’s voice, though they would have trouble identifying just what was different.  It was certainly close enough to fool anyone else.

“I’m calling because I have some questions about the assignment from yesterday,” Nicholas continued.

As the others listened, the female voice on the other end of the line responded.  “I’m sorry, sir.  We are not aware of anyone named James Phelps affiliated with our organization.”

“What?”  Nicholas cried incredulously, still in character as his leader.  “But I’ve worked for you for years!  I gave you my credentials!”

“I’m sorry, sir,” the voice replied in the same tone.  “You must have the wrong number.  Have a nice day, sir.”

There was a clicking sound, and the call was disconnected.

Nicholas stared at the phone wordlessly for a moment, caught in disbelief, before he replaced it in its cradle.  Then he looked at his friends.

“Do you know what this means?” he asked, his voice low.

“They must know Jim’s been captured,” Max answered.

“He’s been disavowed already,” observed Shannon.

“And so has our mission,” Grant added, matching Nicholas’ low tone.  “We’re on our own.”

Chapter 4

“Well, well, well.  Look who decided to wake up.”

The voice…so vaguely familiar… came drifting toward Jim’s ears from across the room as he regained consciousness and slowly became aware of his surroundings.

He could see nothing, for he was blindfolded with a dark cloth.  He felt the constriction on his airway, and his breath came in heavy, panicked gasps at first; finally, he realized that he was gagged but his nasal passages were clear.  He forced himself to relax, to breathe through his nose, and gradually his respiration rate returned to normal.

He was lying on what felt like a tile or hardwood floor, with his hands bound behind him and his feet likewise bound.

“Good afternoon, Mister Phelps,” the voice came again, condescendingly, and Jim startled as the gag was ripped out of his mouth.

“I know you know who I am, James.  Don’t you?”

Jim recognized the speaker, but he said nothing at first, not sure whether or not to disclose this information. Suddenly, he felt a searing pain in his left side.  The speaker had no doubt stomped him with his foot.

“Speak up, James!” he insisted.

Jim gasped and winced in pain.  “Doug Crenshaw,” he said haltingly.

“Very good,” the man replied, feigning approval. “That kind of skill makes a man worthy to be a team leader,” he added, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Jim cringed at the comment, remembering the moment twenty years before when he had found out he would be replacing Doug Crenshaw as team leader at the IMF.  It was Crenshaw who had initially replaced Dan Briggs, for one single mission.  That mission had almost gone terribly awry when Crenshaw had decided to exercise vigilante justice rather than follow IMF protocol.  He had badly wounded the villain, and it was only through the intervention of his teammates…who later became Jim’s teammates…that the entire mission wasn’t blown to kingdom come.

Following that mission, the Secretary had decided that Crenshaw was too great a risk to the IMF organization as a team leader, and Jim had been tapped to take his place.  Crenshaw remained in a minor position  at IMF for a few months but ultimately had left the organization completely.  He had been very vocal about his dislike of Jim Phelps and his team, and had obviously never forgiven them, even after twenty years.

“So what’s your new mission about?” Crenshaw’s voice jolted Jim out of his reverie.  “As if I couldn’t guess.  What did they say about me?”

Again, Jim remained stoically silent.  And again, Crenshaw’s foot made contact with his body – this time, it was his shoulder.  “Come on, Phelps!  I’m dying of curiosity here!”

“They called you…an assassin,” Jim stammered, struggling to catch his breath.  “They said you and your henchmen were killing off personnel in some of the most influential government agencies….FBI…CIA… Secret Service….”

“IMF,” finished Crenshaw.

Jim’s heart came up in his throat.  Was he going to die? Or, worse yet, was the rest of his team in danger?

“Silly Phelps,” chuckled Crenshaw, as he ripped off Jim’s blindfold, startling him again. “You were a hell of a team leader, all right.  But you made one fatal mistake: you allowed your agents to get close to you – to become your friends.”

The volatile Crenshaw paced the floor like a rabid dog as he spoke.

“A strong team leader can’t allow emotional attachments to make things complicated, James.  A strong team leader knows that everyone is expendable.  Everyone.”

As if to illustrate his point, he whipped a shotgun from his pants.  In one quick motion, he aimed the gun at one of the four men standing in the room and pulled the trigger.  The man’s body jerked backward as the bullet penetrated his left chest.  He fell to the floor and landed at an unnatural angle, eyes wide open but no life shining from them.

“Get rid of him,” he ordered the other henchmen, who rushed to comply for fear of becoming the next victim.

Crenshaw replaced the gun and turned back to face Jim, fire in his eyes.  “I’m going to put you out of business, James.  You and your entire team.  Let’s see: there are probably five of you…right? And if the great Mister Phelps trained them, then any of the others would be capable of picking up right where you left off, with another team.”

Crenshaw crouched down until he was staring into Jim’s eyes.  “But I’m not going to let that happen,” he growled.  “Now that their fearless leader…their friend…is in danger, they will all come running to your rescue.  And, one by one, they will run right into my hands.” Crenshaw rubbed his hands in eager anticipation.  “And when I’ve captured all five of you, I’m going to do you all a little favor.”

Crenshaw chuckled evilly.  “Since you all are so close to one another, you can take one last trip together… straight to hell.”

Chapter 5

“So what do we do now?” Max asked, looking at Nicholas.  They all were – no matter how he felt about it, the team expected him to call the shots.

Nicholas sighed heavily and started to pace. “Well, I think we have to call that number back at seven tonight,” he replied, “and see if they want to make an exchange.”

“How are we going to come up with the money?” Shannon wanted to know.

“I think we have to bluff,” Nicholas answered.  “Without the support of the IMF, we don’t really have another choice.”

“We won’t know what their plans are until we make the call,” observed Grant, “so we have to plan for every contingency, every possible scenario, to make sure that we can get Jim back safely without placing him in further danger.”

“Or ourselves,” added Max.  “What If the kidnappers want to meet with one of us alone?”

“Then we have to be prepared for that, too,” muttered Nicholas.

He turned from the others and walked to the window, where he stood quietly with his hands in his pockets.  He was deeply worried about Jim, but the pressure of having to lead the team in his absence – and the knowledge that Jim’s safety hinged on his decisions – was almost too much to bear.

The other three teammates exchanged glances.  They were all concerned about their leader, but they knew that Nicholas was carrying the stress of the entire team on his shoulders.

It was Shannon who finally walked over toward him.  She approached his left side and stopped just behind him, placing her hand gently on his left shoulder.  “Nicholas?” she ventured.

Nicholas turned to face her, and his soft brown eyes were moist.  “I can’t  do this alone, Shannon,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.  “You all keep looking to me to lead the team in Jim’s absence, but I can’t.  What if I make the wrong decision, and something happens to him?  I could never forgive myself for that.”

Grant and Max, seeing that their friend was upset, walked over to join the other two.  “You’re all as much a part of this team as I am,” Nicholas continued, his eyes meeting each of theirs in turn.  “Can’t we all work together to come up with a plan to get Jim out safely?”

Max laid an arm across his friend’s shoulders as Grant spoke softly.  “We’re sorry, buddy.  We didn’t realize that we were putting so much pressure on you to take the lead.”  Grant started to mention how natural that having Nicholas in that position felt to him…to all of them…but thought better of it.  “Of course we’ll do this together.”

Nicholas’ face brightened with relief, and the four of them sat down to plan the rescue mission as equal partners.

*******

Jim shivered involuntarily.  It was chilly in the warehouse where he was being kept; it was probably not much more than sixty degrees inside, and judging from yesterday it was probably less than fifty outside.  His captors had taken off his jacket, so all he was wearing was his long-sleeved plaid shirt.  He wasn’t hypothermic just yet, but depending on how much longer he was there…

Jim was hungry, too.  All he’d had to eat since being taken yesterday was a sausage biscuit someone had picked up at McDonald’s.  They’d untied his wrists just long enough for him to eat it and wash it down with a couple sips of water, then he was immediately bound up again.  It was just enough to keep him alive…until…

Jim heard the telephone ring in the other room and wondered if his team was somehow on his trail.  His heart came up in his throat, his emotions torn.  Of course, they’d be looking for him, and he was glad of that.  On the other hand, he knew from the abductor’s plans that any rescue mission would be launching them straight into a trap.

He heard a few muffled words as Crenshaw spoke to the caller, then nothing.  A moment later the former IMF leader walked back into the room where Jim was being closely guarded.

“They’re supposed to call back at seven,” Crenshaw advised his three remaining colleagues.  “You all know what to do.”

Then Crenshaw sat in a nearby chair and propped his long legs on the table, giving Jim a close-up view of the underside of his cowboy boots.  The one called Stewart handed him a long rifle, which he laid across his lap.  He glared at Jim.

“My boys are going to spring a trap for  your friends,” he growled, the last word infused with sarcasm.  “In the meantime, I’ll be keeping my eye on you.  And if you so much as look at me sideways, they’ll be scraping pieces of you off the walls.”

Chapter 6

For the next several hours, the four teammates sat in the briefing room – the place where they’d discussed   missions so many times before.  Typically, this was where Jim shared the mostly-finished details with the rest of them.  This planning session looked much different.

In searching through the briefing area, Shannon had stumbled upon an easel and some paper to match.  So they had gone old-school to draw up the schematics.  They’d addressed every step, every contingency, every possibility.  There were pieces of easel paper taped along the walls of every wall in the briefing room.

By the time they were finished, they knew what they were going to do.  If A happened, they would do B.  Nothing would take them by surprise.  And they had planned it together.  No matter what: tonight they would all be back home safely.

During the planning session, Grant had unveiled his latest invention.  He gave Max a simple golden ring that looked very much like a wedding band.

“Put this on, Max,” he said, grinning.

“Aw, Grant, I didn’t know you cared,” Max quipped, earning a playful slap from Grant and chuckles from the others.

Max slid the ring on, and at the same time Grant took out a black, rectangular device which the team recognized as having been used in  previous missions.  But as Grant extended the antenna, it was clear the device had been reworked.

“The ring operates on the same principle as sound waves coming from a radio,” Grant explained. “It has a specific frequency which I can track.  Go into the next room, Max,” he guided.

Max complied, and as Nicholas and Shannon watched, the blinking yellow light on the black device began to move.

“A tracking device,” observed Nicholas.  “Clever, indeed.”

“And it can track a person anywhere, in or out of a car, within a thirty-mile radius,” Grant smiled.  “But there’s more.  Turn on the radio, Max,” he yelled to his teammate.

Max turned on the radio in the room where he was, and Grant switched the knob to a different frequency.  While the three friends could barely tell the radio was on just by listening with their ears, over the black controller they could not only hear the music but they could decipher every word of the lyric.

“Ingenious,” Shannon complimented as Grant called for Max to return to the briefing room.

“There are five rings – one for each of us,” Grant advised, his voice dropping in pitch and his expression sobering at the reminder that one of their own was missing.  “Each one operates on its own frequency.  And there are two controllers.  So even if we get separated, we will know where everyone is and what’s going on around them.”

“This time, we’re ready for them,” Nicholas said resolutely.

The four of them briefly contemplated going out for an early dinner, if only to take their minds off the situation.  However, Nicholas had been unwilling to do so, knowing that Jim might be going hungry somewhere.  In the end, Shannon had reminded him…all of them…that they had forgotten about lunch in the midst of all of their planning and they needed to keep their strength up.  So Nicholas had acquiesced to some simple deli sandwiches.

It was nearly six when they finished eating.  The next hour seemed to drag by.

“I hate being at their mercy,” Nicholas growled, “not being able to make a move without hearing from them first.”

“I know, pal,” soothed Grant.  “But it won’t be long now, and soon we’ll have the upper hand.”

At precisely seven o’clock, Nicholas dialed the number.  Crenshaw answered halfway through the second ring.

“I’m impressed by your promptness,” he sneered.  “Do you have the money?”

“I have it,” answered Nicholas, doing his best to control his tone.  “I need to know if Jim’s all right.”

“That’s not how it works,” growled Crenshaw.

Nicholas took a deep breath and tried to act nonchalant, just as they’d discussed.  “I have people to answer to,” he said simply.  “Surely you understand.”

Crenshaw hesitated for a moment, mulling this over.  Then, finally, he said, “Fine.”  Nicholas and his listening teammates heard a shuffling sound, and then…

“Say hello,” Crenshaw barked, “but that’s it.”

A beat, and then Nicholas sucked in his breath as he heard his leader’s voice.

“I’m okay, guys, be caref-”

“Jim?”

“Whoops!” Crenshaw cut Jim off abruptly.  “That’s it.  Now listen carefully.”

Crenshaw rattled off directions to a secluded location off a back road about twenty minutes away.  “Be there in thirty minutes,” he warned, “and come alone, or he dies.”

The call was immediately disconnected, and they all knew from Grant ‘s audible curse that it been seconds short of long enough for a trace.  It didn’t really matter; they hadn’t counted on that anyway.

“We’ve got to roll,” Max advised his team.  “We don’t have much time to play around.  We can talk as we go.”

Nicholas took the briefcase – along with the fake money – in the Escalade, while the others followed behind in the Jeep, Shannon at the wheel.

“He sounded okay,” said Shannon hopefully.

Nicholas keyed the communicator.  “He was saying, ‘ be careful’ when he got cut off,” he observed.  “That probably means we’re headed for a trap.”

“We’ll have to be on our toes,” Grant agreed.

They drove the rest of the trip in silence until a half mile short of their destination.  Shannon found a secluded location within a grove of trees to park the Jeep.  Max and Grant jumped out and stationed themselves, as planned, along either side of the dirt road, hidden in the trees and overlooking the Escalade.  They each wore night vision goggles so that they could see Nicholas even though dusk had already fallen.

“Be careful, Nicholas,” Shannon urged.

Nicholas brought the Escalade to a halt and waited.  A few moments later, he saw headlights facing him and a red sedan pulled up almost against his grille.  The driver had his high beams on, and it was hard for Nicholas to see what was happening.

He got out of the Escalade, briefcase in hand.  The sedan was still running, its high beams still shining, so Nicholas couldn’t see who he was talking to.

“I have your money,” Nicholas called out.  “Where’s Mister Phelps?”

“Lay the briefcase down slowly at your feet,” commanded the voice, and Nicholas did so.  His muscles tensed, knowing that it was nearly time for Max and Grant to make a move.

Suddenly, Nicholas heard the sound of something hitting the road beside him.  Before he could react, white billowy smoke came rising up around him, enveloping him. He could see nothing else; the fact that it was dark out only made the smoke seem thicker.

Nicholas squinted, trying desperately to see what was happening and listening intently for signs of his teammates.  He opened his mouth to call out, but his voice was silenced mid-cry when something hard came crashing down on his head.  He saw a white flash of light, then everything went black.

Chapter 7

Grant and Max watched intently as the red sedan pulled up to face the Escalade.

“Max,” Grant whispered tensely into the communicator, “get ready.”

“Right,” Max growled back.

Grant focused his device on the signal coming from the ring Nicholas was wearing.  He heard the low voice of Jim’s captor giving a command, which was their cue to ambush.

“Now!” he barked.

The plan was simple enough: Max, the better marksman, would approach from the right and use his dart gun to take out all of the bad guys who’d shown up for the meeting.  Grant would approach from the left and get Jim out safely, if he was with them, while Nicholas complied with the trade in order to distract the lead villain.  If Jim was not with them, Grant would hide out in the trunk and Shannon would monitor his tracking device, knowing that it would lead them right to Jim.

Except things didn’t go quite as planned.

As soon as Max made it to the bottom of the hill where the Escalade was parked, he was immediately overwhelmed by a cloud of white smoke.  It was so thick he started to cough and gag.

Max frantically tried to cover his mouth with the turtleneck from his sweater.  He assumed that Grant was away from his monitoring device and keyed his communicator.

“Grant!” he coughed out.  “Smoke!”

Just then, Max heard a rumble nearby.  He realized with terror that it was the red sedan’s motor, but he could see nothing in the darkness and the smoke was so thick that he couldn’t discern which direction the sound was coming from.

In the next instant, Max felt a strong hand encircle his wrist and jerk him down and to the side.  He landed hard in a heap just as the red sedan whizzed by.  It had missed him by mere inches.

Max lay there for a few moments, coughing and panting heavily, aware of someone beside him doing the same.  Finally, the smoke began to dissipate, and Max looked up to see his teammate standing above him. Grant extended a hand, and Max clasped it and allowed Grant to help him to his feet.

“Are you all right, partner?”  Grant asked.

“Yeah, man,” Max replied with a slight smile and a soft shudder.  “That was too close.  I owe you one.”

Grant slapped his friend’s back affectionately, but then his expression sobered.  “Nicholas,” he suddenly remembered.

Both men ran toward the Escalade, calling out their friend’s name.  But after searching both in and around the vehicle, it became obvious that Nicholas, too, had been taken.

Max cursed aloud.  Despite their careful planning, the bad guys had been one step ahead of them.  He hadn’t been able to protect Nicholas, and now he was gone.

“Hey, guys,” came Shannon’s tense voice from the communicator.  “What’s going on up there?  I can hardly see anything in this darkness, but I think I see smoke.  Is something on fire?”

“Smoke bombs are my guess,” replied Grant.  “It blinded us, too.”

“Nicholas?” she asked worriedly.

“They got him,” Grant answered in the same tone.  “But we weren’t entirely unprepared for that.  We’ll bring the Escalade and meet you back there in ten.”

“Sounds good,” Shannon responded and the connection was broken.

Shannon had no sooner ended contact with Grant than she heard a rustling sound coming up behind her and to her left.  The driver’s door jerked open, and she chided herself for not having locked it.

“Well, well, well, what have we here?” a male voice sneered, and a burly hand reached in and grabbed her by the hair.

“NO!  HELP!” she screamed, knowing her friends were well out of earshot as she felt herself being dragged out of the Jeep.

She summoned all of her strength and fought the burly man valiantly, but then something hard hit her from behind and everything went dark.

“What’d you do that for?” the burly man asked his companion as Shannon fell lifeless into his arms.

The other man grinned.  “She’d have whipped you in no time,” he teased.  “Let’s take her back to headquarters and let the boss play with her for a while.”

*******

Max was staring blankly at the Escalade, deep in thought.  Grant eyed his friend carefully, knowing what was on his mind.  “Easy, Max,” he said gently, laying a hand on his shoulder.  “I’m as worried as you are, but we prepared for this. Talked about it.  Planned for it, remember?  And now we can track Nicholas and find out exactly where they are.”

Grant waited until Max’s eyes met his own.  “I’m going to go get the monitor,” he advised.  “Then we’ll regroup with Shannon and see what we can find out about our abductors, okay?”

When Max nodded, Grant released his shoulder and scurried up the hill to retrieve the black monitoring device.  Max stood still for another moment and then started toward the Escalade.

Grant returned just in time to hear him curse again as he nearly tripped over the briefcase lying on the ground beside the driver’s door.  He picked it up; it did not appear to have been touched.

“It was never about the money,” Grant whispered.  “This was personal all along.”

“Let’s go,” Max growled.  He climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the key that was still dangling in the ignition.  Grant climbed in beside him and Max turned around and headed toward Shannon’s Jeep.

As the Escalade’s headlights shone on the Jeep, the men knew instinctively that something wasn’t right. The driver’s door was wide open.

“Shannon!” Max yelled.  He jumped out of the Escalade almost before it had come to a stop, Grant at his heels.

The car was unoccupied, its overhead light shining brightly.  The second monitor and the communicator were laying side by side on the passenger seat, and the keys dangled in the ignition.  Max squinted in the darkness and could see that the dirt was disturbed on the driver’s side – a sure enough sign of a struggle.

“Grant,” Max hissed, “Shannon’s gone, too.”

Chapter 8

Jim was jolted from his fitful sleep by the sounds of a scuffle.  He opened his eyes to see Stewart half-carrying, half-dragging Nicholas into the room. Jim winced in empathy as Nicholas was thrown to the floor and landed with a hard thud.

As Jim watched, Stewart bound the still-unconscious agent’s hands and feet.  He started to put the gag in his mouth, but Crenshaw held up his hand.

“Not yet, Stewart,” he sneered.  He turned to Jim and smiled evilly.   “Your friend will be waking up soon,” he jeered, “and when he does, I don’t want to hear any talkie-talkie between you two or I will slap the gags back on you both.  Is that clear?”

“Yes,” Jim whispered.

“Good.”  Crenshaw turned to his henchman.  “Keep an eye on him, Stewart,” he advised, “and don’t let them chit-chat.  I’ll be back shortly.”

Crenshaw disappeared out the door just as Nicholas started to stir.  The dark-haired man opened his eyes, slowly focusing on Jim.

“Nicholas, are you all right?” Jim whispered tensely.

Nicholas winced.  “Headache, but I’ll live. You?”

“I’m okay,” came Jim’s response.

“Hey, you heard the boss!  No chit-chat over there!” snarled Stewart.

Nicholas waited until Jim’s eyes landed on him and then mouthed the words, Grant is listening.

Jim nodded his understanding, his heart filled with pride.  So Grant and the others were still free, and Grant had rigged up some sort of device – no doubt planted on Nicholas somewhere – allowing him to listen in on what was happening.  Jim knew he had to figure out a way to let the others know who they were up against.

Suddenly the door opened again, and Crenshaw re-entered, pushing before him a kicking, screaming, fighting woman with her hands tied tightly behind her back.

Shannon! Jim and Nicholas realized simultaneously, though each breathed a small sigh of relief to see that she appeared to be uninjured.

Crenshaw threw her down hard on the floor.  Stewart walked over and offered a gag, but Crenshaw waved it off.

“That’s all right, Stewart,” he said. “I like her; she’s feisty.  Besides, nobody’s going to hear her screams all the way out here.”

Crenshaw rubbed Shannon’s cheek with his finger, despite her efforts to resist his touch.

“You won’t get away with this, Doug  Crenshaw,” swore Jim.

“Oh, but I will,” he replied confidently.  “Who’s going to stop me, your other two teammates?  Not likely.  I’m setting the trap for them as we speak.  Stewart, you know what to do with that rifle if they start talking.”

And, with that, Crenshaw was gone, leaving his second in command to guard the prisoners.

*******

All of the emotions hit Max at once: anger, frustration, sadness, fear, and even guilt.  Three of his teammates – his closest friends – were missing.  Despite how well they’d planned, they hadn’t been able to protect Nicholas and Shannon from meeting the same fate as Jim.  If anything happened to the three of them…

Max let out a loud string of curses as he violently kicked the Jeep’s front tire.  Then he clenched his fists, and the cry that came forth from his lungs was more raw and pain-filled than Grant had ever heard before.  Max leaned against the Jeep and thumped his fists against the roof over and over again.

“Max!” hissed Grant, his voice laced with concern.  He cautiously approached his friend from behind and grasped his broad shoulders tightly.  At first, Max did not seem to notice Grant was there.

“Max!” he said again, more urgently this time.  “Max, look at me!”

With some effort, Grant turned Max around until the taller man was facing him, though still not meeting his eyes.  Grant lowered his head until he locked eyes with his friend, his hands still firmly fixed on Max’s shoulders.

“Look, you’re scared and you’re pissed off, and I don’t blame you, Max.  I feel the same way.”  Grant ‘s voice was firm but gentle, his gaze earnest.  “But if we’re gonna get ’em back, I need you, man.  The team needs you.  You’ve got to hold it together, man, I can’t do this without you.”

Max stared blankly at Grant for a long moment, then his blue eyes blinked feverishly and seemed to regain their focus.  Still, Max said nothing.

“Are you with me?” Grant asked urgently.

“Yeah,” Max finally whispered, a bit sheepishly.  “I’m sorry, man – I lost my head for a second.  I’m okay now.”

Grant squeezed Max’s shoulder tightly.  “You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Max replied, reaching up to slap Grant’s arm fondly.  “Thanks, buddy.”

Grant managed a wan smile, but his eyes betrayed his worry.  “We don’t want to get too far out of range,” he advised.  “I’ll drive the Escalade, and you follow me in the Jeep.  There’s a wide place I saw coming in where we can listen and plan our next move.  Okay?”

Max knew that Grant was asking for more than just agreement.  “I’m with you,” he replied, then he climbed behind the wheel of the Jeep and whirled around in pursuit of Grant.

*******

Grant pulled the Escalade into the wide place, and Max whipped the Jeep in closely behind.  Max quickly got out and climbed in beside Grant, who handed him the second monitor.  He had already tuned it to the tracking device in Nicholas’ ring.

“Let me know when it stops,” Grant said tersely.  “I’ll monitor the listening  device.”

Grant could hear the muffled voices of Nicholas’ captors over the bug in his ring, but nothing from Nicholas himself. This bothered him a great deal.  Had he been knocked out?  Was he injured?

A few moments later, Max saw the red blip stop moving and got Grant’s attention.  Grant quickly wrote down the latitude and longitude coordinates so that he could reference them later.

Grant continued to listen.  He heard a series of muffled sounds he didn’t quite recognize, followed by a thumping sound and someone referring to “Stewart.”  Grant also wrote down this name in case it meant something significant.

Max inferred from the captor’s words that Nicholas was unconscious, and he became worried at the thought; however, both he and Grant breathed a sigh of relief when they heard him and Jim responding to one another.  So they were both all right, at least for the moment.

Grant and Max were both taken aback at the sound of a door being thrust open once again.  A female voice could be heard, struggling madly, and Max smiled in spite of himself.  Of course it would be just like Shannon to fight back, he thought, with a brief surge of affection for his spunky teammate.

“Good job, Jim,” Grant murmured a moment later when he heard his leader give the name of the principal abductor:  Doug Crenshaw.  Jim obviously knew the man, and Grant couldn’t wait to look him up in the database and find out what his agenda was.

Grant and Max exchanged worried glances at the revelation that Crenshaw was setting a trap for them.

“We have to figure out our move and make it tonight,” Grant reasoned.  “They won’t be expecting that.”  He reached over to give Max an affectionate pat on the shoulder.  “We may be in for a sleepless night, pal.”

“Whatever it takes,” Max replied.  “We can sleep when everyone’s safe.”

Grant smiled.  That willingness to put aside his own comfort for the greater good was what made Max such an essential part of their team.

“You keep an ear on the monitor,” Grant instructed.  “I’ll see what I can find out about Crenshaw.”

Chapter 9

Grant began by plugging in the coordinates indicated by the tracking device that Nicholas was wearing.

“It’s a warehouse, Max, about fifteen miles from here, right in the middle of nowhere,” he told his friend, pulling up an outline of a large structure on his computer screen.

“Can you tell what room they’re being held in?’ asked Max.

“Not from here,” answered Grant, “but if I was sitting outside the building I could.”

Next, Grant typed in Doug Crenshaw on his database.  What he saw made his blood run cold.

“What is it?” Max asked, seeing Grant’s troubled expression.

“Doug Crenshaw used to be a team leader for the IMF,” Grant said softly.  “Jim replaced him.”

Max gave a low whistle.  “That must have been a long time ago…?”

“Twenty years,” Grant confirmed.

“What happened?”

“He got trigger happy,” Grant answered.  “Took things into his own hands.  Almost blew the mission and put all of his teammates in danger.”

Max sighed.  “So, obviously, he hates Jim for replacing him,” he reasoned.  “But why resurface now, after so many years?”

Grant’s voice was tense.  “Apparently, since leaving the IMF, he’s made a career out of executing the good guys,” he replied.  “Every government agency wants him – the FBI, the CIA, the Secret Service, and on and on.  But nobody will come after him because he and his cronies – Stewart being his right hand man – have managed to eliminate one or more agents from each organization.”

“So you think that was Jim’s newest mission?”

“Yeah, I do,” Grant replied.  “I think that’s why he was disavowed so quickly, and I think Crenshaw knew it.”

Suddenly, Max’s face paled.

“Grant,” he said abruptly, gripping his friend’s arm, “I just had a thought.  This Crenshaw guy hates Jim, right? And he’s been knocking off personnel in different government agencies, right?  And now he’s taken three of our team and is planning on coming after the two of us….”

Grant instantly understood his friend’s logic.  “He wants us out of business,” he mused, “or worse.”

“Grant, we have to get them out of there!”

“I know, buddy,” Grant soothed, his voice low.   “So let’s go stake out a warehouse, shall we?”

Grant drove the Escalade towards the warehouse while Max continued to monitor the tracking and listening devices.  The conversation was light, which was not unexpected given Stewart’s earlier warning.  But when they were about five miles from the warehouse, Max heard Crenshaw’s voice through the speaker and caught Grant’s attention.  Grant pulled over and they listened intently.

*******

Jim, Nicholas, and Shannon lay quietly on the hardwood floor.  They were afraid to say much to one another since Stewart was guarding them closely, rifle in hand.

After several minutes, however, Crenshaw came back into the room, grinning from ear to ear.  He walked over to Jim, kicked him hard in the side with his boot, and then leaned in closely to look into the older man’s eyes.

“Would you like to know how I plan on capturing your other two friends?” he gloated. He started to pace as Jim winced in pain.  “They were very careless, very careless indeed.  We know what kind of vehicle they drive – we even know their plate number.  My boys are going to find them and smoke them out.  They’ll never see it coming.”

Crenshaw laughed evilly.  “Don’t worry, James.  You’ll be reunited soon, and you can enjoy each other’s company right up until your little Escalade runs off the mountain with you all trapped inside it!”

Then Crenshaw disappeared again, as quickly as he had come.  The three agents exchanged glances.  Shannon and Jim looked worried, but Nicholas smiled and winked almost imperceptibly.  He was sure that Grant and Max had heard every word, and that Crenshaw hadn’t even realized that his pride had given their team the upper hand.

*******

After Crenshaw had finished speaking, Grant and Max looked at one another.  Wide grins spread across each of their faces.

“Doug Crenshaw has a big mouth,” Max quipped.

“Yeah, lucky for us,” Grant responded, slapping his friend’s shoulder fondly.  “What do you say we make ourselves easy to find?”

“Right,” answered Max, arming himself with the dart gun.  He and Grant hid in the tall brush on either side of the Escalade and waited.

They did not have to wait long.

Just a few moments later, they saw a pair of headlights drawing closer and closer to them.  It was the red sedan from earlier in the evening.

The sedan pulled in front of the Escalade and shone its high beams on the license plate.  Convinced it was the right vehicle, one of the henchmen quickly got out of the passenger side and tossed what looked like a hand grenade underneath the vehicle. Instantly it was filled with white smoke, but as the henchmen waited, nothing happened.  There was no evidence of anyone inside.

The one who had thrown the grenade got out for a closer look, and Max shot him with a knockout dart.

After another moment, the henchman’s friend climbed out to see what was wrong.  He, too, was instantly felled with Max’s precise aim.  Max walked cautiously to the red sedan and inspected it thoroughly, but there was no one else inside.  He and Grant heaved the two accomplices into the sedan.

“They’ll sleep for the next twelve hours,” Grant advised his friend.

Max disrobed the taller henchman and put on his clothing.  He didn’t look anything like the villain, so he wouldn’t fool Crenshaw, but he could inject a little element of surprise into the mix.

Once Max was ready, he climbed into the Escalade while Grant hopped into the red sedan, and Max followed his friend to the warehouse.  They were about to rescue their teammates.

Chapter 10

Grant and Max approached the warehouse with their headlights off and parked a quarter mile away.  Grant reached into the passenger seat of the Escalade and pulled out his laptop.  He set it down on the hood and typed in a few commands on his keyboard.  An outline of the warehouse came into view, and Grant and Max could see the red and yellow outlines of five human figures inside.  Three appeared to be lying in the floor, one sitting in a chair, and the fifth one pacing in the next room.  All five were located in the central part of the warehouse.

“The scanner inside my laptop is picking up the infrared heat signatures of the people inside,” Grant explained to Max.  “There’s nobody at all in the eastern end of the warehouse.”

“Are you positive?” Max asked, somewhat skeptical at the accuracy of Grant’s gadgets.

“Heat doesn’t lie, Max,” Grant answered.  “And I’ll double check it before I fire.”

Max reached behind the driver’s seat of the Escalade and pulled out the flamethrower.  He handed it to Grant, as gingerly as if holding a newborn.  “Are you sure you know how to operate this baby?” he asked.

“I’m sure I won’t be as smooth as you, pal,” Grant grinned, “but I know what I’m doing.”  Then he became serious.  “There’s a door on the western end of the warehouse.  When I fire the shot,  go in that way. It should lead right to the room where Crenshaw is, and be right next door to Jim and the others.  I’ll meet you inside.”

Max gave Grant an affectionate shoulder slap and scurried down the hill to the warehouse door.  He gave Grant a thumbs-up.  Grant glanced at the infrared images on his monitor one more time and then aimed the flamethrower at a small grove of trees on the eastern end of the warehouse.

*******

The blast from the flamethrower lit up the night sky with a loud boom that shook the entire structure.

“What the-?” Stewart sputtered.

“Stewart!”  Crenshaw yelled, running into the adjacent room.  “Go check it out!  I’ll stay with the prisoners!”

Stewart ran toward the site of the blast.  Crenshaw stayed behind, picked up the rifle, and aimed it at Jim’s head.

“You’d better hope your friends aren’t trying any funny business,” he growled.  “I will kill you right here, right now.”

Crenshaw heard a noise from the adjacent room and glanced up to see what he thought was his henchman returning from his assignment.

“Oh, there you are,” he greeted.  “Did you get-?”

Suddenly, Crenshaw realized that the tall man who’d entered the room was not his henchman after all, but by then it was too late.  With lightning speed, Max fired the dart into Crenshaw’s neck and he fell, the rifle clattering harmlessly to the floor.

All three teammates heaved heavy sighs of relief as they recognized their friend.

“Are you guys all right?” Max asked anxiously as he whipped out his pocketknife and set to work on Jim’s bonds.

"Shannon and I are okay, Max,” Nicholas answered.  “Jim’s rather gotten the worst end of things,” he added, with a concerned look toward their leader.

“I’m fine,” Jim said dismissively.  “Where’s Grant?”

“Right here,” came the familiar voice as Grant entered the warehouse.  He smiled at his teammates and bent down to cut Shannon loose as Max went to work on Nicholas.  In a few more seconds, they were all free.

“Let’s get out of here,” Nicholas urged as Max helped him to his feet.

“Stewart?” Jim remembered.

“Sleeping like a baby outside,” Grant informed him.

Nicholas walked over to Jim and extended his hand toward him. Jim attempted to stand, but his feet buckled under his weight and he sat back down again.

“Jim?” Nicholas queried, as Shannon rushed over to Jim’s other side.

“I guess my legs aren’t working so well at the moment,” Jim murmured, attempting a wry smile.

“Well, Jim, you were tied up a lot longer than the rest of us,” Shannon replied, her voice full of empathy as she and Nicholas helped him get back to a standing position.

“I can make it,” he assured them, “with a little help from my friends.”

“I’ll go get the Escalade,” Grant offered, as Max slung the unconscious Crenshaw over his shoulder and carried him outside.

Nicholas and Shannon helped Jim into the Escalade, while Grant helped Max load Crenshaw and Stewart into the red sedan with their accomplices.  Then Max hopped into the driver’s seat of the Escalade and headed toward home, with Grant right behind him in the captors’ car.

*******

At Jim’s instruction, Grant pulled the red Corolla into a parking spot in front of FBI headquarters, rang the bell, and then climbed into the Escalade.  Max pulled a short distance away and the team watched, grinning in satisfaction as several agents came outside, looked incredulously at the red sedan, and then began hauling the sleeping abductors inside.

“I bet they’re surprised to see Doug Crenshaw in their parking lot,” Grant commented.

Nicholas suddenly turned serious. “Jim,” he called from the backseat, “won’t you let us get you checked out at the hospital?  You’ve been through quite an ordeal.”

“I’m all right, Nicholas, really,” Jim responded.  “It’s nothing that a couple days’ rest won’t fix.  Although,” he continued, “I am really hungry.  All I’ve had to eat is a cold sausage biscuit in almost 48 hours.”

“Now that you mention it, I’m pretty hungry, too,” Shannon chimed in, recalling their meager dinner of sandwiches the night before.  She glanced at Nicholas, who nodded enthusiastically.

Jim looked at his watch.  “But where would you find a decent place to eat at eleven o’clock at night?”

Max grinned.  “I know just the place.”

“Leave it to Max to know where the food is,” Grant quipped.  Max gave him a menacing look through the rear-view mirror, but his eyes were twinkling.  It was good to have the team back together again.

*******

The five agents, hungry and exhausted, barely talked as they finished off their meals.  Afterward, Jim insisted – partly for his own peace of mind – that they all spend the rest of the night at his condo; they knew from past mission experience that there was more than enough room there for all of them.

Within a half hour after they had arrived, all five teammates were sound asleep.  They all slept soundly until well into the next morning, each comforted by the knowledge that they were all safe and sound and back together, and that the man who wanted them dead would never again see the light of day.

Epilogue

The next morning – or, actually, nearly afternoon – the sun beaming through the upstairs window woke Nicholas from a restful sleep.  He stretched and squinted at the brightness.
It took him a moment for his eyes to adjust, and another for him to realize where he was and what had taken place the night before.

He crept out into the silent hallway.  He couldn’t believe that nobody else was awake yet; Jim, at least, was the proverbial morning person and was almost always up at the crack of dawn.  But Jim had been through a great deal in the past two days, so perhaps his sleeping later wasn’t so unusual after all.

Nicholas tiptoed downstairs and opened the kitchen cabinet.  He smiled when he found the Irish tea.  Jim always kept some, even though Nicholas and Shannon were the only two who drank it.  The others preferred coffee, so Nicholas put a pot on to perk and then filled up the teakettle.

Just then, Nicholas heard footsteps. As he gazed up, he caught sight of two long, shapely legs descending the staircase.

Shannon jumped slightly upon seeing her teammate.

“Nicholas!” she said, startled.  “I…didn’t think anyone else was up yet.”

Last night had been the second in a row that Shannon had spent under someone else’s roof, and without anything of her own to wear to sleep in.  So, once again, she had borrowed an oversized T-shirt, though she hadn’t intended for anyone to see her until she was fully dressed.

Shannon walked over to the small table sitting just inside the front door and picked up a small handbag. “I came down to get my makeup kit,” she explained, and her voice sounded nervous.  “I was so tired last night that I must have forgotten to take it upstairs.”

She started walking past Nicholas in the direction of the staircase. On an impulse, Nicholas caught her arm and spun her around to face him.

“Shannon.”  His touch was firm but gentle.  He had to tell her.  She had to know what had been on his mind ever since last night.

“What is it, Nicholas?” she whispered, her eyes wide and expressive.

Nicholas stared at the floor.  “When I found out that you’d been taken,” he said softly, “I was terrified that Crenshaw or his goons would…hurt you.”  Nicholas lifted his eyes and caught her gaze.  “I’m really glad you’re safe.”

Shannon didn’t know what to say; she hadn’t seen this coming.

Nicholas reached up with his right hand, brushed a wayward strand of unkempt hair out of her face, and gently traced the outline of Shannon’s cheekbone with two fingers.  Shannon swallowed hard.

“You are extraordinarily beautiful, Shannon,” he murmured, “especially without makeup.”

The two of them stood there, silent, staring into each other’s eyes.  Neither of them could deny the feelings that were bubbling up from within.  However, they both knew that as long as they were part of the same team, they would never be able to act upon those feelings.

“Nicholas,” Shannon breathed, “perhaps…another time and place.”

“Yes,” Nicholas replied, his voice husky, “perhaps.”

Shannon laid a warm hand against his cheek and kept it there for an extra second.  Nicholas reached up to squeeze her hand, and she smiled at him.

“I’d better get back upstairs,” she whispered, “before the others get up.”

Nicholas released her, reluctantly, and she disappeared up the staircase at a moderate clip.

Nicholas stood there, eyes closed, savoring the fantasy for a moment.  But he couldn’t linger there for very long.  Presently, he heard voices and footsteps coming from upstairs and knew his teammates were headed his way.

*******

The five agents helped themselves to large mugs of coffee and tea and sat down at Jim’s dining room table.  Nobody was calling it a debriefing, but each of them felt the need to talk about what had taken place over the past forty-eight hours.

“How are you feeling, Jim?” Grant wanted to know.

“Still sore, of course, but overall much better, thank you,” Jim replied.

"So, Jim,” Shannon began, “what was our mission going to be, before you were taken?”

Jim smirked.  “To put Doug Crenshaw and his henchmen out of business,” he answered with satisfaction.

Max and Grant exchanged glances.  Grant’s hunch had been correct, after all.

Jim’s smile faded and he became serious.  “I want to thank all of you for coming to my rescue,” he said sincerely, “and to tell you all how proud I am of the work you did and the way you handled yourselves.”

“We didn’t do everything right, Jim,” Nicholas protested, ever the perfectionist.

“Nobody’s perfect, Nicholas,” Jim reminded him.  “You completed the mission and you got everyone out safely.  That’s all that matters.”

Jim smiled at Max and Grant.  “Doug Crenshaw was wrong about a lot of things,” he stated, “but there’s one thing he got right.  He said that any of  you would be capable of leading a team on your own, and that’s absolutely true.”

Nicholas opened his mouth to protest, but Jim held up his hand.  “Don’t worry; I’m not planning on stepping aside anytime soon,” he reassured his teammates, winking. “Running missions with you guys is way too much fun.”

“Fun?” Nicholas asked incredulously, his voice laced with sarcasm.  “After what you went through? You call that fun?”

“Oh, there’s always danger,” he acknowledged, turning serious again.  “That’s part of it.  But I never doubted for a moment that you would find me.”

Jim paused to take a sip of coffee, and then he continued.  “I’ve worked with many agents during my career at the IMF, but none that I’ve ever felt as close to as the four of you.  Crenshaw told me that would be a liability, but he was wrong.  At the end of the day, there’s no one I’d rather have on my team than my friends.”

And everyone smiled, because they all felt exactly the same way.

The End

(c) 2016

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