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 7

Max knocked, and the same young officer from the day before opened the door.

"Good morning, Mister Potter," he greeted, nodding in approval when he noticed that Max had left his backpack behind this time.

The officer showed Max to the same room as yesterday. This time, Max needed no prodding to disrobe and change into his daily uniform. He slid his glasses into place and signaled the officer that he was ready.

Grant lifted the laptop screen and was preparing to monitor Max's activities for new developments when the communicator crackled. "Jim," came Shannon's tense voice, "Max is in trouble."

"Talk to me, Shannon," came Jim's instant response as he and his two teammates snapped to attention.

"Somehow his cover's been blown," she continued, and briefly summarized what she'd heard on McClain's answering machine.

Max was only fifteen minutes into his shift when he was interrupted by the young officer.

"Mister Potter," he said, "You're wanted in the security room."

Max tensed. Could it be that he was finally going to find out who the head of security was? Or where Patterson was being held?

"They're taking him to the security room, Jim," Grant said tensely.

"We've got to get him out of there!" Nicholas vowed.

"Nicholas, how are you coming with the officer mask?"

"It's ready, Jim."

"Grab your case," Jim said urgently. "You can get ready in the car. Let's go. Shannon, stay with McClain as planned. We'll keep you posted."

It was the first time Max had been allowed into the security room. He quickly took in his surroundings. Aside from multiple computer and television screens, which were no doubt linked to camera feeds, there was nothing remarkable about it.

A stocky man with thinning brownish-gray hair sat at the desk.

"Mister Potter," he began with a sneer.

"Yes, sir," Max answered.

"Or, should I say, Mister Harte."

Max's heart came up in his throat as he heard a click behind him. The young officer was holding a gun to his back. His cover had been blown! How could that have happened?

Max didn't know how to respond. If he denied his real identity, he would definitely meet with trouble. If he admitted it, there would probably still be trouble. So he said nothing.

Suddenly, his eye caught a glimpse of some words: Hang on, Max. We're coming.

"Jim," Grant said tensely as Max's glasses picked up the face of the head of security. He turned the laptop sideways toward Jim, who was driving. "You know this guy?"

Jim took his eyes off the road just long enough to glance at the image on the screen. He frowned and sighed. "Preston Ross," he replied. "He's IMF, all right."

"What's the story, Jim?" asked Nicholas from the backseat.

Jim shook his head. "Let's get Max out safely first," he answered. "Then we'll take him and McClain down together."

"Why are you here?" Ross demanded. "Who are you working for?"

Max remained stoically silent.

"Never mind; you don't have to answer me. I know you're part of the team spearheaded by none other than the great Mister Phelps."

Max's eyes grew wide; despite his own peril, he couldn't help but feel concerned about the rest of his team - especially knowing Jim and the others were on their way to rescue him.

"Oh, they did a good job of trying to change your identity in the system, but thanks to a computer error I went back in time and found you."

Ross studied Max intently. "Come to think of it, Max Harte doesn't wear glasses. Stoya, remove them," he ordered with a wave of his hand.

The officer removed the glasses and handed them to Ross. "Probably some electronic monitoring gadgetry," he mused, then he threw them to the ground and stomped them.

"Jim, we just lost the audiovisual," muttered Grant with a curse. "How much longer?"

"We'll be there in twelve minutes," replied Jim tensely.

"Hold on, buddy," Grant mumbled, though without keying it in; he knew Max couldn't see him now.

"Shall I eliminate him?" Stoya questioned.

"Not yet," replied Ross with a sneer. "Now I'm more sure than ever that Phelps will come looking for one of his own. Let's make sure he finds him. Cuff him and throw him in the shed with Patterson."

Stoya, quick as lightning, pulled Max's hands behind his back and snapped handcuffs on. As he started out of the office, Ross' voice came again, stopping him in his tracks.

"Sooner or later, Phelps will show up. And when he does, you can kill all of them."