Disclaimer: The following story is based on characters from the Pretender series. No copyright infringement is meant and no money is being made.

Author's note: It's been awhile since I've last posted. And I've been writing this story since I finished the last one. Rest assured, this story isn't a continuation of Time to Consider—which turned out to be much longer than I had originally intended. This story is something new, a bit of a cross-over as the title suggests (though the characters from Mission Impossible are drawn from the story format, they are mostly from my imagination). Also, note that as the title suggests I am using that show's format and premise as well however, I am using the TV format of a group endeavor rather than what the movies suggests, IMHO, is essentially an Americanized version of James Bond. I hope that everyone who does me the honor of reading it truly enjoys it!

Mission Impossible
(Well…maybe not for me)

The Centre
Blue Cove, DE

The meeting was as impromptu as it was unwelcome. First the Triumvirate's golden boy, who invested his very life and reputation on the project, entered pleading his case and complaining bitterly about the doctor assigned to verify his results. The second man entered the Chairman's office while the first was in full tirade. He wore an irritated expression which quickly changed to disdainful loathing when he spotted the "golden boy" already standing in front of the large desk. Raines had invested a great deal of his own reputation and a depressingly large amount of dwindling favors to see this thing through. Surprisingly, he was still being met with insistent dissenting pressure from those within the corporation. The truly depressing part was his own growing skepticism. Too much was riding on the success of an unproven therapy. For him, this whole situation was a lot like placing the last of your rent money on a racetrack long-shot.

The room wasn't particularly cheerful but held a discretely expensive odor of wealth and power—probably a hold over from Mr. Parker's days. However, considering the dour personage sitting with the windows to his back, cheerful would never be the first word on any visitor's mind. Standing before the Chairman's desk, the second visitor took in the chairman's measure wondering why the success of this particular project had grown to be so important. Normally, questionable medical ethics didn't bother him. It was an accepted belief that medical research was the bedrock upon which most of today's cures were based. Research was one thing, useless waste was another. Witnessing the tearful testimonials given by the bereaved while helping at his father's mortuary taught him that lesson. This current medical experiment was a perfect example of such misuse. It was too reckless, too experimental and had suffered too many horrific setbacks that even his extremely small sense of morality had been hit in the bulls-eye by such wasteful extravagance. More was needed on every level of the scientific method before anyone should even start to contemplate any sort of live trials. Yet here they were behaving like depraved children trying some lethal cocktail on unsuspecting victims and waiting eagerly to see what the effects would be. Squandering subjects because you could was beyond ridiculous; it undermined the validity of the scientific method and drastically, if prematurely reduced the pool of potential guinea pigs. The principal subject of this experiment also made him raise an eyebrow. In Dr. Cox's view, if something wasn't broke, why bother fixing it?

Raines was a heavy man, both psychologically as well as physically. However despite the muted lighting, the outside sunlight shined gently on his bald dome but did nothing to soften his corruptly desiccated features. His cold eyes slid towards the first doctor as a sign to continue his report.

"Project Revival has commenced. We've checked and rechecked the research to insure the correct dosages have been administered. There's nothing to worry about, everything is going smoothly," Dr. Thackary reported with firm confidence.

"Is that what you told the last victim you had in this country? I think she would strenuously disagree," Cox stated with heavy sarcasm.

"That incident taught me a great deal. What occurred was unfortunate but great strides have been made since then," the other argued dismissively.

"I'm sure the cancer patient you so-called "cured" would wonder how many strides you made before her particular debacle. Using an unproven therapy, assisted by a cocktail of drugs never dreamed of by the FDA, much less your fellow geneticists and whose side-effects converted your straight-laced patient into a free-lancing gang whore would make a very interesting counter-indication in the TV ad." Cox leaned to one side and holding his hands up like brackets to emphasize his point, he continued, " 'And for women—don't take at all if you have any illusions of keeping your legs closed for several seconds, could induce spontaneous bouts of nymphomania. Men, dump the Viagra you're on your way to becoming a serial rapist.'"

"Doctor, you sound as insensibly maudlin as my former colleagues. I was told that the Centre employed more forward thinking and innovative-minded staff. I was obviously misinformed."

"Gentlemen, this is all a moot point since the therapy has already begun. How has stage 1 progressed so far?" Raines interrupted impatiently.

"Yes, well a mild anesthetic was released into the office, giving us free access to the subject for the early round of injections. I've revised my initial estimates and believe the soonest we'll have any preliminary results is several days. Once the results have been verified, we'll press ahead with Phase two of the therapy. It's important to immediately follow up with Phase 2 at this point or the treatment's efficacy will be adversely affected. The only risk will be in sedating the subject at least three more times."

"I want Dr. Cox to closely monitor this project from start to finish. If you can convince an entrenched skeptic like him then there will be no question as to the validity of your technique. Still, some of the side-effects are unsettling to say the least and the repercussions will be devastating if this project backfires on us."

"So far the treatment is proceeding according to schedule," the doctor said confidently. "Having my work double-checked by a certified OB/GYN is extremely insulting. He's not a geneticist. It takes years to understand and appreciate the minute details and exacting procedures I've spent most of my life perfecting," Dr. Thackery stated casting Cox a disparaging glance.

Raines had heard these same arguments from both men ad nauseum. "Dr. Cox has proven to be very…versatile. I'm confident he will have no trouble keeping up with you on the science. He has nothing to prove here whereas you do. Explain to us exactly how did you get the therapy to work?"

Repressing any outward signs of impatience or irritation, Thackery gave a brief summary of the procedure. "Once the project scope was explained along with the desired results, we realized early on that my gene therapy would be the best way to go. According to our models, the subject is a perfect candidate. Once sedated, we began the therapy with a microinduction of carefully prepared serum. This will be a two-pronged approach. First, we started with a micro-induction using liposomes coated in PEG, and then the more conventional viral vector will follow. The second shouldn't produce any immediate effects—not until an additional exposure. The first method should give us an early indicator of its effectiveness.

"As I've said before, I would've preferred employing the liposomes alone. I'm certain it would be not only effective but safer for the subject, however, I can definitely understand the efficacy of the failsafe."

"It's no wonder our bosses in Africa wanted a failsafe—given your spotless record. Have you ever had an unqualified success using this therapy? Without all the colorful side-effects?"

"The science has been checked and double-checked. What we're doing here is a little off topic for the procedure but should be as effective as it is in curing cancer. The main hurdle is that in dealing with cancer or a physical ailment, there are measurable results—here I'm a bit uncertain. As outlined in my original proposal, the side-effects have been mostly negated by making a few key adjustments. I was told that you have some way of verifying the results but I haven't been told how exactly."

Both Raines and Cox silently listened to the scientist's obfuscation. It was a simple, straightforward question. Even Raines' forehead wrinkled at the non-answer. Thackary stared at them with polite defiance because their objections and fears didn't matter. This experiment was a Triumvirate directive and there was no way around it.

"That's why I'm here—to see if there are any results," Cox responded heavily. "Before we get ahead of ourselves, I'll need your help to draw up a series of benchmarks designed to measure your progress. I'm sure there are a bevy of symptoms that should serve us well. And we definitely want to make sure the subject is fully prepared before entering phase 3."

Refusing to acknowledge his skeptical colleague, Thackery continued, "This is an extremely sensitive project. Neither he nor I should have any unnecessary contact with the subjects. If they should become aware of what we are doing then any objective observation would become pointless."

Cox whipped his eyes in the direction of Thackery and narrowed his focus unhappily. Something new had been added to the mix. "I completely agree. Keeping a high level of confidentiality would be wise after all, the subject is no fool and we already know what the results are on a bible-thumping, dumb bunny, now don't we, doctor?" The tone Cox used suggested that he was only humoring the other in using the title.

"At least there's something you two agree on. That will be all Dr. Thackery. Please keep me updated on your progress," Raines commanded coolly.

Thackery understood the unsubtle order for him to leave, which he did thankfully. Though the Chairman on the surface seemed on-board with the project, he too often allowed Cox's narrow thinking and skepticism to sway him. In his weekly report, Thackery planned to advise his Triumvirate contact of this useless but growing resistance—that ought to shut them up once and for all.

Cox waited for the heavy door to close behind a man he felt was no better than a snake oil salesman and a bad one at that. He allowed a carefully polite pause to pass before asking the loaded question, "Sir, excuse me but did I hear him correctly? Did he just say subjects?"

Californian coast

The waves pounded majestically against the rocks and sand. Staring out at the surrounding area, the view was breathtaking. With a calculated pause, the slender, dark-haired man nodded to himself and walked back up the hill and towards the main boulevard. Soon he was inside an overly stylish fitness center. No one glanced at him twice as he walked through. His clothes, bearing and sureness of movement ensured that no one would find him either overly interesting or approachable. The quiet emptiness of the men's dressing room greeted him as he glanced around to make sure no one had followed him. Drawing a key out of his pocket, he strolled past four cubicle sets of identically designed lockers until he reached the last U-shaped row with its low continuous wooden bench. The key fit unerringly in one of the top tier of lockers and there he found it full of clothing. He removed an ultra-slim cell phone that was nestled inside an interior breast pocket of a brand name suit. Casually exiting, he returned to the beach, removed the cell phone's battery—memorizing the 10-digit number inscribed on the underside, inserted a sim card and reassembled the phone. Using a heavily encrypted Bluetooth earphone and dialing the number provided, he then accessed the phone's photo gallery, displayed the first picture and settled in to listen.

"Good morning, Mr. Thorne. This is Dr. Floyd Thackary, an extremely talented scientist whose early successes in the field of gene therapy research exposed a lack of moral ethics that urged him to push beyond the restraints of his Hippocratic Oath and the law. Formally employed by a prestigious university's research hospital, his breakthrough discoveries were permanently tarnished by horrific and unauthorized human experimentation which resulted in devastating side-effects that permanently scarred and in some cases killed his patients. He fled the country one step ahead of several federal indictments.

"Thackery has obtained an unlikely sponsor, a Mr. William Raines, who is the current chairman of a protected corporation called the Centre; a research and development concern that has assisted this government on numerous occasions and in a variety of capacities. We are aware that the Chairman has managed to smuggle Dr. Thackery back into this country and is providing him sanctuary, thus abusing our non-interference agreement.

"Dr. Thackery is currently employed by a shadowy West African consortium called the Triumvirate. This Triumvirate is financially backing the doctor's research and has no regard for the cost in human lives and suffering that the doctor's incessant experimentation demands. This consortium also exerts an unusual hold on the Centre that continues to encroach on the government's relationship with the corporation.

"Your mission, Jarod, should you decide to accept it, is to obtain proof of Dr. Thackery's current unauthorized human experimentation. Discredit his research and physically deliver him to the federal authorities.

"As always, should any of your IM force be caught or killed, the Secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions. This number will deactivate and the files will be erased as soon as you disconnect. Good luck, Jarod."

Team 4 Headquarters
Dearborn, MI

They were on the 6th floor of a non-descript brick-faced industrial building, located deep within the business district. Inside, the southwest facing offices were furnished in modern chic. Every aspect of the 'conference room' gave the impression of an upscale living room instead of what it actually was—an operations briefing room. Gathered in the comfortable, almost plush setting were 4 people. Each member of the group had a particular field of expertise and all held advanced degrees including one PhD. They waited in subdued silence for Control to show up with their newest assignment. Unbeknownst to the group, this mission was going to be a very different. One member of the group had received additional, confidential orders from their bosses, bypassing Control, which was highly unusual.

"I think so much planning went into the Montenegro Op that all the fun was taken out of it."

"What exactly do you mean by fun?" the lone woman in the group asked with raised eyebrows.

"Some spontaneity, an element of danger, a call for improvisation, you know what I mean, even my damn radio worked and you know how rarely that happens," Geoff answered with a slight smile. He was only half joking. Their last Control was the master of the dropped ball, the missed detail. It was a testament to their unit's ability and individual skills that none of them had died as a result. Fortunately their current Control didn't have that particular weakness.

"Haven't you ever heard of the old saying, 'Be careful of what you wish for—you just might get it'?" the engineer of the unit inquired with suave humor. He knew Geoff's argument was his way of voicing approval for their current Control.

"Barney, I think Geoff needs to spend a little more time behind the scenes. A lot of hard work went into making sure that Op went off without a hitch. It's only because Bucharest was such a huge success that we've been put into play so often. Frankly, a vacation should be in order after this assignment," Jonas said languidly as he stretched his well-honed physique along the couch, slyly enjoying the woman's admiration of him.

The woman openly appreciated the view Jonas provided her. "Well, I'm sure our fearless leader will keep things interesting. But I have to partially agree with Geoff, a little more action would be welcome. As Shakespeare once wrote, "the best laid plans of mice and men, often go astray." A little adlibbing is always good for the soul."

"If it's action that you want, then this assignment ought to satisfy everyone's craving."

Making his entrance, the covert group's Control strolled into the room and looked at each member of his team. He would need to tap into their skills more than he had ever before. He sensed their trusting eyes on him and felt well rewarded. He had worked very hard to earn that trust and with such a talented group the earning had been very tricky. They were very much like him, pretenders in their own right, perhaps not as thoroughly trained as he, but pretenders just the same working to right some of the wrongs perpetrated by the few on the unsuspecting many. He smiled tightly as he thought about exposing them to the worst of worst when it came to villains.