9

Blaze of Glory

Waking up to find that the whole nightmare had been a dream, that would have been good. Ethan wished it was true.

Unfortunately, this didn't seem to be the case. He was in a lot of pain, which at least indicated that he was probably still alive. His temple was throbbing where Darter had hit him, and he could feel blood oozing slowly down his face. In addition to that, his feet didn't seem to be in contact with the floor. He was hanging from what felt like a rope, tied to his hands, and it was cutting into his wrists.

All in all, he had felt better.

He still hadn't opened his eyes. There are a few things that need to be established when a person comes round after being unconscious. Number one: who am I? Ethan felt sure that he was still Ethan Hunt. Two, am I still alive? Again, the answer seemed to be yes. So that left one other question, which Ethan couldn't answer. So he said it aloud. "Where am I?"

"You are in a small room, below decks, on the starboard side of the Lacerta. Your arms have been bound with rope, and you have then been tied to a thick pipe running across the ceiling. You are approximately four feet above the floor. Is that precise enough? I know how you spies have to find out every last detail."

That voice… it sounded familiar. And yet it was oddly distorted. And now Ethan could hear something else – something that didn't fit at all with the scenario described.

It was the unmistakeable clatter of cutlery.

Deciding he couldn't put it off any longer, he opened his eyes. He immediately wished he hadn't.

There was some sort of demonic apparition in front of him. It looked humanoid, apart from the face.

It was a face from Hell. The skin was warped and blistered, and an angry red colour. Patches of it had bubbled and peeled away, exposing the muscle beneath. This too was burnt and was blackened in parts. One eye was half-closed, the eyebrow above it burnt off completely. And the hair was clearly supposed to be blond and spiky, but areas of it were bald, and what was left had been singed black at the tips. Ethan considered himself very lucky that his own pain would be temporary – this man's was permanent.

And then the creature spoke again. "So, you are awake at last, Mr Hunt."

And now Ethan recognised the voice. It still sounded a bit odd, since the mouth that spoke it was badly damaged. But that meant that this person was…

"Salamander?"

There was a snigger from behind Wray. As he turned round, Ethan saw that Wray was in front of a small table that had been set for four. The seat at the head, facing Ethan, was empty – presumably where Salamander had been sitting. To the left, Morgan Darter and Maxwell Vane sat side by side. And on the other side was a man Ethan had never met, yet he looked vaguely familiar. Bizarrely, the table was laden with all sorts of expensive-looking dishes. There were steaming plates of something, a large tureen of things that were possibly potatoes, a gravy boat, a bottle of red wine, plus other food that Ethan didn't know. It looked very out of place in this small cabin that was lit only by the light coming in through the single porthole.

It was the newcomer that had laughed. Wray shot him a look of pure venom. The man quickly fell silent and took a gulp of wine, avoiding Wray's wrathful gaze.

Turning back to Ethan, Wray said, "I prefer Seymour Wray, if it's all the same to you."

Wray returned to his seat. "Now you undoubtedly have some questions."

Ethan nodded. "For a start, I'd like to know why you changed your appearance again. You looked better as the greasy lizard we all knew."

Wray casually picked up his knife. He stood up again, and walked over to Ethan. Leaning very close, he said, "You are not in a position to make jokes, Mr Hunt. I'd advise you to be quiet." And with that, he drove the knife into Ethan's thigh.

Ethan gasped. As if he wasn't in enough pain already.

"I am going to make you suffer, Ethan," said Wray, removing the knife. This time, he plunged it into Ethan's arm. "I can stab the heart next," he whispered.

And then, quite suddenly, he stepped back. He returned to his seat, leaving the knife sticking out of Ethan's arm.

"But why would I do that, when we have so much to talk about?" he said, smiling. "I want you to understand the sort of man I am. Then, you will know why you never had a chance against me."

"Do you mind if I smoke?" asked the other man.

Wray looked at him. "Not now. Wait until we're outside."

Ethan noted that the man was American. And then, with a jolt, he suddenly remembered where he had seen him before.

"You're Thomas Troy!" he exclaimed.

Salamander raised his hand for silence. "Yes, Ethan. But Tom only comes into my story at the end. Let me tell you the whole thing."

He leaned back, and began talking. "I'm sure you don't want to know about where I was born, and so forth. My life only became interesting about two and a half years ago, when my good friend Max Vane," here he nodded at Vane, "rang me up one day and told me that he had made a discovery. Working for Pyrostar, he had studied one of the most powerful forces on Earth – a firestorm. An enormous blaze that cannot be controlled, and is only contained because it consumes the oxygen around it too quickly for it to spread. Max theorised that it was possible to create such a thing artificially.

"Naturally, I was interested. If I could have a weapon like that, nothing could stop me! So we made a plan. While he continued ostensibly working for Pyrostar, I disguised myself as the most disgusting creature imaginable and joined IMF. After all, looks aren't important. While he built Firestorm, I waited. And then, a short time before the weapon was finally ready, I met Morgan Darter. In a wildly misguided effort, he was trying to kill me. I showed him the error of his ways, and then recruited him to do my bidding.

"When Firestorm was actually finished, the whole plan came together easily. Max and Darter stole it, and burned all evidence of it. They also killed all those who knew about the weapon. The next step involved you, Ethan. Hiring two Russian mercenaries to act as guards, I arranged a fake meeting between you and myself, disguised as Vladimir Petravich. The day before the meeting, I had Petravich killed so he couldn't interfere by accident. Then I treated you to a demonstration of the power of Firestorm. I left you convinced that the Russian Mafiya were to blame. So, while you chased after them, I could get on with manufacturing more Firestorm, at the Archangel facility.

"I quickly realised that you were unwilling to believe the Mafiya were behind it. So, when you went to LA, I called Darter and told him to kill you. He failed."

Wray paused, and looked at Darter. Darter shrugged.

Taking up the narrative again, Wray went on, "Nevertheless, I continued with my plan. I had the staff at Archangel killed, and transferred all the equipment to the Lacerta, where we could continue making Firestorm. Deciding to finally abandon my role as an IMF agent, since you were close to discovering me, I made a last-ditch effort to kill you at the ice rink. However, that too failed, and left me considerably worse off. It drove me to advance my plan a lot faster than I intended.

"I had a meeting with some of the top criminals in the world, with the intention of offering them the use of Firestorm – for a price. They were impressed by the demonstration, but requested that I chose a less flammable target than a farmhouse. This was exactly what I had hoped for, as I already had a target in mind. It was simple – IMF headquarters. In one move, I could remove everyone who knew I was behind the Firestorm theft.

"So I constructed a larger missile, and it is here – on the Lacerta. It is ready to fire at any given moment. But I had to deal with you first. So I asked Tom Troy to do me a special favour – namely, to lead you to me. He did his job admirably. When we saw your boat approaching, I sent Darter out on a jet ski to capture you. Sadly, Darter failed again. Sean Crain and Luther Stickell are still alive – they escaped.

"But at least I have you. So I will let you suffer for a while, watching us eat delicious food, and then, I will kill you." Wray toasted Ethan with his glass, as did the others. Troy downed the drink in one go, but none of the others touched it.

Ethan's mind was racing. Of course, he was considerably distracted by the knife that was still embedded in his arm. But if Luther and Sean were still alive, then maybe there was a chance.

The door opened. A man dressed in uniform came in, and whispered something in Wray's ear. Wray stood up. "It would seem," he said, grinning (and when he did so, it gave a whole new meaning to "twisted smile"), "Firestorm is ready ahead of schedule. If you will excuse me, Ethan, I have to go and kill all your work colleagues. But I will be back."

Wray exited the room, followed by all the others.

Ethan was in big trouble. How could he get out of this one?

"Ten million dollars, as agreed," said Wray, handing over a very heavy suitcase. Troy took it, weighed it in his hand, and then said, "No, you keep it. I know how it goes. You give me that, and pretty soon it will blow up and kill me, saving you a lot of money. You know my account number, pay me electronically. It will let me live dream. I'm not going to fade from this world; I'm going out in a blaze of glory!"

"As you wish," replied Salamander, helping him into a speedboat. Vane and Darter were watching.

"Goodbye, Mr Troy. You were most useful." Wray nodded to Darter, who pressed a button. Like a cannon, the speedboat shot forward and over the edge. It flew down and finally landed in the water. Troy turned back, and waved. He started up the engine.

Wray looked round at Vane. "It would seem you are correct, Max."

Troy was speeding away now. He took a moment to extract a cigar from his pocket, and lit it.

Smoking kills. It killed Thomas Troy. The man was no longer a man, but a ball of fire. He simply went from human to flame in no time at all. Then, with a bang, both he and the boat disappeared.

Wray laughed softly. "He was right. He did go out in a blaze of glory. You were correct, Max. Firestorm is not toxic to humans. He was able to drink three glasses of it, mixed with the red wine, but he didn't notice until he breathed his alcoholic breath on the lighter."

Wray now rubbed his hands a little too gleefully to be sane, and said, "Now, I need to sort out Luther and Sean. They shouldn't be too much trouble as they won't recognise me. Darter, load up another boat with weapons. I'm going into town to find and kill the other IMF agents. Meanwhile, Max, I want you to start the countdown for Firestorm. The sooner, the better. And that only leaves Hunt." Wray held out his hand. Getting the message, Darter handed him a gun.

"Since it is no longer necessary to waste time, I've had my fun. So Max, you prepare Firestorm. Darter, you load up a boat. And I will kill Ethan Hunt."