10

Countdown

Ethan felt certain he was going to die. There didn't seem to be any way out of this situation. It was not a nice feeling.

From his position he could see the ocean out the porthole, and was witness to the demise of the unfortunate Thomas Troy. Wray was clearly a psychotic madman, and Ethan was under no illusions. When Salamander came back, he would kill Ethan. If Ethan was going to escape, it had to be now.

He turned his head around to try and see if there was anything he could possibly use. As he did so, his head hit the knife that was still sticking out of his arm.

Salamander whistled a merry tune as he descended. In less than an hour, IMF would cease to exist. That would be an adequate demonstration for the buyers.
It was a crazy plan, but it was the only thing he could think of. Ethan gripped the rope above him firmly, and pulled himself up slightly. His arms protested, and the rope cut even deeper into his wrists, but he kept going. He knew what the alternative was.

When his mouth was level with the knife handle, he twisted round and bit on it. Slowly, very slowly, he pulled it out with his teeth. He seemed to have crossed the pain threshold, for now he was completely ignoring the fact that his arms were screaming in agony. Finally, the knife slid out of his arm, but he took great care not to drop it. Still holding it between his teeth, he pulled himself up further, as high as he could go. He was used to doing this exercise during training, but somehow this was different. The effort was forcing a lot more blood out of the gash in his arm than he would have liked.

But he made it eventually. He raised his face right up to his hands, and briefly let go of the rope with one of them. He quickly grabbed the knife as his body gave up and fell back to the hanging position.

He stayed like that for a few moments, exhausted and still in great pain. And then he heard a sound.

A metallic, robotic voice was echoing around the ship. It said, "Project Firestorm initiated. Countdown has begun. Missile launch in T minus ten minutes, and counting."

A new sense of urgency filled Ethan, and he twisted his hand until the knife came into contact with the rope. He took about a minute to saw through it, but at the moment, every second counted.

At last, he dropped to the floor. His feet gave way under him, and he collapsed. But he forced himself to his feet. He had to ignore the pain, and the blood oozing out of him (from his head, his arm and his leg). He had more important things to do.

He tucked the knife into his belt. It wasn't much of a weapon, but it was better than no weapon at all. He half-ran, half-hobbled out of the room.

He had to find out where the missile was. Logically, it would have to be fired from the deck, so he looked for a way up. Finding a flight of iron steps, he ran up them. How far down the ship was he? How many more floors did he need to climb?

He heard the voice again, stating, "T minus five minutes and counting."

Ethan swore. This was definitely not his day. Spurred on by the lack of time he had, he raced along yet another dark and dingy corridor, and found another flight of stairs.

He rounded a corner, into another corridor, and was halfway along it when another figure appeared at the far end.

It was Darter. Seeing him, Darter ran forward, at the same time producing a handgun. Ethan spotted a door beside him, and he dived through it, pulling it shut behind him. He looked around.

This must be the lab where the Firestorm was created. There were all sorts of test tubes and weird glass bottles sitting around, some of them full of a blood-red liquid. There were hi-tech computers and other devices that Ethan had never seen before, some of them probing various substances of varying colours. A dish containing a bright green liquid was bubbling over a Bunsen burner. Things popped, clicked, and beeped all around Ethan.

And then a man stood up. Ethan hadn't noticed him before. Maxwell Vane looked shocked to see Ethan. Taking advantage of this, Ethan hit him on the side of the head. Vane crumpled.

Ethan dashed on through the lab, hoping there was another exit, but then he heard the sound he had been dreading.

It was the sound of a gun being cocked.

Ethan turned around slowly, raising his hands. Darter was pointing the gun at him, and advancing with a gleeful look in his eyes.

"I failed to kill you last time. This time there will be no mistakes."

And then the computerised voice boomed out again. "T minus two minutes and counting."

Two minutes? Where had the time gone? Ethan hadn't noticed it passing.

Darter's face broke into a wide grin. "Yes, Hunt, it's over. For you, anyway." He was several metres away, but even he couldn't have missed at that distance. He raised the gun to point at Ethan's head, and said, "Goodbye, Ethan Hunt."

He pulled the trigger.