The Stranger

Chapter 1

Another mission was over, the debriefing complete.  Max bid his teammates goodbye and piled into his shiny red sportscar.  God, he couldn't wait to cash his paycheck and get his motorcycle out of the shop!  It was July, and on most days the weather was warm and beautiful.  Max longed to feel the power of the black steel beneath him and the wind whipping through his hair.

He pulled into the bank's parking lot and turned off the engine.  He reached for the door handle.  Suddenly, he felt firm pressure against the back of his head at the same time that he heard an unmistakable soft clicking sound.  Max stifled his instinct to react impulsively and lifted his hands slowly, palms outward.

"Good afternoon, Mister Harte."  The man's voice was low and he spoke slowly and deliberately.

"What can I do for you?"  Max growled, matching his tone, absently wondering how the man managed to get into the backseat of Max's car - and how he managed to avoid being noticed.

"I'm going to follow you inside the bank.  You're going to cash your paycheck, and when we leave the bank you're going to give the money to me," the man answered.

"And if I don't?"  Max questioned, struggling to keep his cool.

The man did not respond for a few seconds.  Finally, he spoke.  "I'll kill you and every soul in that bank," he answered calmly, "and then I'll kill all four of your teammates."

Max's heart came up in his throat.  Teammates, he'd said.  Did the man know about the IMF?  It certainly was possible; after all, he'd managed to get inside Max's sports car while it was sitting in front of Jim's condo.  Max couldn't see the man's face, but just judging by the deliberate tone of his voice there was no telling what he was capable of.  Max couldn't risk putting all those people in danger.

"All right," Max agreed.

"Don't try anything funny," the man warned.  "Remember, I'll be right behind you."

Max nervously got out of the car and walked toward the bank, the man just two steps behind him.  Once they entered the bank, the man stayed at the back of the lobby, hand in his pocket, as Max cashed his check.  Max stole a glance at the man but couldn't tell much about him.  He was a little shorter than Max, wearing a hat, a trenchcoat, and dark glasses, and with long dark hair that could easily have been a wig.

Max exited the bank, and the man followed him.  Max sat down behind the wheel of his sports car, and the man took his place right behind him in the backseat.  He again placed the gun against the back of Max's head with his left hand, at the same time extending his right hand over the top of the seat.  Max reluctantly placed the bulky bank envelope in his hand.

"Very good, Mister Harte," crooned the stranger, his voice devoid of emotion.  "You follow directions well. I have a few more so listen carefully.

"Each time you finish a mission, you will cash your paycheck and put the bank envelope in your glove box.  I will know when to expect it, so don't try to fool me.  Don't tell any of your teammates about me.  I can hear every word you say.  Do not attempt to make contact with any of them outside of the mission.  Do not allow them in your house.  Otherwise, I will assume that you aren't following my directions.  Then there will be consequences."

Before Max could ask what the consequences were, the stranger extended his right hand over the seat once again.  In it, he held a black remote control with three buttons.

"I push the red button, and this little red sports car goes up in flames.  I push the green button, and you become homeless.  I push the black button, and you can say goodbye to one of your teammates."  He paused briefly.  "You guess which one," he added ominously.

The man returned the controller to his trenchcoat pocket.  "Now, Mister Harte.  In a moment, I am going to get out of this car, and as soon as I do you will leave immediately.  Do not attempt to contact anyone - not your teammates, not the police.  If you do, I will know and react accordingly.  I will be in touch."

With that, the stranger exited the car.  As Max glanced in his side mirror, he saw the man turn to look at him, thrusting his hand into his pocket.  Running away went against everything that was in him, but Max didn't dare hesitate.  He gunned the motor and sped off toward his condo.

Chapter 2

Max did not allow his thoughts or emotions free reign until he arrived back at his condo.  Then, instead of flipping on the television, he collapsed in an armchair and silently pondered what had just occurred.

There were so many unanswered questions.  Who was the mysterious stranger, and why was he targeting Max?  How had he gotten inside Max's car?  What was his connection with the IMF?  Was he somehow listening to everything Max said? And had he really booby-trapped Max's home and - scariest of all - that of an unnamed teammate?

Max felt like punching a wall.  He didn't like feeling targeted - or vulnerable.  He longed to tell his teammates - his closest friends - what had taken place.  He felt he owed it to them since they were in danger, too; he also knew that they would help him get to the bottom of things.  But he didn't dare.  He had to assume that the unknown stranger had been telling the truth; there was no reason to suspect otherwise.  It was one thing to put himself at risk, but he couldn't run the risk of endangering his friends.

Max had little doubt that the stranger was somehow associated with the IMF.  He knew too much.  And if that were the case, there would be no end to the type of technology he might have access to.  Max could safely assume that the man was not only able to monitor his phone, but possibly his communicator as well.

There was no way around it.  He was stuck.

Max was startled by the ringing of the telephone.  Max ignored it, but listened as the answering machine picked up.

"Hey, Max, it's Grant.  I was just wondering if you'd made it home yet, but I just remembered about your bike.  You're probably burning some serious rubber right now.  Call me back later, man."

Listening to Grant's voice made Max heartsick, not only because he longed to talk to his friend, but because now that his money had been taken he would not be able to pay for the repairs on his motorcycle.

Max did not call Grant back.  He thought briefly about looking for bugs and cameras in his condo, but realized that the stranger would probably be able to spot him doing so.  The thought made him physically sick.  Eventually, he could stand his racing thoughts no longer.  He downed a sleeping pill and went to bed.

*******

The next day, Max realized that he didn't have much to eat in the house.  With his current paycheck gone, his resources were severely limited, but he used what money he had available to pick up some essentials.

He exited the grocery store and was putting his purchases in the trunk when he heard the beep-beep of a horn nearby.  He looked up just in time to see a shiny black Lexus pull in beside him.  The driver flashed him a pearly white grin.

"Hey, pal!"

"Hi, Grant," Max greeted, as a wave of fear shot through his body.  What if the stranger was watching or listening?  What if this looked like Max was trying to initiate contact?  What if they were both in danger right now?

Max practically threw the rest of his groceries in the trunk and slammed it shut.  Meanwhile, Grant was talking, at the moment oblivious that anything was amiss.

"I thought I recognized your car," he said, "but I figured you'd be wearing out that bike of yours, as much as you missed it."

"You can't haul groceries on a bike," Max replied, his voice low, sidestepping the fact that he didn't have it out of the shop yet.

"That's true," Grant agreed.  "I need a few of those at my place, too.  Say, you didn't call me back last night.  Did you get my message?"

"I did," Max answered, as he climbed  into his car, started the engine, and rolled down the window.  His anxiety was growing by the moment, and he couldn't wait to get out of there.  "I guess between the plane ride and everything else I was just exhausted and I ended up falling asleep."

"I see," Grant mused, as he gazed at his friend.  Something was off about Max.  Normally gregarious and outgoing, he seemed nervous, almost skittish.  And he would hardly look Grant in the eyes.

"Is everything all right with you, man?"  Grant asked suddenly.  "You just don't seem like yourself today."

A second wave of terror gripped the blond agent.  "I'm fine, Grant," he replied unconvincingly.  "I just have a lot of things to do today.  I've got to go. See you," he finished, and by the time he uttered the last phrase he had already put the car in motion.

"Call me later," Grant called, but Max was already gone.  The black agent sat in his car for a moment.  There was no doubt that something was up with his friend, and somehow he had to find out what it was.

*******

Max had been home just long enough to put away the groceries when the ringing of the telephone startled him.  Thinking it was Grant or another of his teammates, he did not answer.  He stood staring at the answering machine as it picked up.

"Mister Harte."  Max recognized the sinister, emotionless voice from yesterday.  "I saw you talking to your teammate today.  It almost looked like you were not following directions."

A lump swelled in Max's throat as he scooped up the receiver.  "I haven't done anything wrong," Max said defensively.  "He spotted me at the grocery store. I couldn't help that.  I didn't tell him anything."

There was a slight pause.  "I know that," the voice finally answered.  "You did very well, Mister Harte.  Because of that, your friend gets to live another day.  But in the future, I'd suggest you run your errands in the evenings, to minimize the chance you'll run into them.  Can you do that, Mister Harte?"

"I can," answered Max, as a combination of fear and anger coursed through his veins, "but it's only going to make them suspicious."

"I trust you'll rise to the challenge, Mister Harte," the voice continued.  "I'll be in touch."  And the receiver clicked.

Chapter 3

Grant finished his shopping, returned home, and placed a call to a friend across town.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Nicholas."

"Grant, how are you?" Nicholas greeted, his smile almost audible through the phone.

Grant sighed heavily.  "I'm not sure."

"What's wrong?" Nicholas asked, instantly concerned.

"It's Max."

"Is he all right?"  Nicholas demanded.

"I don't know," Grant answered.  Then, realizing his limited response was worrying his friend, he rushed to elaborate.  "I mean, he seems fine.  But something's not right."  Grant explained his awkward encounter with Max earlier that morning.  "What do you think?"  he finished.

"It's very strange," Nicholas agreed, "and it doesn't sound like Max at all.  So what do you think we should do?"

Grant smiled at his friend's use of the inclusive pronoun.  "I'm not ready to take this to Jim yet," he responded, "but I want to find out what's going on."

"Do you want me to try and talk to him?"

"If you wouldn't mind."  Grant felt relief rush through his body at the offer.  "I know you guys are close.  Maybe you can get through to him."

"Of course I don't mind," Nicholas said reassuringly, trying unsuccessfully to stifle the twinge of worry that had started to take shape in his gut.

"Thanks, pal.  Let me know how it goes."

"I will," the dark haired agent promised, and the connection was broken.

*******

A couple of hours later, Nicholas pulled into the parking lot of Max's condo.  He switched off the engine and sighed heavily.

He tried to call Max immediately after he'd spoken with Grant.  The machine picked up.  Nicholas left a vague message just asking Max to call back, and waited over an hour.  But the return call had not come.  Finally, concern got the better of him, so here he was.

Nicholas exited the car and knocked on Max's door.

"Max?  Max, it's Nicholas.  May I come in?"

His initial knocks went unanswered. Nicholas noticed that Max's red sports car was in the parking lot, but his motorcycle was not.  Nicholas supposed that Max could be out riding, but he couldn't shake his niggling anxiety.  What if Max wasn't out riding?  What if he was inside, and something was wrong?

Nicholas continued to knock and call out to his friend as he wrestled with his emotions, but finally he made peace with his decision.  He retrieved the spare key from its hiding place and stuck it in the keyhole.

*******

Max cursed to himself as he heard a car pull up outside his condo.  Before he even looked out the door, instinct told him it was Nicholas.  Of course, he had spoken with Grant.  And judging by the sound of his voice on Max's answering machine, Nicholas was worried.  Max hadn't returned his call, but it wouldn't be like Nicholas to leave things alone.

Max sat quietly as Nicholas knocked and called his name.  It was all he could do not to call back to his friend, but he couldn't take the chance.  He hoped that sooner or later Nicholas would assume he was out riding and give up.

But that wouldn't be like Nicholas, either.

Max's anxiety turned to sheer terror as he heard the unmistakable scraping of a key turning in the lock.  Max cursed again.  He'd forgotten that Nicholas knew where the key was!  What if the stranger was watching and listening?  What if his finger was on the green button right now, waiting to blow up Max's condo with one of his best friends inside?

Max's mind was racing so fast that he was neither able to react nor rehearse an explanation.  Suddenly, the door swung open, and Max was face to face with his teammate, caught like a deer in the headlights.

"Max!"  Nicholas exclaimed in surprise.  "You are here!"  Then, seeing the look on his friend's face, he added, "Are you okay?"

Max ran a nervous hand through his hair.  "Go away, Nicholas," he answered quietly.

"Why didn't you answer the door?"  Nicholas persisted, his voice laced with concern.  Not only had Max not answered his question, but he had made no effort to let Nicholas inside.

"I don't want to talk to you," Max replied.

"Come on, Max," Nicholas coaxed. "Let me in.  Let me help."

"I don't want your help, Nicholas!" Max yelled, desperate to send his friend away by whatever means necessary.  "Why can't you just leave me the hell alone?"

The hurt that he saw in Nicholas' eyes shook Max to the core.  "Fine, if that's the way you want it," Nicholas  responded, his voice barely audible, as he turned away from Max and walked back to his car.  Max slammed the door in reply.

The blond agent plopped down on the recliner, head in his hands.  He hadn't been angry, just desperate, but Nicholas couldn't have known that.  Max had never meant to hurt his friend, but his dark-haired teammate would probably never talk to him again.

Max was still enmeshed in his conflicted emotions when his telephone rang.  As had become customary, he let the answering machine pick up.

"Very nicely done, Mister Harte," came the now-familiar voice.

Max picked up the phone, trying hard to remain calm.  "You know they're just going to keep trying."

The stranger snickered in response.  "Keep up the good work, and soon nobody's going to want a damn thing to do with you."

Chapter 4

Nicholas left Max's condo and drove to Grant 's house.  Grant fixed a pot of coffee, and the two agents discussed Nicholas' meeting with their troubled friend.

"I don't understand it." Grant shook his head emphatically.  "He's never acted that way before.  Especially not with you."

"He wouldn't let me in the house," Nicholas restated.  "Do you think he's hiding something?"

"Oh, he's hiding something, all right," Grant agreed, "but I'm not sure it's anything tangible we would find in that condo."

"I still have the key," Nicholas offered.  "We could catch him gone and go look around.  Though I can't say I like the idea."

Grant shook his head again.  "I say we give him some space," he suggested.  "Maybe when he's ready he will come find us."

"Unless we get a mission first," Nicholas thought suddenly.

Grant's face grew somber.  "Do you think we should tell Jim what's going on?"  he asked.

It was Nicholas' turn to shake his head.  "I don't think that's a good idea at all," he responded.  "You know Jim.  If he even thinks there's a chance Max could be distracted-"

"-he'll pull him off the mission," Grant finished.

Nicholas nodded.  "And something tells me that's the last thing Max needs right now."

"Which means that you and I are going to have to do our part to act normal, pal," Grant's face tightened into a smile that was almost forced.  He watched Nicholas' face grow somber, and he leaned forward to place a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Hey, man, I know that Max's words hurt you," he offered in empathy.  "But I know how much he thinks of you and I know there has to be a reason."

"Yes," Nicholas conceded.  "I just wish he'd let us help."

"He will, when he's ready," Grant said encouragingly.  "You've just gotta give him time."

*******

But even after a week had gone by, things were not much better.  Nicholas attempted to visit Max on two more occasions. Both times, he was fairly certain Max was home, but he did not answer the door.  And Nicholas did not attempt again to enter Max's home, though he still had the spare key.

Grant and Nicholas each tried several times to telephone Max, but he never answered any calls.  The first couple of days, they left messages.  Then they stopped leaving messages.  Finally, they stopped calling altogether.

In the meantime, Max felt as if he were losing his mind - staying cooped up in his condo all day, not talking to anyone, only venturing out at night to take care of basic needs.  But even those trips had declined; with cash running short, Max did not have the resources to shop - or to buy food.  He was starting to rely on canned vegetables from the pantry to make it through the day.

Max's emotional health had begun to suffer along with the physical.  He knew he couldn't take a chance on making a call or answering the door.  Each time he failed to respond to one or the other, the mysterious voice would call and offer his congratulations.  By the fourth day, he was telling Max that his friends had all stopped caring about him.

By the seventh day, Max was starting to believe it.

But on the eighth day, everything changed.

"Max, it's Jim," came the voice on the answering machine.  "We have a new mission.  Pack a bag and meet us at the condo at eleven."

Immediately afterward, Max received the call he'd come to expect.

"Hooray, Mister Harte."  It was bizarre to hear such a joyful word from a voice devoid of emotion.  "A new mission means payday is coming soon.  Remember the directions.  Don't try anything funny.  I'll be watching."

*******

The strangeness of the mission briefing was almost palpable.

Both Grant and Nicholas greeted Max with the customary handshake and shoulder slap, as if nothing were amiss, though there was something a little more subdued about their customary banter.  Max found it easier than he'd thought to act "normally," though he talked less and offered none of the usual quips or wisecracks.  Nobody mentioned anything that had occurred since the mission debriefing the week before.

Shannon didn't seem to notice anything different at all.  The younger three men were all fairly sure that Jim did notice - he'd been around too long and knew them too well not to have done so.  But aside from a few isolated stares directed at one or the other, Jim gave no sign.

Two hours later, as the team sat scattered around the terminal, Max was pretending to be engrossed in a magazine when a flicker of movement caught his peripheral vision.  He looked up, and the mysterious stranger took a seat right across from him, dressed identically to how he'd been dressed before.  Max looked down quickly, not wishing to give off any indication to the rest of his team that he knew this man.

Once the team boarded the plane, Max took an inconspicuous look around to try to ascertain where the figure was sitting.  He saw no one who fit the stranger's description, and for a brief moment he was hopeful that he hadn't gotten onboard.  But as he watched, three different young, clean-shaven men in three different seats turned around to cast sinister smiles in Max's direction.

Max got the message loud and clear:  the stranger could be anywhere and could look like anyone at all.  Max couldn't risk taking a chance. There was no telling what this man was capable of doing, especially thousands of feet above the ground.

Chapter 5

The first three days of the mission passed for what constituted the new version of normal among the team members.  There was no shortage of communication, but it was surprisingly superficial or mission-driven and almost completely devoid of anything personal. The subtle physical displays of affection - the back slaps, the shoulder pats - that were typically commonplace were all but missing.  Even so, anyone outside the team would have had trouble realizing there was anything out of place.

The emotional turmoil that had haunted Max for two weeks now had now reached the point of paranoia.  If the mysterious stranger was an IMF insider, he reasoned, then anything arranged by the IMF could be rigged.  Max found himself constantly looking over his shoulder, second-guessing every little thing he said to a teammate, and perpetually on edge.

The fourth and final day of the mission was different.

Max and Grant were lying on their stomachs in a foxhole in the middle of nowhere, dart guns in hand, waiting to take out some drug smugglers.  Max had been waiting for this moment for the entire mission.  It was the one time when Max was sure that there was no way the stranger could be watching or listening.

Max knew he had a precious few moments before their targets arrived, so he took a deep breath and went for it.

"Grant," he began, his voice quiet, "I owe you guys an apology and an explanation."

Grant turned his head to stare Max dead in the eyes.  He raised an eyebrow.  "You think?" he scoffed.  Then he turned back toward their surveillance point.  "You picked a hell of a time to bring it up, though."

"I couldn't till now,"  Max said defensively.  Then he took a deep breath and rushed in.  "Grant, I believe that someone from the IMF is after me, and if I say anything someone's going to die."

Grant was quiet for a few seconds, then he chuckled softly.  "Someone from our team, Max?  You've lost your mind."

Max shook his head.  "No.  Someone else.  Someone who helps set up the missions.  I really want to explain things, but I have reason to suspect that our vehicles and our base camp might be bugged."

Grant turned once again to look at Max, ready to comment about the absurdity of his paranoid delusions.  But the look in Max's eyes stopped him cold.

"You're serious."

"Dead serious, buddy," Max answered flatly.  "I'm not even sure that my communicator is safe to use."  Max paused.  "Please, Grant.  I can't do this anymore.  I need your help."

Grant sighed deeply.  "Okay, Max.  Once our mission is finished, I'll pull Jim outside and talk to him, and we'll find a safe place to meet and hear your story.  All right?"

Max felt like the weight of the world had lifted off his shoulders.  He smiled at his friend, and in that moment Grant realized how great a toll this had taken on the blond agent.  Grant's stomach lurched at the thought.

"Thanks, Grant," Max said sincerely.  Then the two men heard noises approaching them, so they quickly turned their attention back to the mission at hand.

*******

When they returned to headquarters, the others were waiting.  There was one more small task to be done - that was Jim's job - and then the team would be ready to return home.

When Jim saw his two team members pull up, he stepped outside to meet them.  "How'd it go?"  he greeted.

"Just like we planned, Jim," Grant answered.  Then Max went on inside while Grant continued to talk to Jim in low tones.  Once he'd explained what Max had told him in the field, Jim was predictably skeptical.

"Grant, do you realize how absurd this sounds?"

"I know, Jim," he replied, "but I also know Max.  There's something to this, and we owe it to him to hear him out."

Jim nodded, sighing heavily.  "Very well.  I'll wrap up the mission and then we'll talk."

Chapter 6

The mission was over.

Jim returned to headquarters in an unofficial vehicle, then he picked up the remaining team members and took them to a secluded restaurant.

They sat down at a large table in the rear corner of the building, where they each ordered a light entree and a tropical drink.  Max felt almost too nervous to eat but joined in; thanks to the recent reduction in his cash flow, he was half-starved.

Once they were settled, Jim's ice blue eyes met Max's.

"Max," he began, "I understand that you have something to tell us."

The three younger agents turned their gaze toward Max.  Shannon appeared clueless, while Grant and Nicholas only slightly less so, as Max described his encounter with the mysterious stranger who'd entered his car sometime during their previous debriefing.

When he was finished, Shannon grasped his hand.  "Oh, Max," she breathed sadly, "that must have been awful."

"I've never been so scared in my life, Shannon," Max admitted, and Grant and Nicholas both cringed internally at the surprising admission.

"He said he could hear every word you say," said Nicholas, involuntarily putting his fingers to his temple as he thought.  "So your car and your house are almost certainly bugged."

"He also said he saw you talking to me at the store.  And he told you not to let us in your home.  But how would he know we were there unless he could see you there, too?"  Grant reasoned.

"Cameras," added Shannon, following Grant's logic.

Max nodded.  "That's why I didn't look for anything at the condo," he said quietly.  "I figured he might be watching."

"That was probably smart, Max," offered Shannon, rubbing his arm and smiling sadly at what her friend had been through.

"It just seems so unlikely that someone with ties to the IMF would do such a thing," Jim said in disbelief.

"I know, Jim, but what other explanation is there?"  answered Grant.  "He referred to us as 'teammates'..."

"...he knew there were four of us..." chimed in Nicholas.

"...and he knows I get paid after every mission," Max finished.  "He said he knows when to 'expect' it."

"So he must be someone who's notified each time a mission ends," observed Nicholas, "and there aren't too many people who fit that category."

"Jim, I know there are people who arrange for headquarters and transportation during a mission," stated Max, "so I can't be sure that our base and vehicles aren't rigged, too."

"That would take a lot of doing," perceived Shannon.

"True," admitted Grant, "but if this guy is IMF, the technology he would have at his disposal is almost limitless.  Even our communicators could be compromised."

"I thought of that, too, Grant," mused Max.  "All I've done for the last two weeks is think," he added, more quietly, and Nicholas reached over to pat his shoulder in empathy.

"But why?"  Jim puzzled.  "Why go through such trouble?  And why target Max?"

"I don't think we'll figure that out until we know who this is," answered Shannon.  Then she turned to Max again.  "You have no idea what he looks like?"

"None," said Max.  "He could be anyone.  But I'm certain he came with us on the plane."  He told his teammates about seeing the trenchcoated man at the terminal and then about the three strangers who smiled at him on the flight.

"Well, we should be able to take what we know about the IMF and narrow it down even further based on the passenger list," Grant offered.

"If he used his real name," Nicholas reminded him, and Grant nodded in concession.

"Tell me again about this remote control he mentioned, Max," Jim requested, and Max complied.

"So if he's telling the truth, he's got explosives planted on your car and condo, too," said Grant with a stifled shudder.

"And whichever one of us is connected to that black button," added Nicholas.

"If not all of you," suggested Max, his voice barely audible.  "He did say he'd kill you all if I didn't cooperate.  And after I ran into you at the grocery store, Grant, he ordered me not to have any contact with any of you unless it was during a mission.  That's why I pushed you all away.  I'm really sorry," he said sincerely, his words intended for all of them but his eyes fixed on Nicholas.  "I was just trying to keep you safe."

"We know that, buddy," replied Grant, reaching over to slap Max's arm affectionately.

"Max, now I realize it's best that you didn't tell me sooner," Jim admitted, his voice taking on a fatherly tone, "but I'm really glad you told us now."

"What's our next move?"  Grant wanted to know.

"We try to find out who this guy is and why he's after Max," Jim answered, flashing Max a thin smile, "and we spring a trap to stop him."

Max's face visibly relaxed, and in that moment he looked ten years younger than he had when they'd walked in.  "Thanks, guys," he said sincerely.  "I wasn't sure any of you would believe me."  He smiled slightly at Grant and Nicholas.  "Or that you'd ever even speak to me again."

"Did he tell you that?"  Nicholas asked quietly.  Max looked down at the table and nodded.

"Well, he was wrong, pal," Grant said emphatically.  He extended his hand across the table and laid it on top of Max's.  "We've all got your back."

"Hear, hear," Nicholas agreed, following suit.

"Absolutely," said Shannon, as she did the same.

Jim paused slightly before smiling and making it unanimous.

Chapter 7

"I don't suppose you have your laptop with you, do you, Grant?"  Jim questioned.

Grant flashed a wide grin.  "I thought we might need it, so I grabbed it on the way out.  I'll be right back."

In a flash, Grant had fetched the computer from the rental car, brought it inside, and pulled up the IMF personnel files.

"These are the only people with access to mission information," Grant advised after he'd pushed a few buttons.  There were fourteen photographs on the screen.

Grant looked up at Max, who was leaning over his right shoulder peering down at the machine.  "Anyone look familiar, pal?"

Max was able to eliminate half the photos as people he was certain had not been on the plane.  The remaining seven were all clean-cut men with dark hair, of roughly the same age, and with similar facial features.  Max couldn't be sure about any of them.  Grant pulled up the passenger list of their flight out; four of the men in the photographs were listed as being on the flight.

"Let me see," Jim said suddenly.  Grant scooted the screen in front of his team leader, who clicked on each photo and read each biography slowly and methodically.  The suspense was maddening; just when the younger agents thought they'd lose their minds with impatience, Jim spoke.

"Here we go," he said in satisfaction, and Max stepped behind the elder agent to take a look.  "Is this him?"

Max stared at the photograph for a long time.  "It could be him.  He looks like one of the men who smiled at me."

"You think it is, don't you, Jim?"  Nicholas asked curiously.  At Jim's nod, he continued.  "Who is it?"

"Paul McKay," Jim answered.

"I don't recognize the name," said Max.

"No, I don't suppose you would, Max.  But he knows you, at least by reputation."

Max sat down next to Nicholas as Jim continued.

"Paul McKay has been with the IMF for the past eight years, working in international affairs.  He's also a second-generation IMF agent whose father worked with your father and me," he began, shooting a glance at Grant.

"McKay has made it no secret that he really wants to be a field agent.  Three years ago, when I came out of retirement to catch Matthew Drake, McKay decided that he wanted to join my team.  But I chose Max instead," Jim finished, smiling slightly at the blond agent.

"So you think he's harboring a grudge against Max,"  Shannon deduced, in a tone that wasn't entirely a question.

"That would explain why he's after Max's money," reasoned Nicholas, his profiling skills kicking in.  "He sees it as payment due for a job that should have been his."

"And booby-trapping Max's house and car makes sense, too," added Grant.  "In his mind, with Max out of the picture, he'd be free to take his place."  Grant eyed his leader, who nodded his approval.  "If McKay has rigged someone else's place, it's probably yours, Jim," he added solemnly.  "He's probably angry at you for not choosing him."

"But why did it take him so long to make a move?"  Max wondered aloud.

"Maybe he's taken the last three years to study his craft, Max," suggested Nicholas.

"And if he has done everything he claims, it's been a tremendous undertaking, especially if he's working alone," added Jim.  "He could have eventually gained access to everything, but it would have taken a while."

"So what do we do now?"  Shannon questioned.

Jim smiled knowingly.  "I think it's best if we make Paul McKay believe that his plan is still working," he answered, "and then catch him in the act."

Chapter 8

Once the discussion was over, the quintet got up to leave the restaurant.  Jim went first so he could take care of the ticket, with Shannon and Grant following suit.  Max had to move before Nicholas could climb out of the booth.  As the blond agent stood up, a wave of dizziness caught him and he staggered to one side, nearly falling.

Nicholas instantly reached out a hand to steady his friend as he, too, got to his feet.  "Max?"  he said uncertainly.  "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Max responded, slightly embarrassed.  "Just got a little lightheaded for a second.  It's nothing."

"Nothing?"  repeated his companion, incredulous, his hand still on Max's arm.  "Max, this could be serious!  Maybe you should see a doctor."

"Nicholas, I'm fine, I promise," Max quietly assured him.  "I know what this is."

Nicholas wordlessly arched one eyebrow, his gaze never leaving his friend.

"This is the first real meal I've had in a little over a week."

"What? Why is that?"

Max ran a hand through his hair and looked down at his feet.  "Cash flow problem."

Nicholas cursed to himself as he noticed for the first time that Max was several pounds lighter than the last time he'd seen him.  At the same time, he realized that the team had had a steady supply of snacks available during the course of the mission, but none of them had really eaten well. How much more this must have affected Max, whose stolen paycheck meant that his pantry at home had been empty for days before the mission!

"Max, why didn't you say something?"  Nicholas demanded.  But before Max could reply, Nicholas checked himself and answered his own question. "You couldn't," he said, his voice filled with empathy.  "Max, I'm sorry.  What can I do to help?"

Max laid a hand on Nicholas' shoulder.  "You can accept my apology for the way I talked to you that day you came to the condo."

Nicholas' stomach lurched at the memory.  "You've already apologized, Max," he assured his friend.  "You don't have to do so again."

"Yeah, I do, Nicholas," Max disagreed.  "I know that the things I said really hurt you. I could see it in your eyes."

Nicholas sighed.  Max was right, and he couldn't deny it, so he didn't try to. "I didn't understand why then," he said honestly, "but I do now.  And not only do I forgive you, I want to say thank you for what you did to keep us all safe.  Now, it's our turn."

Max grinned, reached out his arm, and caught Nicholas in a sideways hug, just as Grant stuck his head back into the dining area.

"Are you two coming or what?"  he said teasingly, sensing that his buddies had been working through what had happened on Nicholas' visit.

"Yeah, we're coming," replied Max in the same tone, and the two friends headed for Jim's rental car.

********

Once back at headquarters, it was business as usual.  Jim telephoned his IMF contact to report that the mission was over, and received word that the next plane to San Francisco was not departing until morning.  The agents made small talk until time to turn in for the night, and nobody listening would have had any idea about the conversation that had taken place earlier that day.

The next morning, at the terminal, the trenchcoated stranger bravely made his appearance, choosing this time to sit directly across from Max.  The blond agent knew that this was a challenge, to see if he could elicit any sort of reaction that might have revealed a conversation.  But Max and the others were too smart.  They had prepared for this.  One by one, all five of them noticed the stranger, but none of them gave any sign whatsoever.

They lost sight of the stranger as they boarded the plane.  Once the last passenger was on, it became obvious that he had ditched his disguise; there was no one on the plane fitting that description, but the team was convinced that Paul McKay was there somewhere.

Halfway through the flight, Jim got up to use the restroom.  As he walked down the aisle, he spotted McKay, who quickly averted his gaze to keep the elder agent from recognizing him.  Jim pretended he hadn't paid any attention, but when he sat back down he nodded his head slightly using their predetermined signal.  Grant, in the seat next to Jim, and Shannon, who was one row forward and across the aisle, both saw it.

As Nicholas and Max discreetly turned their heads slightly to look at Shannon, she lifted a finger and touched her chin - the second predetermined signal.  Now all five team members knew that they were being watched, and they knew what they had to do once the plane touched down in San Francisco.

Chapter 9

Jim and the others pulled out of the airport parking lot in their black Tahoe.  Max, behind the wheel as usual, noticed a small grey sedan behind them matching their speed and movements identically.

From the passenger seat, Jim caught Max's eye and raised his eyebrow, wordlessly asking if they were being followed.

Max's mouth curled into a nervous grin, and Jim knew the answer was yes.

The team reasoned that McKay likely had his surveillance equipment with him in his car and assumed that he would be able to watch and listen to everything happening in theirs.  So they made small talk about the just-finished mission.  Max continued to drive, periodically glancing at his mirror but never letting on that he knew they were being followed.  After several more miles, the grey car abruptly turned left behind them.

Max glanced in his mirror, then caught Grant's eyes and slightly shook his head no.  The five team members took note of where they were, realizing grimly that McKay was headed toward Max's condo.

*******

When the team arrived at Jim's place, they began what looked and sounded like a normal debriefing.  Grant was engrossed in his computer, but it was nothing that had to do with the mission they'd just completed.  He was busy working on some things that the team had discussed at the restaurant - things they would need to shut down Paul McKay.

Grant pushed a few buttons on his laptop and located the cameras and listening devices that, as suspected, had been planted throughout Jim's condo.  Carefully, he isolated the correct audio frequency and prepared the chosen audiovisual clip.  After a few moments, he pushed a button.

"Everybody act normal," he said quickly.  "For the next ten seconds, he can't hear us, but he can still see us. Hopefully he just thinks he's having technical difficulties.  The prerecorded clip is online.....now."

For a long moment, nobody moved or spoke.  Then Grant stood up and grinned at his teammates.

"Its okay, guys.  I've tapped into the frequencies McKay is using.  He's watching a clip from an old briefing that we recorded.  He can't see or hear us."

"Will he be able to tell that the topic of conversation is different?"  Shannon asked.

"Nope," Grant replied.  "I found just the right clip.  Generic enough to be timeless."

"What about our clothes?"  Max wondered.  "Surely he'll notice they're different."

Grant frowned slightly.  "He might," the black agent admitted, "but I messed with the video feed just a bit to make it appear duller and more grainy.  I'm hoping he will just think there's a glitch in his reception."

"How long do we have?"  asked Nicholas.

"Fifteen minutes," Grant answered.  "It isn't much, but with any luck at all it will be enough."

Grant picked up a device the team recognized from previous missions and carefully pointed it out an open window and toward the cars parked outside.  After a few moments, he smiled.

"Max, your car and Jim's are the only ones that are rigged," he confirmed.  "The others are clean."

"Then we know what we have to do," said Jim, as he exchanged keys with Shannon.

Grant nodded, and turned to the blond agent.  "Max, wait for my signal and then you and Shannon head out."  Max nodded in agreement as Grant handed each of them a new communicator.

"Keep in touch with these," he advised.  "I've altered the frequency.  McKay won't be able to detect them."

And with that, the agents headed their separate ways.

Chapter 10

Nicholas positioned his BMW down an alley, strategically located near a major intersection, while Grant was waiting just out of sight of Max's condominium.  Jim used the head start to drop by the San Francisco office of the Secretary, which was only a few miles from his place.

The Secretary's assistant recognized Jim right away, so he didn't need to waste time with pleasantries.

"Mister Phelps," the Secretary greeted.  "I know you wouldn't be here if it weren't important.  What is it that you need?"

"Mister Secretary," Jim returned, "I need you and your security detail to come with me.  I believe that my team has just exposed a traitor within the IMF."

Without hesitation, the Secretary gathered his men and followed behind Jim as they raced toward Paul McKay's apartment.

As the prerecorded debriefing ended,  Grant keyed his communicator. "Max, Shannon, time to move."

"Right, Grant," Max acknowledged, and he and Shannon exited the condo.  Max climbed into his red sports car and headed toward the bank.  Shannon climbed into Jim's Tahoe, tossing out a quick, "Thanks for letting me use your car, Jim!" in case McKay was listening, and sped off toward the alley where Nicholas was stationed.

Max methodically went through the motions of taking his paycheck to the bank, cashing it, and having the money put into the large bank envelope he'd brought with him.  Then he placed the envelope in his glove box and started home.

He pretended not to notice the grey sedan that was parked a few hundred feet from his parking space, as he exited the car and went inside his house to wait while his team took care of business.

McKay, once again wearing his disguise, retrieved the money from Max's car, took a glance inside the envelope to make sure the cash was there, then pointed his sedan toward his apartment.  He failed to notice when Grant's car fell into line behind him.

About halfway home, the traffic in front of McKay came to a screeching halt.  McKay craned his neck to see what was going on four or five cars ahead of him.  The best he could tell, two cars had nearly collided at an intersection, and a man and woman were hashing it out in the middle of the road.  Great, he thought. This was just what he needed right now.

Behind him, Grant hastily took his laptop in hand and zeroed in on the remote control device in the car in front of him.  As Grant had hoped, McKay had left it on, and there were three distinct frequencies emanating from it.  One by one, Grant scrambled each frequency until the remote was disabled altogether.  Grinning, he grabbed his communicator and pushed the all call button.

"McKay's remote is disabled," he reported to his teammates.  "Max and Shannon are safe."

"Thanks, buddy," responded Max, breathing a sigh of relief that he no longer had to walk on eggshells on his own property.

"Anytime, pal," Grant replied.  "Now just sit tight and wait for McKay's call."

*******

A few moments later, Paul McKay pulled into his apartment and went inside, oblivious to the fact that a strange vehicle was parked nearby.  Once he was inside, Jim and the Secretary got out of Jim's vehicle and found an open window through which they could see McKay.

Jim stifled a low whistle.  There were several computers and monitors set up at McKay's desk.  He had obviously gone to great lengths to set up this operation.

Grant pulled into the parking lot and watched McKay on his laptop, using software which tracks body heat, as the villain reached for the phone and dialed Max's number.

"Well done again, Mister Harte," the monotonic voice answered when Max said hello.  "This is turning out to be a very lucrative partnership."

"Don't be so sure of that," Max said teasingly, his smile almost audible.

McKay's own smile faded.  "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, his voice betraying emotion for the first time.

"Take a closer look at the money," Max urged.

When McKay opened the envelope further, there came a poof! and suddenly red powder covered the money as well as the villain's face and hands.  Without hesitation, McKay reached for the remote control.

"Goodbye, Mister Harte," he said, as he pushed the green button.

Chapter 11

"I've seen enough," grunted the Secretary, and with a nod of his head he gave the order for his security detail to move forward and take McKay into custody.

"Max, you all right?"  Jim said urgently into his communicator, having full confidence that Grant had disabled the remote but needing to hear his teammate's voice for reassurance.

"I'm fine, Jim," Max answered quickly, and Jim heaved a sigh of relief.

That relief was short-lived.  As Grant watched the tracker, he noticed McKay place something cold, grey and solid into his shirt pocket before lifting up his hands.  Pure instinct told Grant it was an explosive, and desperately he gripped his communicator.

"Jim!  He's got a bomb!"  Grant barked, loud enough that everyone in the room could hear.  The security guards scattered while Jim and the Secretary crouched down beside the building for cover.

A few seconds later, there was an explosion.  A puff of black smoke rolled out the window where Jim and the Secretary had stood, and the building shook.

Grant bailed out of the car and rushed to his team leader, who was picking himself up off the ground from where the force of the blast had thrown him.

"You all right?"  Grant asked tensely, as he offered assistance.

"I'm okay, Grant.  Mister Secretary?"

"Fine," the Secretary responded as he, too, got to his feet.  Together, the three men looked around for his security guards.  All of them were accounted for and virtually unscathed; the officer closest to McKay had sustained some burns to his face and arms but would make a full recovery.  McKay had clearly not survived the blast.

"Thanks for the warning," Jim said sincerely, knowing that it had saved their lives.

"Yes, sir," the Secretary echoed, pumping Grant's hand in a hearty shake.  "We all owe you a debt of gratitude at least, maybe even a commendation." He looked Grant squarely in the eyes. "I would have expected no less from Barney Collier's son."

Grant grinned at the compliment, thankful that the ordeal was over at last.

*******

The five team members spent the next two nights together in a rented suite, to give personnel time to clear out the bugs and cameras and check for explosives.  Once everything was deemed safe again and the teammates went back to their respective homes, it was another day or two before any of them ventured out again.

Finally, Grant's need for groceries got the better of him.  As he was putting his purchases into the trunk of his car, he was startled slightly by a loud, racing engine.  He looked up to see a black motorcycle parked in the space beside him.  The driver killed the engine and removed his helmet, revealing a shock of blond hair and a wide grin.

"Hey, Max,"  Grant smiled back as Max dismounted.

"What's up, buddy?"  Max greeted, as he clasped Grant's hand and then thumped his back heartily.

"How's it feel to have your ride back?"

"It feels great," Max answered.  "Good thing the powers that be saw fit to give me back my last two paychecks."

"Yeah," Grant agreed, with a pang of empathy.  "So what brings you here?  You can't haul groceries on a bike, you know," he quipped.

Max laughed heartily at his own words from days before, then the blond agent's grin faded and his countenance sobered.

"Truth is, I saw you in the parking lot and I wanted to talk to you," he said softly.  "To thank you again, for everything."

"Max, please," Grant began, holding up a hand.

"Hear me out," Max pleaded.  As Grant lowered his hand and nodded slightly, Max continued.  "Not only did you listen to me and believe me, you stuck with me.  And your technology saved all of us.  Thank you doesn't seem like enough."

"You're more than welcome, pal," Grant answered warmly.  "I'm just glad it's over."

"You and me both,"  Max concurred.  "You got plans for later this afternoon?"

"Nope."

"How'd you like to go riding?"  Max asked, almost timidly, not realizing until this moment how much he'd missed spending off-mission time with his friends.

Grant's face broke into a wide grin. He'd missed it, too.  "Sounds great, buddy.  My place in an hour?"

Max pulled his helmet onto his head.  "See you then!" he promised, then he gunned the motorcycle's engine and took off.

Grant watched him go, smiling to himself.  Things were getting back to normal at last.

The End.