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 6

Early the next morning, as Nicholas was donning his disguise, Grant and Shannon drove McClain to his condo. Grant carried him inside, undressed him, and laid him in his bed beneath the blankets.

"When Sleeping Beauty wakes up, he'll be itching to get to the office," Grant advised. "Let us know when he leaves so we can make sure Nicholas is out of there."

"Will do," Shannon replied.

Grant cleared his throat nervously, knowing the con that would be inferred from Shannon's role play. "He may have a hell of a headache, but hopefully he won't try...anything."

"I'll be fine, Grant," Shannon smiled, patting his arm in reassurance. "I can take care of myself."

"I know you can," he answered, returning her smile. "Gotta go."

And with that, Grant was gone.

Nicholas, as McClain, pulled up into the parking lot of McClain Consulting. He took the key out of his pocket and effortlessly unlocked the front door. He breathed a sigh of relief. It was seven-thirty in the morning, and the place seemed deserted.

He walked at a crisp clip straight to McClain's office - thanks to Max, he knew just how to get there and which of the keys they'd had made from McClain's set would fit the door.

He plugged the remote access drive into the back of McClain's computer. He pulled out his communicator.

"Grant," he whispered, even though he was alone, "I've installed the device."

"Good job, Nicholas," replied Grant, who was now back at base camp. "Work on those cameras, and I'll see if I can get into that hard drive."

Grant punched a few buttons on his computer. After a few password screens that were relatively easy to crack, Grant hit pay dirt.

"Nicholas," he said into the communicator. "I'm in."

"Excellent," responded Nicholas. "I've just installed the cameras."

Grant punched a few more buttons, and immediately patched into the camera feeds. "I can see you, Nicholas," he smiled. The whole thing had taken only twenty-two minutes. "Nice job. Now get out of there."

Nicholas laid the simulated fax on McClain's desk and opened his door. On the other side of the door, he came face to face with the young officer he recognized from Max's footage the day before.

"Mister McClain," said the officer in surprise. "You're here early."

"I had to come by and pick up a file," answered Nicholas, channeling McClain's voice effortlessly, grateful he had thought to pick up the empty file folder. "I have an early morning meeting."

"Have a good meeting, sir," the officer smiled. "I'll see you later."

Nicholas exited the compound, breathing a sigh of relief, as Max was arriving. A discreet smile passed between the two of them as Max entered the compound, and Nicholas headed to meet Jim and Grant outside the Silver Spur for some candid photos before removing his disguise.

Nicholas could not have known that while he was in McClain's office taking care of his assignment, the head of security also arrived, characteristically early, and retreated behind the office door where he spent most of his time. He turned on his computer and attempted to log onto the IMF personnel records.

Except there was a problem.

He stopped for a moment and marveled at the irony - a computer-related problem at an IT firm! After trying several fixes, it became obvious that the only way he was going to gain access was to return to a system restore point...prior to the last IMF update which would have been within the last week.

As he was waiting for the database to reset, his mind was mulling over the new security guard that had been hired the day before. Sure, everything had checked out, but there was something about him...something about the whole situation...that didn't make sense. It was all too coincidental, too soon after Patterson...

On a whim, he grabbed the records from his desk and repeated the search from yesterday. Almost immediately, a red alert began to flash on the screen. The man cursed aloud.

"He's IMF!" he yelled to nobody in particular. A few more punches at the keyboard, and his mouth curled into an evil smile.

"He's part of Phelps' team! Which means Phelps isn't far away!"

He looked at his watch. It was just a couple of minutes after eight. McClain wouldn't be here yet; the man almost never arrived before eight forty-five. He probably hadn't even left his house yet. He picked up the phone and dialed McClain's home.

"Damn!" he swore out loud as the phone rang once, twice, three times. Where the hell was he? Still asleep? Maybe one too many bloody Marys at that blasted pub he frequented every night.

He started to just hang up, to just take care of business himself, but he didn't want the chips to fall in the wrong direction. He still depended on their partnership, after all. So he decided to at least leave a message, so McClain would know he tried to call.

McClain's home telephone rang.

Shannon heard it from the adjacent room. She glanced anxiously at McClain, but he was still in deep slumber and probably would be for the next couple of hours.

Shannon couldn't resist stepping inside the living room, where she heard the answering machine click on.

"McClain?! Where the hell are you? Are you even out of bed? Anyway, we have a big problem. Apparently that fool Potter you hired yesterday is a spy too - part of that same think tank as Patterson was. He's a threat to our operation. I wanted to let you know, but I trust you'd tell me to do what I have to do just like last time. So I'll take care of it, boss. See you whenever you decide to show up for work." There was an abrupt click.

Shannon paled and jerked out her communicator.

"Jim," she said urgently, "Max is in trouble."