Vendetta

Disclaimer:

I do not own either of the Mission: Impossible series or any of the characters therein. I receive no compensation or other tangible benefit from this story and no copyright infringement is intended.  I am just a fan who enjoys taking the team out for an adventure every now and then.

 

Chapter 1

Prologue

He was sitting at his desk when the telephone rang.

“McClain.”

“We have a problem,” came the voice on the other end. “The new consultant you hired…Patterson…he’s a spy.”

McClain sighed, then cursed to himself.

“Who’s he work for?”

“Some government think tank,” answered the voice. “He’s a threat to our operation.”

McClain sighed again. “Do what you have to do.”

The connection was broken with a click. The man who had just been talking with McClain glared over his desk at the handcuffed American standing in front of him, unsuccessfully trying to free himself from the tight clutches of the young security officer.

“Shall I eliminate him?” asked the officer.

The man hesitated for only a moment. “Not yet,” he reasoned. “Let’s keep him alive for now. Once the IMF figures out he’s missing, he will send the best of the best to his rescue.” The man smiled evilly. “Then I’ll finally get to take down the mighty Jim Phelps.”

Chapter 2

Jim Phelps parked his black Escalade, got out, and began walking toward the department store. He frowned a bit as he saw that it was already busy. He hoped this wouldn’t interfere with him gathering the information he needed.

As Jim approached the paint mixing department, he was pleased to see that the crowd had dissipated. The man with the reddish hair that he had been told to look for greeted him with a smile.

“Can I help you with something, sir?”

“Yes, I was looking for a specific color of paint,” Jim answered, falling into the familiar coded banter.

“We mix all colors of paint here, sir. What exactly were you looking for?”

“A shade of red called Falu,” replied Jim.

“Ah, yes,” smiled the man. “Didn’t that particular shade originate in the copper mines in Denmark?”

“Close,” answered Jim with a small grin, recognizing the request for additional verification that he was talking to the right person. “Sweden.”

“We have some already mixed, sir. You’ll find it on that shelf over there.”

The man pointed to a shelf near the back of the store. Jim walked over to it and peered behind the three gallons of paint that were sitting on it. There, he saw the familiar black box.

Jim looked around to make sure that nobody was watching him. He lifted the black box from behind the paint cans and set it down again. He allowed the machine to identify his thumbprint, then he entered the three digit code that revealed the small silver disk. He stuck it into the slot, and the familiar voice began.

“Good morning, Jim. In the past two months, four IMF agents have been murdered and one, Sam Patterson, is missing. All of them were sent on the same mission – to stop this man: Bartholomew McClain. McClain is a powerful man who uses his information technology consulting firm to gain access to the world’s most sensitive information and sell it to the highest bidder. He is also a ruthless killer who will not hesitate to execute anyone who gets in his way.

“The information we have on McClain is extremely limited, for none of our agents have been able to get close enough to obtain any without meeting with foul play. The Secretary has now specifically requested your team to handle this delicate situation. We believe McClain is ordering the execution of IMF agents, and we cannot dismiss the possibility that he is being assisted by a double agent within our own organization.”

Jim pressed the pause button and stared intently at the video screen. Did he really just hear what he thought he’d heard? If there was a double agent working for McClain, his entire team would be in danger.

For a brief moment, Jim considered letting the mission pass by. These were not only his teammates; they were his friends. He loathed the idea of putting them in danger. But every mission is dangerous, he reasoned. All of his team members knew the risks and wouldn’t think twice about putting themselves in harm’s way – especially if it was to protect the IMF organization.

Jim pressed play, knowing what his decision would be.

“Your mission, Jim, should you decide to accept it, is to stop Bartholomew McClain, find and neutralize any IMF counterspies, and rescue Sam Patterson if he is still alive.

“As always, should you or any of your IM force be caught or killed, the Secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions. This disk will self-destruct in five seconds. Good luck, Jim.”

Chapter 3

“Bartholomew McClain,” began Jim, as he pulled up the man’s photograph on the large screen for his four teammates to view. “The man has a reputation for being an expert in information technology, a shrewd negotiator, and perhaps even a cold-blooded killer.”

Jim punched a few more buttons and pulled up photographs of five different men, of varying ages and physical traits, none of whom the team recognized. Four of them had the word “disavowed” stamped across their likenesses.

“Four IMF agents have been murdered trying to nail McClain.” Another punch of a button, and the fifth man’s image was enlarged. “This agent, Sam Patterson, is now missing, probably being held captive by McClain’s entourage.”

“If he’s presumed kidnapped, why hasn’t he been disavowed, too?” Max questioned.

“Max, the Secretary believes that there is someone familiar with the IMF working for McClain’s operation, most likely as security personnel,” Jim answered. “We believe this person may be acting as a double agent.”

“Someone who knows that the IMF would go after McClain, and is using their position to draw out agents and have them eliminated,” surmised Nicholas.

Jim nodded. “Right now, we can’t say for sure whether it is McClain or someone else ordering the hits, but the bodies of the other agents were found within twenty-four hours of their last contact. Patterson has been missing for three days now, and the fact that his body hasn’t yet been found leads us to believe that he’s being used as bait.”

“To draw us in,” Grant finished grimly.

“Exactly.”

Jim’s steely blue eyes made contact with each team member’s gaze. “I cannot stress enough how dangerous this mission will be for each one of us. We all have to be on our toes. If they even suspect we aren’t who we say we are, they will not hesitate to kill us.”

“So how do we get inside?” Nicholas asked.

“Well, McClain runs a very tight ship,” replied Grant. “We haven’t been able to access any of his personnel files, so we don’t know who he has working for him. We have checked the employment requirements, and each new hire is subject to extensive background checks, photo verification, and fingerprinting.”

“We also have to assume that someone in McClain’s operation may have access to IMF personnel files,” added Jim.

He shot a look at Grant. “With this being an IT firm, having you inside would make the most sense, Grant, but we can’t risk it. There’s no way we could manipulate your identity enough to safely disguise you. And since we don’t know who this person might be, we have to assume that he might recognize you because of your father’s association with IMF. So you will have to work your magic with a very low profile.”

Grant nodded in acquiescence as Jim turned to Max. “Max, aside from Shannon, you’re the newest to the IMF, and the easiest identity to disguise.” Jim handed Max a dossier. “It’s been arranged that you will start work tomorrow as a security guard for McClain Consulting. For this mission, the Secretary has agreed to change your identity and remove you from the IMF database, so you will pass whatever checks they decide to run.”

“Right,” Max acknowledged.

“You will be our only eyes and ears within the compound, and it will be up to you to gather information for the rest of us,” Jim continued.

“Well, hopefully these will help with that,” Grant chimed in, indicating a pair of reading glasses.

Max drew in a sharp breath. He had seen these before.  Nicholas had worn similar pairs twice before - most recently, when the team stopped a terrorist from releasing a deadly virus.  But that wasn’t what Max was remembering.  Nicholas had worn a similar pair during the Berazan mission – the mission that had cost Casey Randall her life.  Casey’s death had hit Max harder than the others, for he was the team member who had to work directly – intimately – with Casey’s killer in order to complete the mission.

“Max?” Grant asked softly, knowing without asking what was on his friend’s mind.

Max sighed heavily and nodded, taking the glasses in his hand.

Grant patted his shoulder in sympathy, but no one said anything. They didn’t have to.

“I will be able to use my computer to communicate with you via the LCD screen on the right lens. And there is a tiny camera near the left lens, so we will be able to see and hear what you see and hear.”

Jim’s face grew serious. “Max,” he said somberly, “your cover is sound and will stand up to scrutiny, but that doesn’t make this any less dangerous. Please be careful.”

“Right, Jim,” Max responded.

“Bart McClain is a multi-millionaire,” Jim stated, turning his attention back to the whole team, “but we’ve found out that he likes to spend a good portion of that money at a local pub called the Silver Star. Shannon, you’ll be working there and you’ll be able to let us know when he shows up.”

Shannon nodded.

“Once we get a little more information, I’ll be meeting with McClain myself, to see if the consultant he recently sent to the FBI can help me eliminate my tawdry past,” Jim concluded with a smirk.

“But, Jim,” Shannon pointed out, “you’ve got the most IMF experience of all of us. By meeting with McClain, won’t you be putting yourself at risk?”

“Maybe so, Shannon,” Jim answered, smiling at his teammate’s concern, “but by that time we’ll be calling all the shots.”

Chapter 4

Max pulled the blue SUV into the parking lot of the reddish-brown, three-story building, discreetly marked “McClain Consulting” with only a small white sign. He picked up the black backpack and slung it over his shoulder.

“Here goes nothing,” he murmured, knowing Grant was listening in through the camera on his glasses.

Be careful, Grant typed onto the LCD as Max got out of the SUV and walked to the door. A knock, and the door opened.

“You must be our new security guard,” greeted a young officer, at least a head shorter than Max and of some sort of Oriental descent. Grant immediately began to capture still photos of the officer at various angles, in case Nicholas needed them later on.

“Rex Potter, at your service,” Max grunted.

“This way, Mister Potter,” the officer summoned without giving his name, and Max followed him inside the building. He immediately noticed that there were virtually no windows in any of the rooms, and all of the interior doors were crafted of solid steel. As Max looked around to take it all in, Grant got a good look as well.

“The place is built like a fortress,” Grant muttered, as Jim and Nicholas came alongside him to watch the monitor.

The officer unlocked one of the steel doors and ushered Max inside.

“Your backpack, sir,” he requested, holding out his hand.

“Why?” Max inquired.

“Mister Potter, we deal in matters requiring absolute confidentiality here,” the officer answered calmly. “For that reason, no one is allowed to take any personal items past this point. You may leave your bag here and pick it up when you leave.”

“And no doubt it will be searched in the meantime,” Jim commented, glad that they had decided to let Max scope the place out before stuffing the backpack with cameras and listening devices.

The young officer disappeared for a moment and returned with a camera and a computerized fingerprinting kit. Max submitted to having his fingers pressed against the glass and then allowed the officer to snap several head and shoulder shots.

Max and his teammates all held their breaths for a moment as the officer asked him to remove his glasses for photographic purposes, but afterward he was allowed to put them back on.

The officer disappeared for another moment – no doubt to deliver the camera and fingerprinting equipment back to where he’d gotten it – and then returned a second time.

“Now, Mister Potter, I need you to remove your clothes.”

“What?” Max cried incredulously.

“As I said, no personal effects are allowed beyond this point. Everything you need will be supplied for you, including the uniform you will wear on the job. You can leave your clothes here and change back into them when your shift is over.”

Max, seeing no alternative, slipped off his jacket, shirt, and pants, as well as his socks and shoes as instructed. The young officer walked around Max, obviously examining him to make sure he was not wearing a wire. Then, to Max’s chagrin, he spoke again.

“You are not completely disrobed, Mister Potter.”

“Are you serious?” Max asked, for he was wearing only a pair of boxer shorts.

“We truly cannot be too careful, Mister Potter.”

Max, a little embarrassed, bent to remove his boxers. Grant, himself blushing at the violation of his friend’s modesty, closed the laptop screen temporarily, though he could still hear every word.

“Very well, sir,” the officer encouraged. “You will find your uniform and suitable intimate attire in that wardrobe,” he said, pointing. “I will give you a few moments to get dressed, and then you will come with me.”

Max did not speak until he had located clothing in his size and gotten dressed.

“Some nerve,” he sneered.

Grant lifted the laptop screen. I know, buddy. Stay calm, he typed.

After another moment, the officer urged Max to follow him into another room, where he came face to face with a second man.

“Are you McClain?” Max asked, knowing it was the same man whose image he had seen on Jim’s video screen but not wishing for him to know that Max already had that information.

“That’s right,” the man replied, extending his hand. “Bartholomew McClain. Nice to meet you, Mister Potter.”

He shook Max’s hand firmly. “I trust you understand the, um, precautions that we had to take to make sure that you are who you claim to be.”

Max nodded. “Well, since I’m standing here, I assume everything was in order.”

McClain smiled. “It seems we are lucky to have you aboard, Mister Potter. You obviously are very good at what you do…if a bit nearsighted.”

Jim, watching from his vantage point, smiled slightly, relieved that he had asked the Secretary to include the rigged glasses as part of Max’s new identity – and relieved that McClain had accepted the accessory.

“Keep an eye on things, Grant,” Jim said, giving his teammate an affectionate pat on the shoulder, satisfied that Max’s con was going smoothly for the time being. “It’ll soon be time for me to meet our friend Mister McClain. Shannon should be in place any second.” His heart began to flutter slightly, as it always did at the start of a new mission. “Ready or not, McClain, here we come.”

Chapter 5

It had been a long day. Bartholomew McClain couldn’t wait to get to his favorite nightspot, the Silver Star, down a few Bloody Marys, and forget about work. He pulled his black sports car into the parking lot, got out, and went inside.

He gazed toward the bar and frowned slightly. He didn’t see the sexy blonde that usually poured his drinks. Not that the lady behind the bar wasn’t a looker – with her mid-length, curly auburn hair and the blouse with the deeply-cut neckline that left little to the imagination. He smiled at her.

“Haven’t seen you around here before,” he ventured.

“I could say the same thing about you, darlin’,” Shannon replied in a faux Southern accent.  “I’m sure I would have remembered.” She tossed her head flirtatiously. “What’ll you have?”

“Bloody Mary on the rocks,” he replied.

As Shannon went to prepare his drink, a dashing older gentleman approached McClain from the left.

“Say, aren’t you Bart McClain?”

Shannon set the drink in front of McClain with a smile. He smiled back, took a long swig, then put his drink down and turned to face the gentleman. “Who wants to know?”

“My name is Simpson, Hank Simpson,” Jim answered smoothly. “I have a…little problem…and I was told you could help me.”

McClain looked tired. “Look, Mister Simpson, I have worked all day. Now I just want to relax and enjoy my drink. So if you’ll excuse me…”

“Mister McClain,” persisted Jim, “Steve Mitchell said you could help me.”

McClain’s attention snapped back to the gentleman beside him as he recognized the name of his consultant currently assigned to the Federal Bureau of Investigation. McClain reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a business card.

“Call my office tomorrow and we’ll talk. Now, please, let me get back to my drink.”

Jim nodded his thanks and disappeared into the shadows, lurking and keeping watch as McClain ordered a second drink. Shannon winked at him, and neither he nor anyone else noticed the drug she slipped into the Bloody Mary.

A few moments later, as Shannon watched intently, McClain noticed his head start to feel a little strange. What the….? After two drinks? He’d never had trouble holding his alcohol before. “Something wrong, darlin’?” Shannon asked him.

“No,” he answered, trying to look at her but having a hard time focusing. “I’m….”

He tried to say “Fine” but the world went spinning around and then went dark.

Jim came out of the shadows just in time to catch McClain as he toppled off his stool. Shannon rushed around the bar to offer assistance and the two of them half-carried, half-dragged McClain out to the Escalade. Shannon paused just long enough to let the other bartender know she was going to help the gentleman home, and aside from that nobody at the Silver Star really noticed anything at all.

*******

“That place has the tightest security of anywhere I’ve been in a long time,” Max briefed the rest of the group that night when he returned from his assignment back to the large suite they were using as base camp. “I was never allowed unrestricted access to any of the offices and that officer followed me everywhere. I didn’t even get to meet the head of security.”

“Whom we assume is the double agent,” Jim observed.

“This means you won’t be able to set up any of our equipment,” Grant mused. “We’ll have to get in another way.”

“Nicholas,” said Jim, “you’ll have to go inside the compound as McClain.”

“Well, thanks to all of the audio and video Max sent us,” Nicholas replied, shooting a grateful smile at his friend, “I think I’m ready. But, Jim,” he added, “we know so little about McClain’s operation that I’m not sure I can keep up my end of a conversation with this head of security – whoever he is.”

“Maybe you could go early in the morning, before everyone else gets there,” suggested Jim. “I’d imagine that the CEO of a company could come and go as he pleases.”

“And hopefully not be subject to the same search,” Grant chimed in. He handed Nicholas a small device that looked suspiciously like – and was about as small as – a flash drive. “Just plug this into the back of McClain’s computer. I will be able to remote access his hard drive and see what’s in there. Then mount these two tiny cameras on opposite corners of the office. Simple installation, shouldn’t take more than half an hour.”

“Leave this on McClain’s desk while you’re there,” added Jim, handing Nicholas a file folder. “He’ll think he received a fax from Steve Mitchell at the FBI regarding our Mister Simpson – and hopefully will talk directly to me to set up a meeting rather than call his contact. With any luck at all, we can arrange a meeting for tomorrow afternoon.”

Shannon emerged from the extra bedroom. “McClain is sleeping like a baby,” she reported with a smile.

“He’ll sleep till about ten in the morning.”

“Good. That should give us just enough time to get in there and get everything set,” replied Jim. “Max, we need you in there one more day.”

Max nodded. “Hopefully, tomorrow I will be able to find out where they’re keeping Patterson.”

Jim rose from his chair. “Let’s get some rest, everyone,” he urged. “We all have a big day ahead tomorrow.”

Chapter 6

Early the next morning, as Nicholas was donning his disguise, Grant and Shannon drove McClain to his condo. Grant carried him inside, undressed him, and laid him in his bed beneath the blankets.

“When Sleeping Beauty wakes up, he’ll be itching to get to the office,” Grant advised. “Let us know when he leaves so we can make sure Nicholas is out of there.”

“Will do,” Shannon replied.

Grant cleared his throat nervously, knowing the con that would be inferred from Shannon’s role play. “He may have a hell of a headache, but hopefully he won’t try…anything.”

“I’ll be fine, Grant,” Shannon smiled, patting his arm in reassurance. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can,” he answered, returning her smile. “Gotta go.”

And with that, Grant was gone.

*******

Nicholas, as McClain, pulled up into the parking lot of McClain Consulting. He took the key out of his pocket and effortlessly unlocked the front door. He breathed a sigh of relief. It was seven-thirty in the morning, and the place seemed deserted.

He walked at a crisp clip straight to McClain’s office – thanks to Max, he knew just how to get there and which of the keys they’d had made from McClain’s set would fit the door.

He plugged the remote access flash drive into the back of McClain’s computer. He pulled out his communicator.

“Grant,” he whispered, even though he was alone, “I’ve installed the device.”

“Good job, Nicholas,” replied Grant, who was now back at base camp. “Work on those cameras, and I’ll see if I can get into that hard drive.”

Grant punched a few buttons on his computer. After a few password screens that were relatively easy to crack, Grant hit pay dirt.

“Nicholas,” he said into the communicator. “I’m in.”

“Excellent,” responded Nicholas. “I’ve just installed the cameras.”

Grant punched a few more buttons, and immediately patched into the camera feeds. “I can see you, Nicholas,” he smiled. The whole thing had taken only twenty-two minutes. “Nice job. Now get out of there.”

Nicholas laid the simulated fax on McClain’s desk and opened his door. On the other side of the door, he came face to face with the young officer he recognized from Max’s footage the day before.

“Mister McClain,” said the officer in surprise. “You’re here early.”

“I had to come by and pick up a file,” answered Nicholas, channeling McClain’s voice effortlessly, grateful he had thought to pick up the empty file folder. “I have an early morning meeting.”

“Have a good meeting, sir,” the officer smiled. “I’ll see you later.”

Nicholas exited the compound, breathing a sigh of relief, as Max was arriving. A discreet smile passed between the two of them as Max entered the compound, and Nicholas headed to meet Jim and Grant outside the Silver Spur for some candid photos before removing his disguise.

********

Nicholas could not have known that while he was in McClain’s office taking care of his assignment, the head of security also arrived, characteristically early, and retreated behind the office door where he spent most of his time. He turned on his computer and attempted to log onto the IMF personnel records.

Except there was a problem.

He stopped for a moment and marveled at the irony – a computer-related problem at an IT firm! After trying several fixes, it became obvious that the only way he was going to gain access was to return to a system restore point…prior to the last IMF update which would have been within the last week.

As he was waiting for the database to reset, his mind was mulling over the new security guard that had been hired the day before. Sure, everything had checked out, but there was something about him…something about the whole situation…that didn’t make sense. It was all too coincidental, too soon after Patterson…

On a whim, he grabbed the records from his desk and repeated the search from yesterday. Almost immediately, a red alert began to flash on the screen. The man cursed aloud.

“He’s IMF!” he yelled to nobody in particular. A few more punches at the keyboard, and his mouth curled into an evil smile.

“He’s part of Phelps’ team! Which means Phelps isn’t far away!”

He looked at his watch. It was just a couple of minutes after eight. McClain wouldn’t be here yet; the man almost never arrived before eight forty-five. He probably hadn’t even left his house yet. He picked up the phone and dialed McClain’s home.

“Damn!” he swore out loud as the phone rang once, twice, three times. Where the hell was he? Still asleep? Maybe one too many Bloody Marys at that blasted pub he frequented every night.

He started to just hang up, to just take care of business himself, but he didn’t want the chips to fall in the wrong direction. He still depended on their partnership, after all. So he decided to at least leave a message, so McClain would know he tried to call.

McClain’s home telephone rang.

Shannon heard it from the adjacent room. She glanced anxiously at McClain, but he was still in deep slumber and probably would be for the next couple of hours.

Shannon couldn’t resist stepping inside the living room, where she heard the answering machine click on.

“McClain?! Where the hell are you? Are you even out of bed? Anyway, we have a big problem. Apparently that fool Potter you hired yesterday is a spy too – part of that same think tank as Patterson was. He’s a threat to our operation. I wanted to let you know, but I trust you’d tell me to do what I have to do just like last time. So I’ll take care of it, boss. See you whenever you decide to show up for work.” There was an abrupt click.

Shannon paled and jerked out her communicator.

“Jim,” she said urgently, “Max is in trouble.”

Chapter 7

Max knocked, and the same young officer from the day before opened the door.

“Good morning, Mister Potter,” he greeted, nodding in approval when he noticed that Max had left his backpack behind this time.

The officer showed Max to the same room as yesterday. This time, Max needed no prodding to disrobe and change into his daily uniform. He slid his glasses into place and signaled the officer that he was ready.

*******

Grant lifted the laptop screen and was preparing to monitor Max’s activities for new developments when the communicator crackled. “Jim,” came Shannon’s tense voice, “Max is in trouble.”

“Talk to me, Shannon,” came Jim’s instant response as he and his two teammates snapped to attention.

“Somehow his cover’s been blown,” she continued, and briefly summarized what she’d heard on McClain’s answering machine.

*******

Max was only fifteen minutes into his shift when he was interrupted by the young officer.

“Mister Potter,” he said, “You’re wanted in the security room.”

Max tensed. Could it be that he was finally going to find out who the head of security was? Or where Patterson was being held?

*******

“They’re taking him to the security room, Jim,” Grant said tensely.

“We’ve got to get him out of there!” Nicholas vowed.

“Nicholas, how are you coming with the officer mask?”

“It’s ready, Jim.”

“Grab your case,” Jim said urgently. “You can get ready in the car. Let’s go. Shannon, stay with McClain as planned. We’ll keep you posted.”

*******

It was the first time Max had been allowed into the security room. He quickly took in his surroundings. Aside from multiple computer and television screens, which were no doubt linked to camera feeds, there was nothing remarkable about it.

A stocky man with thinning brownish-gray hair sat at the desk.

“Mister Potter,” he began with a sneer.

“Yes, sir,” Max answered.

“Or, should I say, Mister Harte.”

Max’s heart came up in his throat as he heard a click behind him. The young officer was holding a gun to his back. His cover had been blown! How could that have happened?

Max didn’t know how to respond. If he denied his real identity, he would definitely meet with trouble. If he admitted it, there would probably still be trouble. So he said nothing.

Suddenly, his eye caught a glimpse of some words: Hang on, Max. We’re coming.

*******

“Jim,” Grant said tensely as Max’s glasses picked up the face of the head of security. He turned the laptop sideways toward Jim, who was driving. “You know this guy?”

Jim took his eyes off the road just long enough to glance at the image on the screen. He frowned and sighed. “Preston Ross,” he replied. “He’s IMF, all right.”

“What’s the story, Jim?” asked Nicholas from the backseat.

Jim shook his head. “Let’s get Max out safely first,” he answered. “Then we’ll take him and McClain down together.”

*******

“Why are you here?” Ross demanded. “Who are you working for?”

Max remained stoically silent.

“Never mind; you don’t have to answer me. I know you’re part of the team spearheaded by none other than the great Mister Phelps.”

Max’s eyes grew wide; despite his own peril, he couldn’t help but feel concerned about the rest of his team – especially knowing Jim and the others were on their way to rescue him.

“Oh, they did a good job of trying to change your identity in the system, but thanks to a computer error I went back in time and found you.”

Ross studied Max intently. “Come to think of it, Max Harte doesn’t wear glasses. Stoya, remove them,” he ordered with a wave of his hand.

The officer removed the glasses and handed them to Ross. “Probably some electronic monitoring gadgetry,” he mused, then he threw them to the ground and stomped them.

*******

“Jim, we just lost the audiovisual,” muttered Grant with a curse. “How much longer?”

“We’ll be there in twelve minutes,” replied Jim tensely.

“Hold on, buddy,” Grant mumbled, though without keying it in; he knew Max couldn’t see him now.

*******

“Shall I eliminate him?” Stoya questioned.

“Not yet,” replied Ross with a sneer. “Now I’m more sure than ever that Phelps will come looking for one of his own. Let’s make sure he finds him. Cuff him and throw him in the shed with Patterson.”

Stoya, quick as lightning, pulled Max’s hands behind his back and snapped handcuffs on. As he started out of the office, Ross’ voice came again, stopping him in his tracks.

“Sooner or later, Phelps will show up. And when he does, you can kill all of them.”

Chapter 8

With one hand on the handcuffs and the other hand on the gun that was firmly planted in Max’s back, Stoya forced Max to walk out the door of the consulting firm and to the side, where a large green metal toolshed stood. Stoya knocked twice and the door opened.

Inside was one additional guard, his gun trained on a handcuffed figure that Max recognized as Sam Patterson.

Stoya threw Max onto the floor of the shed. “Ross said I couldn’t kill you yet,” he muttered. “He didn’t say anything about roughing you up.”

Stoya took his foot and stomped Max in the stomach. He cried out in pain.

“Hey! Leave him alone!” Patterson yelled.

Stoya reached over and slapped him across the face. “Shut up!” he retorted.

Max, through rugged breaths, couldn’t resist a retort. “Takes a…coward…to kick a man…when he’s down.”

Stoya turned his attention back to Max. “To hell with Ross. I ought to kill you right now, pretty boy,” he sneered. He proceeded to pistol-whip Max with the butt of the gun he was holding. After giving him several hard licks to the temples, stunning Max, Stoya aimed the pistol at the dead center of Max’s forehead and pulled back the hammer with a click.

Patterson knew instinctively that this man was IMF and had been sent to help him. He didn’t know if Stoya was serious about killing the man or just messing with him, but he couldn’t just sit back and watch the man die without doing something. It was not his way.

“NO!” Patterson yelled.

Stoya, distracted and angry, turned his attention from Max, aimed the gun at Patterson, and pulled the trigger.

*******

“Gunshot!” Nicholas hissed through clenched teeth as they drove into the parking lot of McClain Consulting.

“I heard it, too,” responded Grant. “It sounded like it came from that green shed over there.”

“We have to hurry,” Jim urged. “Max could be hurt in there. Nicholas?”

“Ready, Jim,” he replied instantly, and emerged from the Escalade looking exactly like Stoya.

Nicholas and Grant ran toward the shed and stood on each side of the doorway. Nicholas knocked at the door.

“Who is it?” came Stoya’s voice.

“Ross,” growled Nicholas. He hadn’t had much time to perfect the voice of the security officer, but hoped it would do.

Stoya came to the door, opened it, and stepped out. Instantly, Grant grabbed him and sprayed him with knockout gas while Nicholas ran inside the shed.

The other guard, taken by surprise, started to say something, but Nicholas took him down by the same knockout gas. Then he turned his attention to Max, who had dazedly gotten to his feet and was crouching by Patterson’s side.

“Are you okay?” he asked his friend.

“I’m all right,” Max replied worriedly, “but Patterson took a bullet for me.”

“I’ll be okay,” Sam Patterson assured his new friend. “It’s only a flesh wound.”

Grant dragged Stoya’s body into the shed, then he retrieved the handcuff keys from Stoya’s pocket and set to work freeing Max.

“Glad to see you’re in one piece, partner,” he told his friend as the handcuffs popped loose.

“Thanks for the rescue,” Max replied, popping his cuffs on Stoya as Grant turned his attention to freeing Patterson.

Once Patterson was free, Max accompanied him to the Escalade while Grant used Patterson’s handcuffs to subdue the other guard.

“You’d better get inside,” Grant advised Nicholas as he locked the shed door. “Ross will be wondering what happened to his number one officer.”

“Right,” acknowledged Nicholas.

“Be careful,” Grant cautioned, glancing at his watch. “We won’t be able to be in touch for a little while, and Ross will have his guard up.”

Nicholas nodded in response. “Hopefully, it will be showtime here in a couple of hours.”  Then Grant set off toward the Escalade and Nicholas went back inside the compound.

“Well?” Ross wanted to know.

“Both prisoners are cuffed and under guard,” Nicholas reported.

“Good,” Ross replied. “Now we just wait for Phelps to make his move.”

*******

Grant keyed his communicator to let Shannon know that Max was safe just as McClain was beginning to stir.

“Good morning, lover,” she smiled at him while adjusting the sheer robe she was wearing, creating the illusion that she and McClain had been intimate the night before.

McClain snapped awake. “What the…? Who are you? What are you doing here? What time is it?”

“Shhh, easy, darlin’, one thing at a time,” Shannon drawled, wrapping her arms around McClain. “Don’t you remember me? From the Silver Star? You had a little…too much to drink last night, so I brought you home.”

McClain’s eyes went wide. He couldn’t remember anything about last night; yet here he was, undressed, with a strange woman in a silk nightie smiling at him. He looked worried.

“What time is it?” he stammered.

“It’s almost ten,” Shannon whispered. “You weren’t thinking of going anywhere, were you?”

“Ten? In the morning?! I’ve got to get to the office!” McClain jumped up and rushed into the bathroom to dress, then he poked his head around the corner again.

“Um, where’s my car?” he asked sheepishly.

“Out front where it belongs,” Shannon purred. “I drove it home for you. I hope you don’t mind.”

McClain said nothing about the car. He threw on his suit jacket and headed for the door.

“Aren’t you going to take me home, lover?” Shannon asked.

McClain took out his wallet and threw a handful of bills on the bed. “Take a cab…anywhere you want to go,” he grunted, and then disappeared.

Shannon grabbed her communicator as soon as she heard the sports car pull out of the parking lot.

“Grant,” she said, “McClain just left.”

Chapter 9

“Thanks, Shannon,” Grant acknowledged. “We’ll give him a little time to get settled, then Hank will give him a call.”

Grant turned to Jim. “So tell me about Ross,” he prodded.

Jim shrugged. “I met him about ten years ago – we ran a dozen or so missions together,” he began. “Security was his specialty. Professionally, he was an excellent agent. Personally, he just couldn’t keep it together.”

Jim frowned. “It wasn’t a secret that his life fell apart while he was with the IMF. First, his wife left him, then he started drinking and gambling. Too many debts led to bankruptcy, and too much alcohol caused him to get sloppy in the field. Eventually, the IMF relegated him to desk duty.”

It was Grant ‘s turn to frown. “But I don’t understand what all that has to do with you.”

Jim shrugged again. “I always thought he was a little jealous of me,” he ventured.

“Because you were a team leader?”

“Because I kept it together.”

“But is that enough to make him want to kill you?”

Jim’s bright blue eyes met Grant ‘s. “I don’t think he hates me exactly,” he answered quietly. “I think he hates everything IMF stands for.”

The door opened, and Max walked in.

“How’s Sam?” Jim inquired.

“He’ll be fine,” Max answered. “The bullet wasn’t very deep. They’re stitching him up and are going to keep him overnight for observation but he should be released in the morning.”

“That’s good news,” Jim smiled. “Sam is a good man. We’ve run a mission or two together.”

Grant smiled. Who hadn’t Jim worked with? he wondered absently to himself.

“If it hadn’t been for him, I’d have taken a bullet to the head,” Max muttered with a slight shudder, still clearly shaken by the day’s events.

Grant reached over to lay a hand on Max’s broad shoulder, saying nothing but watching his friend intently until Max finally flashed him a small grin. Only then did Grant relax slightly and turn to Jim.

“McClain should be in place by now,” he observed. “Time to give him a call.”

*******

“It’s about time you showed up, McClain!” rumbled Ross when his colleague finally reached the office twenty minutes later. “We’ve had some excitement this morning. Did you get my message?”

“No, what message?”

“That guard who started yesterday…Potter?…turned out to be a problem.”

“A problem?” McClain repeated, still not quite with it.

“Yeah. Same outfit as Patterson.”

“So what did you do about it?”

“He’s locked up in the shed with Patterson…for now. Waiting for their boss to show up.”

“Maybe I should go check on them,” McClain suggested, and started toward the door.

“That won’t be necessary, Mister McClain,” Nicholas as Stoya responded quickly. He couldn’t have McClain going to the shed and realizing that Max and Sam were gone and both of their officers were trussed up. “I just checked on them and everything is fine.”

“Right,” McClain acknowledged, and changed direction to walk towards his office. Nicholas breathed a sigh of relief and resumed his patrol.

Nicholas’ strategy while undercover as Stoya was to keep as low a profile as possible. To his pleasant surprise, that hadn’t proven too difficult. McClain and Ross seemed to each be caught up in their own affairs and barely spoke to one another or him.

*******

On his desk, McClain found a fax from his contact at the FBI. A quick glance at it, and he understood just why Hank Simpson wanted his help so badly. The man was damn good with money; specifically, cleaning other people’s money and making incriminating evidence disappear. But a years-long covert criminal investigation had collected a mountain of information against Simpson – enough proof to put him away permanently. And it was all stored on the FBI’s criminal database.

As if on cue, the telephone rang.

“McClain here.”

“Mister McClain, this is Hank Simpson. We met at the Silver Star last night?”

“Ah, yes, Mister Simpson. I was just reading this fax that our mutual friend sent over this morning.”

“Then you understand why I am desperate,” replied Jim.

“Yes, I do,” affirmed McClain. “But you know that the type of service you require…it won’t come cheaply.”

“I understand that, Mister McClain,” answered Jim, “but without it, I am finished. How much money will you require for your services?”

“Five hundred thousand dollars,” answered McClain smoothly.

“I can have it together in two hours,” Jim responded without missing a beat.

“It will take Mister Mitchell less time than that to do what he needs to do,” boasted McClain, “and, of course, we will provide proper verifications that the deed is done.”

“Shall we meet at noon, then?” Jim suggested, throwing a glance at Grant, who nodded in confirmation.

“Noon,” McClain agreed. “My office.”

*******

Jim clicked the receiver once to break the connection, then dialed his contact at the IMF. He gave a classified security code, and then advised his contact that Preston Ross was the IMF double agent.

“Give us till 11:30, then cut his access to the IMF database. We’ll take care of the rest.”

Once Jim ended the call, he smiled. “In less than two hours, both McClain and Ross will rue the day they messed with my team.”

Chapter 10

Shortly after Jim’s conversation with McClain, Grant intercepted a call meant for FBI consultant Steve Mitchell. Claiming that Mitchell wasn’t in at the moment, Grant promised to give him McClain’s message to “proceed as planned.”

A little while later, Grant faxed McClain a document showing no charges or evidence against Hank Simpson. McClain now had all he needed, and phase two of the con could begin.

It was 11:25 a.m. Grant gathered up the photographs of Jim with Nicholas as McClain and faxed them to Preston Ross’s attention.

Five minutes later, knowing that the IMF had cut Ross’ access to their personnel files, Grant picked up the phone and called McClain Consulting.

“Hello?” Bart McClain answered.

“I need to speak with your head of security,” Grant said smoothly, disguising his voice slightly so McClain wouldn’t recognize it from the previous call.

“Who’s calling?” McClain wanted to know.

“Todd Harmon,” Grant replied, “with the IMF.”

McClain recognized the acronym. “Just a moment,” he said, and transferred the call.

Ross heard the fax machine go off and got up from his desk to check it.

“What the hell is this?” he asked himself, gazing intently at the photographs in front of him. His partner, McClain, was standing in front of the Silver Star, schmoozing with…Jim Phelps?

He looked through the photographs again, to make sure he hadn’t made a mistake. His blood began to boil. What was going on? Was he being set up?

The ringing telephone shocked Ross out of his reverie. He answered the phone more abruptly than he’d intended.

“What!”

“Did you get my fax, Ross?” Grant asked.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Let’s just say I’m a concerned citizen,” Grant answered, “who thinks you need to know that your partner McClain is in cahoots with the IMF and they’re planning to shut you down.”

“How do you know about the IMF?” Ross demanded, too taken by surprise to worry about what he was disclosing.

“Why don’t you check the personnel files? Oh, that’s right, you can’t. McClain and Phelps saw to that.”

“What?”

“You should know that Mister Simpson…or, should I say, Mister Phelps…is on his way to meet with your partner to further discuss their strategy. I thought you might want to be there.”

Before Ross could respond, Grant hung up.

“Time to run,” he said to Jim, Max, and Shannon, who by this time had arrived back at base camp. “I have a date with the FBI.”

Grant gathered up his laptop and started out the door, then turned around to look back at his friends.

“Be careful, Jim,” he said soberly. “For whatever reason, this guy wants you dead.”

“Well, we’re not gonna let that happen,” vowed Max, as Shannon began to help Jim put the finishing touches on his wardrobe.

*******

For one shocked moment, Ross sat with the silent telephone at his ear. Then he replaced the receiver and hastily turned to his computer. The caller was wrong, of course. Nobody at the IMF suspected him. Of course, he still had access to the personnel files.

Ross tried to log on but was unsuccessful. He tried again. And again. It was no use. His access was gone.

Ross was livid. He opened the door to his office.

“Stoya!” he yelled.

Nicholas as Stoya came to the door. “Yes, sir?”

“McClain has a 12:00 appointment with a Mister Simpson,” Ross answered. “When he gets here, show him in…no need to bother with the usual formalities…and then let me know. I’m planning on joining the party.”

“Yes, sir,” Nicholas said again.

*******

It was a fifteen minute drive to FBI headquarters. Grant got out of the car, laptop in hand, and walked up to the front door.

“May I help you?” the receptionist asked.

“My name is Todd Harmon,” Grant replied. “I’m a private investigator. I have an appointment to see Shawn Cavanaugh.”

“Just a moment, Mister Harmon,” the lady responded. “I’ll tell him you’re here.”

A few moments later, a tall, African-American agent came to the lobby and greeted Grant with a firm, warm handshake. “Mister Harmon, nice to meet you. I’m Shawn Cavanaugh. Come on back.”

“I’ve dispatched my men as you requested, and they’re set up less than a mile from McClain Consulting,” Cavanaugh advised once they settled into his office, “so why don’t you show me what you’ve got?”

Grant produced the flash drive of the contents of Bart McClain’s computer that he’d told Cavanaugh about on the phone earlier that morning. As Cavanaugh viewed it, he whistled softly.

“There’s enough sensitive national and international information here to put him away for a very long time,” Cavanaugh stated. He reached for his radio, ready to give the orders to move in and arrest McClain, but Grant held up his hand.

“Wait, there’s more,” Grant said softly. “As you know, the bodies of four men were recently found less than five miles from McClain’s compound.” At a nod from Cavanaugh, he continued. “We have reason to believe that McClain has an accomplice, and that the two of them are responsible for those four deaths. They’ve set up a meeting with one of my operatives and are planning on making him their next victim.”

Cavanaugh’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “Oh, don’t worry,” he reassured the agent. “We’re a step ahead of him. There’ll be no murder, but there should be a good show.”

Grant opened his laptop, pushed the buttons which activated the remote cameras in McClain’s office, and glanced at his watch. It was 11:55.

“Keep watching,” Grant smiled. “It’s about to begin.”

*******

At two minutes to twelve, the black Escalade pulled into the parking lot of McClain Consulting. From the outside, it looked as if Hank Simpson had arrived alone, for no one could see Max and Shannon safely hidden in the backseat. He opened the passenger door, retrieved a large briefcase, and walked up to the front door of the firm.

Jim knocked on the door, and it opened immediately.

“May I help you, sir?” asked Nicholas as Stoya.

“Yes, my name is Hank Simpson,” Jim replied. “I have an appointment with Bart McClain.”

“Mister Simpson, yes, of course,” Nicholas answered. “We’ve been expecting you. Please, come in.”

Jim raised his eyebrows at Nicholas, the pre-arranged code asking if everything was set to pull off the con.

“Mister McClain is ready to see you,” Nicholas answered to confirm, “so I will show you right in.”

Once he had let Jim in McClain’s office, Nicholas knocked softly on Preston Ross’ door.

“Mister Ross,” he announced. “Mister Simpson is here. I just showed him to Mister McClain’s office.”

“Very good,” Ross smiled evilly. “Let’s go say hello.”

Chapter 11

“Mister Simpson,” greeted McClain, reaching out his hand. “It’s good to see you again.”

“And you as well,” replied Jim, accepting the handshake. “I trust the services I requested have been completed?”

“Absolutely,” replied McClain, and offered Jim the proper documentation. “And I trust that briefcase contains the service fee we spoke about.”

Jim nodded, and started to hand over the briefcase.

Just then, the door to McClain’s office burst open, and a red-faced Preston Ross burst in, followed closely behind by Nicholas, who was still in disguise.

“What is the meaning of this?” Ross exploded.

“Ross, what the hell are you talking about? Mister Simpson and I were just conducting a little business.”

“Mister Simpson?” Ross said condescendingly. “Don’t you mean Mister Phelps? With the IMF? And I know exactly what ‘business’ you are conducting. You’re trying to set me up!”

Jim raised his hand and opened his mouth to protest, but, at a signal from Ross, Nicholas as Stoya lifted his pistol from its holster and pointed it at Jim’s chest.

“Shut up and don’t move,” he growled.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ross!” McClain protested.

“Don’t you?” he retorted. “Then explain these!”

Ross threw the photographs of Jim and “McClain” down on the desk. McClain picked them up and stared at them, stymied.

“I swear, Preston, I don’t remember taking these-”

“Sure, you don’t,” jeered Ross. “I know what you two are doing. You’re planning on pinning the deaths of those four agents on me! But you forgot, McClain, you’re the one who gave me the orders to kill them!”

*******

“I’ve heard enough,” Cavanaugh growled. He reached for the radio. “Move in now, fellows. Repeat, move in now!”

*******

“You won’t get away with this, McClain!” Ross was yelling. “I will deal with you in a moment. First things first.”

He turned to Jim, “Mister Phelps,” he said with a cruel smile. “I finally have you right where I want you. Stoya,” he summoned, “kill him.”

Nicholas, still in his role, fired once at Jim’s chest. Blood spurted everywhere amidst McClain’s cries of protest. Jim fell to the floor and lay still.

“Very good,” sneered Ross through clenched teeth. Then he gazed at McClain. “Now get rid of this traitor!”

Just then, the door to McClain’s office burst open, and a trio of uniformed agents burst in, guns drawn. “FBI!” one of them barked. “Don’t move! You’re under arrest!”

In the fracas that followed, Jim got quickly to his feet and he and Nicholas exited the office.

“You okay?” Nicholas asked Jim as he jerked off his mask.

“I’m fine,” Jim answered. The bulletproof vest and blood bag had done their job.

“Say, where’d that other guy go? The trigger man?” asked one of the agents as he stuck his head out the door, clearly confused.

“You’ll find him and another guard locked in the green toolshed on the left side of the compound,” Jim answered, knowing he’d only added to the agent’s confusion, as he and Nicholas made their way out of the building and to the Escalade, where Max and Shannon were waiting.

*******

“I don’t suppose you were able to record what just happened,” said Cavanaugh with a knowing grin at Grant once the scene was secure and the four men had been arrested.

Grant pushed a few buttons on his laptop and provided Cavanaugh with a flash drive containing all the footage he’d just witnessed.

Cavanaugh smiled broadly at Grant. “Thank you, Mister Harmon. Or whatever your name is,” he added, as he and Grant shook hands.

“It was our pleasure,” Grant replied, as he folded up his laptop and turned to leave.

Chapter 12

Epilogue

“So Jim Phelps and his team take care of business once again,” smiled Sam Patterson, his arm in a sling, as he paused in the hospital parking lot to say goodbye to his new friends. “You always were one hell of a leader.”

“I always had one hell of a team,” Jim responded, returning the smile. “Perhaps the two of us will work together again someday.”

“I’d like that,” Sam replied. “It sure was good to meet all of you, and thanks again for the rescue.”

Sam clasped each team member’s hand with his left one, since his right was fouled by the sling. Max, in turn, reached out his hand, and the handshake lingered.

“I’ll never forget what you did,” Max said softly, recalling the moment when Sam was shot. “I owe you my life.”

“You’d have done the same,” Sam said with a grin and a half-shrug, “because you’re a part of IMF, and we all take care of one another.”

Max knew Sam was right, and he grinned back at his new friend.

“Of course, we can’t bring back the four agents we lost,” Sam continued, his face sobering, “but, thanks to you guys, McClain and Ross won’t be hurting anyone ever again.”

“So what’s next for you?” Jim asked his friend.

“Well, of course, with this bum arm I’ve been relegated to desk duty for a while.” Sam’s smile was back. “But it’s not all bad. The Secretary has asked me to fill the security officer position that used to belong to Preston Ross.”

“That’s great!” said Grant sincerely.

“So, if there’s ever anything I can do to help you guys out, please let me know.”

“Count on it,” smiled Max.

Sam turned and took a few steps toward his waiting vehicle, then turned back around to face the team.

“Be safe out there, guys,” he cautioned, “and keep taking care of each other.”

Then he watched as Jim and his four new friends piled into the Escalade and drove away.

The End.

(c) 2016