Title: Higher Stakes
Chapter title: Through Devil's Eyes
Summary: A breach in the IMF sets Brandt up against an enemy from the past. It is a dangerous game, and the price of losing may not only cost Brandt his life, but it could mean the end for the entire IMF.
Note: Hi!
This is my first attempt to make a Mission Impossible fanfic. And I've tried to keep every fact true and accurate (like protocols, and stuff like that), and I think it is a bit hard, considering the films don't show much on how they operate in such situations … Or maybe they do, and I haven't been listening. Oh well, I've tried my best! So I hope you will enjoy this story! :D
Btw; all of the chapter names are song-titles from the band Two Steps from Hell. They make awesome instrumental-music. If you are one of those who haven't heard them, do so! It's worth it! And if you are one of those who have; then you know what I'm talking about! ;)
This is a Brandt-centric story, but it features the whole team.
Updates will be made once or twice a week :)
Disclaimer: I do not own Mission: Impossible or anything related thereto … unfortunately.
Enjoy!
"Nothing is as new as something which has been long forgotten"
Location: Egypt.
The dry Egyptian air flowed through the windowless frames and played with the torn pieces of fabric that hardly qualified to being called curtains. It warmed up the small house (it was actually more of an old shack, than a house) to such extent that they worried the computers would break down at any minute.
IMF-agent Ethan Hunt sat by a worn kitchen table and was cleaning his gun calmly. Benji Dunn sat on the sofa by the far end of the room, staring at the computer screen in front of him, clicking away on the keyboard. Jane Carter was taking a much needed shower, after getting up close and personal with a world-class playboy.
And William Brandt was several miles away, getting a hold on a microchip that they needed for their latest mission.
The weather was hot and the only thing that was worse than the inside temperature was the outside temperature. So, even as IMF-agents, they didn't want to overheat themselves if it wasn't necessary.
It wasn't a complicated mission. But that didn't mean it was easy, though Ethan might have gone so far to say so. He certainly wouldn't except any form for delay on this one.
So his anxiety went sky-high when a knock came on the wooden door. Benji and Jane, who had come out of the bathroom with her damp hair plastered tight to her head, weren't expecting the knock either, as they looked up and locked their eyes with Ethan's. If it was Brandt, he wouldn't have knocked.
So Ethan placed an ammo clip in his gun and held it ready as he neared the door. Benji stood up and took out his gun, while Jane picked up hers from a small shelf and both agents aimed the barrels at the door.
Ethan leaned against the door and listened for any sound of weapons. There was nothing but silence and the faint sound of a running engine. "Yeah?" he called out.
"Agent Ethan Hunt?" a male voice asked from outside.
"Depends on who's asking."
"Agent Johnson, IMF Headquarters," the voice said.
Ethan knew better than to just open the door with a greeting smile, but since the door didn't have a peep-hole, he had no choice but to open it. But he trusted his team to be his back-up in case it was a trap.
Slowly he opened up, ever so slightly, and peeked out, gun ready to fire. He was met with credentials that resembled more an FBI-badge than IMF. Maybe it was because the IMF wasn't really supposed to exist to anyone other than the agents involved. So it wasn't everyday you saw badges with IMF-identifications on it.
On the badge was the name 'Agent Oliver Johnson" along with a picture of a man who looked to be in his late-thirties. His short black hair was flat, his chin clean-shaven, and his green eyes looked lazily into the camera lens that had taken the picture. When Ethan raised his eyes he stared into the same man on the picture, only his hair was messier and sticking out in some places. He was dressed in a black suit, and his normally blank shoes were already covered in sand.
Ethan let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding.
He opened the door some more so that the agent outside could enter. "Don't just stand there and look pretty, then. You're drawing unwanted attention to yourself and us," Ethan muttered. Johnson quickly walked into the shack and Ethan closed the door slowly, after taking a quick survey of the streets, making sure no one had noticed.
He turned around to face Jane and Benji who were eyeing the new person in the room suspiciously. "Oliver Johnson, IMF-headquarters," he quickly introduced, as he placed his weapon back on the kitchen table from where he took it. Out of his hands, but still within reach if he should need it.
Jane was the one who broke the silence that had enveloped the small house. "To what do we owe the pleasure, agent Johnson?" Her voice was thick with suspicion and with a hint of disbelief. To her, those kind of visits from HQ normally meant bad news. She hadn't experienced anything good come out of those yet … not that she had been involved in many yet.
"I need to speak with Agent Brandt."
"Well, he isn't here at the moment. He should arrive any minute though," Jane answered coolly.
"Two minutes and twenty-four seconds to be exact," Benji put in, speaking for the first time since Johnson entered the room. He had seated himself again, staring at the screens.
"What do you want with agent Brandt?" Ethan asked.
Johnson sighed and put his hands in his suit pockets. "There was a breach in the IMF Headquarters' computers yesterday morning. It was minor, and we managed to seal it within seconds. However … the small details the perpetrators did manage to get away with were information, sore information, about certain ops."
"What kind of information?" Jane asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.
Johnson turned to her: "Alias's, locations, personal information about the agents involved."
"And they got Brandt's file?" Ethan tried to clarify. He eyed the agent before him. Nothing went unnoticed: The way he held himself high, the way his fingers never twitched or tried to fiddle with whatever they could get in contact with and his calm gaze that studied every living being in the room. Ethan got somewhat restless, his senses tickling slightly. Something wasn't right.
"Some of it, yes. They took a certain interest in an operation called "Operation Snowstorm," Johnson leaned his shoulder against the wall to his right, looking like he didn't have a care in the world. Ethan would have thought the agent simply didn't care, if it wasn't for his lightly faster-than-normal breathing. Something was defiantly not right.
"Do you believe he is in danger?" he asked. His rising concern for his agent matched his desire to see this agent's response.
"We don't know yet. But it's best to take precautions," Johnson simply replied.
Just as Benji had said, Brandt stalked trough the door precisely two minutes and twenty-four seconds later, looking slightly sweaty, carrying a suitcase in his right hand, which he placed on the kitchen table. He looked at the three other agents in the room with a questioning gaze.
"Is this some sort of secret intervention? In that case I think it could wait until we are done here," he said lightly, his eyes not leaving the stranger that hadn't been there when he left.
Johnson lifted himself off the wall and once again held up his credentials. "Agent Johnson, IMF-headquarters."
Brandt turned his head slightly sideways and squinted at the man before him. "Okay and what is going on?"
"You have to report back at HQ, until further notice."
"What? Why?" Brandt asked, looking puzzled.
"'Operation Snowstorm' has been compromised, agent Brandt."
Brandt froze up completely; even his breathing seemed to stop.
Ethan, seeing the uncertainty crossing over Brandt's face, walked up next to his team mate. "But as even the secretary knows, we have an on-going mission that is a matter of national security."
Johnson turned an icy glare towards the older IMF-agent.
"Every mission is a matter of national security." He then turned back to Brandt. "Listen to me agent: Agent Williams has been killed…"
Brandt's eyes turned big and every muscle in his body tensed up, but Johnson didn't seem to notice. Either that or he just didn't care. "It isn't safe for you to walk around in the streets."
"Since when does the IMF care about personal safety?" Jane quipped in.
Johnson didn't answer at first, nor did he get the chance, as Brandt spoke up, his voice silent but demanding. "Are you absolutely sure about this?"
"Yes. I'll bring you up to speed on our way back, but the sooner you get off the streets, the sooner you can get back on them again."
"Then let's go," Brandt said and turned around to find his bag, seeing it was where he had dumped it.
"Are you sure?" Ethan asked as he followed him. He hadn't missed the smirk that had seemed to spread over Johnson's face when Brandt had agreed. But it disappeared before Ethan had a chance to figure out what the smirk had meant.
Brandt packed the small amount of things he had with him into his bag and slung it over his shoulder. "Yeah, it'll be fun," he mumbled, his tone showing he didn't believe his own words. "The microchip is in the suitcase. It should be able to take down Mahmoud," he continued as he walked towards the door, where agent Johnson waited.
"Hey," Ethan called.
Brandt turned around, his eyes showing the bit of fear the rest of his body didn't.
"Just be careful."
Brandt's mouth twisted into a small smile. "Just take those bastards down. I didn't lay my ass on the line for you guys to go shrew it up."
With that he followed agent Johnson out of the door and it closed behind him, cutting off the shining sun.
Location: Egypt.
Mahmoud Masarti had been too naïve. Maybe it was because most people didn't live to meet him face to face to strike a deal. When Ethan had showed up with a fancy looking suitcase, containing a microchip, Mahmoud had called it a deal. They had exchanged money and what he thought was top-secret codes, they had a team to move in and take down Mahmoud and his men with a blink of an eye. It was over within minutes. With the treat taken down so easily, it made Ethan wonder why there had been sent four agents instead of one. Of course the planning and getting the microchip had been the difficult part and everyone had had to work together.
They had called it a day, and went back to their small house to pack up their stuff. An hour after they had arrived, Ethan's phone rang. Puzzled, the agent stopped stuffing his clothes into the duffel bag, and looked at the screen. 'Restricted number'
"Mr. Secretary?" Ethan asked when he picked up. He didn't know anyone else who knew the numbers to his phone AND called with a restriction.
"Agent Hunt. I trust you have been briefed about the current situation," the Secretary's voice said. No formal introductions, no greeting of any kind … Just straight to the point as always.
"We have."
"Then Agent Brandt should have checked in by now. Why hasn't he?"
Ethan swallowed the horrible feeling he had had in his stomach since he let Johnson inside the house. "I wouldn't know. Agent Johnson picked him up …"
"Agent Johnson? I send agent Brandt's former team leader, agent Williams. Involving any other agent would prove too dangerous."
"I'm sorry what?" Ethan couldn't believe his own ears. Had they, Brandt's own team, just sent him into the hellfire?
"Agent Johnson isn't supposed to be anywhere near this matter. The breach is only for the ears of those involved in 'Operation Snowstorm'."
"Then how does Johnson know about it?" Ethan demanded. He wanted answers. He wanted to know how one of the most secret agencies in the world managed to get breached and loose an agent all in the matter of days, and not one knew what was going on.
"The breach could only have happened from the inside. So it's possible Johnson has played a hand in all of this."
"I need to know everything about 'Operation Snowstorm'."
"I can't do that, Ethan. At this point, I don't know who is involved."
"So we just sit here and do nothing?"
"I'm sorry, Ethan …"
Hunt just hung up and placed the phone on his table. He glared at the device with such hatred, as if the entire blame fell on the phone and he wanted to break it for being so dumb.
Location: Unknown.
The small dripping of leaking pipes were the first thing that reached his senses. The small sound of water that landed on the ground every few seconds was almost enough to lull him back into the darkness where he came from.
But just before he retrieved, a hot stinging pain shot over his cheek. His eyes shot open. A dull headache lurked in his skull, and the slap he had just received did nothing to ease it away. All of his senses slowly returned and he noticed more and more about his surroundings. The ground he was sitting on was hard and uncomfortable. As were his wrists and ankles and they refused to move when he asked them to. Confused his looked down. He wasn't sitting on the ground, he was sitting in a wooden chair and his hands were bound to the arm rests and his ankles were secured to the chair's two front legs.
The room he was in was windowless as far as he could tell, and the walls were gray and decayed. Spider webs filled the top corners, while the bottom corners were filled with sandy dust. It stank of sand mixed with rotting wood. A smell Brandt's nose did not appreciate.
It was only when he had inspected his surroundings that he felt a presence in the room. He knew someone had to be there. Unless he had imagined the slap. The headache he was sporting could certainly lend a helping hand with that.
He looked up and saw a man standing in front of him, eyeing him up like a lion would a lamb. It wasn't just any man. It was Agent Johnson, his lips forming into an arrogant smile.
"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty."
Uh-oh. Our little Brandt is in a bit of a pickle. There you have the first chapter. I hope you liked it. If you did, review. If not … review anyway! I love reviews! Really … I do. I really, really do! :D