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 11
"Mister Simpson," greeted McClain, reaching out his hand. "It's good to see you again."
"And you as well," replied Jim, accepting the handshake. "I trust the services I requested have been completed?"
"Absolutely," replied McClain, and offered Jim the proper documentation. "And I trust that briefcase contains the service fee we spoke about."
Jim nodded, and started to hand over the briefcase.
Just then, the door to McClain's office burst open, and a red-faced Preston Ross burst in, followed closely behind by Nicholas, who was still in disguise.
"What is the meaning of this?" Ross exploded.
"Ross, what the hell are you talking about? Mister Simpson and I were just conducting a little business."
"Mister Simpson?" Ross said condescendingly. "Don't you mean Mister Phelps? With the IMF? And I know exactly what 'business' you are conducting. You're trying to set me up!"
Jim raised his hand and opened his mouth to protest, but, at a signal from Ross, Nicholas as Stoya lifted his pistol from its holster and pointed it at Jim's chest.
"Shut up and don't move," he growled.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Ross!" McClain protested.
"Don't you?" he retorted. "Then explain these!"
Ross threw the photographs of Jim and "McClain" down on the desk. McClain picked them up and stared at them, stymied.
"I swear, Preston, I don't remember taking these-"
"Sure, you don't," jeered Ross. "I know what you two are doing. You're planning on pinning the deaths of those four agents on me! But you forgot, McClain, you're the one who gave me the orders to kill them!"
"I've heard enough," Cavanaugh growled. He reached for the radio. "Move in now, fellows. Repeat, move in now!"
"You won't get away with this, McClain!" Ross was yelling. "I will deal with you in a moment. First things first."
He turned to Jim, "Mister Phelps," he said with a cruel smile. "I finally have you right where I want you. Stoya," he summoned, "kill him."
Nicholas, still in his role, fired once at Jim's chest. Blood spurted everywhere amidst McClain's cries of protest. Jim fell to the floor and lay still.
"Very good," sneered Ross through clenched teeth. Then he gazed at McClain. "Now get rid of this traitor!"
Just then, the door to McClain's office burst open, and a trio of uniformed agents burst in, guns drawn. "FBI!" one of them barked. "Don't move! You're under arrest!"
In the fracas that followed, Jim got quickly to his feet and he and Nicholas exited the office.
"You okay?" Nicholas asked Jim as he jerked off his mask.
"I'm fine," Jim answered. The bulletproof vest and blood bag had done their job.
"Say, where'd that other guy go? The trigger man?" asked one of the agents as he stuck his head out the door, clearly confused.
"You'll find him and another guard locked in the green toolshed on the left side of the compound," Jim answered, knowing he'd only added to the agent's confusion, as he and Nicholas made their way out of the building and to the Land Rover, where Max and Shannon were waiting.
"I don't suppose you were able to record what just happened," said Cavanaugh with a knowing grin at Grant once the scene was secure and the four men had been arrested.
Grant pushed a few buttons on his laptop and provided Cavanaugh with a floppy disk containing all the footage he'd just witnessed.
Cavanaugh smiled broadly at Grant. "Thank you, Mister Harmon. Or whatever your name is," he added, as he and Grant shook hands.
"It was our pleasure," Grant replied, as he folded up his laptop and turned to leave.