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. Please read and review!

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 a floppy disk 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 Land Rover 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."