CASABLANCA, MOROCCO

Ethan tore the note off the door. A red lip print on white paper, neatly pinned to the gate. Skye rolled her eyes behind the guys' backs. That shade couldn't be that hard to find after all. She followed Ethan and Benji towards the sleek modern building, framed by tall cacti and a few strips of lawn that somehow managed to be still green despite the high temperatures. The door was open. The three agents crossed through a cool, spacious living room out to the back of the house. Everything seemed deserted. Skye adjusted her sunglasses as she scanned their surroundings. Just then Ilsa broke through the water surface of the narrow pool, taking a deep breath. Apparently she had been under water for some time. Skye saw her checking something on her wrist before turning around to them. Immediately the MI6 agent donned a smile. She left the pool, gracefully showing off her black bikini.

Ethan picked up her towel from a chair and handed it to her.

"And what brings the three of you to Casablanca?" Ilsa asked sweetly while looking only at Ethan.

He took out the lipstick... and smiled at her.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"His name's Solomon Lane. He created the Syndicate."

"Where does he come from?" Ethan asked.

"He's former British Intelligence."

Benji spoke up. "If British Intelligence knows the Syndicate exists, why don't they just tell the CIA?"

Ethan answered in her place. "Because they don't want anyone knowing the Syndicate was created by one of their own."

Ilsa nodded. "I was sent undercover to earn Lane's trust. And eventually identifying the members of his organisation. And for the first time in two years, I'm close to knowing who they are."

"You've been with him for the last two years?" Skye asked incredulously, thinking back to all the events Ethan had told them about on the boat in Vienna. Gassed villages. Plane crashes. Murder, terrorism, so many deaths that could have been prevented with an agent in place.

Ilsa paused. "Lane had a ledger. It contained the identities of his operatives, his terrorist associates, the entire inner workings of the Syndicate. One of his agents stole it hoping to blackmail him. He kept it in a Secure Computer Facility for safe-keeping. He died being interrogated for the access code – leaving Lane with a serious problem."

"So the key to crushing Lane," Ethan mused, "is sitting in a computer just waiting for someone to take it?"

"So why hasn't Lane just sent someone to steal it?" Benji asked.

"Oh, he has. He sent me," Ilsa said. "And I can tell you: It's impossible."

Benji looked at Skye, then at Ethan. She smiled. He just shrugged.

Ilsa set up a computer and connected it to the projector, using the white wall of the room as a screen. Then she took a seat on the sofa. "The facility is hidden beneath the local power plant under military guard. And the only way to download the ledger is through the central computer terminal located there. To reach the terminal you'll need to pass the main gates, access the elevator with fingerprint recognition and open three separate combination locks."

"Well, that's easy," Benji interrupted her. "We impersonate the agent who stole the ledger in the first place and I get to wear a mask."

Skye could see that he had it all planned out in his mind, but she remained sceptical.

As did Ilsa, apparently. "Unfortunately, even if you can make it through every other security measure, you won't beat the last one," she continued seriously. "That's because it's protected by gait analysis. A step beyond facial recognition. These cameras actually know how the agent walks. How he talks, how he moves, right down to his facial ticks."

"So what you're saying is, no mask can beat it," Benji said, disappointed. "We're busted before we could even get to the vault and I wind up in a Moroccan jail playing mummies and daddies with Omar the Strangler." He took a deep breath to make his frustration known. "All right, I don't get to wear a mask."

"Some day," Skye said out of a reflex.

"And there's no other way into the computer lab?"

"No other way in," Ilsa confirmed.

"Air shaft?" Ethan went on.

"Six-inch-diameter pipe."

"Foundation?" Benji tried his luck.

"Twelve feet of concrete, top and bottom," Ilsa kept crushing their hopes.

"Electrical conduit?" both men said at the same time, unwilling to give up.

Ilsa didn't bother. "Bottom line is, there is no way into that terminal unless your profile is pre-installed in the security system."

"Profile." The word sparked fresh hope in Ethan. "Where are the profiles stored?"

"All security data is stored offline in the liquid-cooled array. Here, inside the torus." Benji had stepped towards the wall, where the projection was drawing shapes on his shirt and face.

"Liquid-cooled," Ethan repeated. "You mean that thing is under water?"

"Yes."

Skye stood up and headed to the door.

"Where are you going?" Benji asked.

"I'm gonna get us a plane," Skye said matter-of-factly. "Or how else do you plan to get in?"

"A plane?" Ilsa repeated incredulously.

"Something nice and civilian that accidentally veers a little off course, just long enough for someone to jump. And then you get in through the windows."

"Windows," Benji repeated, sounding close to disappointed that it was so easy in the end.

"The place has windows, right?" Skye turned to Ilsa.

"Yes, but they're bullet-proof."

Skye shrugged. "Miniature charges. Works every time."

"She's right," Ethan agreed.

The Danish agent took her bag from the chair she'd left it on. "You sort out the rest. I'll see you later."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

WASHINGTON, D.C.

"How did you find me?" Luther asked even before the helicopter had taken off again.

"I put in the work," Brandt replied. Technically he had his memory to thank for it, because Benji had mentioned that Skye had said something about the Caribbean, which in turn had given him a starting point. From then on it had been a matter of concentrating his efforts. But Luther Stickell was a difficult man to impress, so Brandt kept that relatively simple explanation to himself. "Good to see you."

"What couldn't you tell me over the phone?" Luther asked.

Brandt began the little speech he had prepared. "The chancellor of Austria was assassinated. We believe that Ethan, Benji and Skye were there. Hunley has handed it over to Special Activities Division. We need to find Ethan before they do. And that's where you come in."

The helicopter had taken off. Once the wind from its start had ceased completely, Luther put on his hat again.

"Not interested," he said curtly.

"Okay, look, Luther-"

"Look, man," he interrupted. "I know Ethan. I don't know you. All I know about you is you chose to work for Hunley."

"I did get you out of the Mot Clé that one time," Brandt couldn't help pointing out.

"So I've been told," Luther said. "Those people drugged me out of my mind, remember?"

Brandt sighed. This wasn't gonna be as easy as he had hoped. And what did Luther know about his reasons. He wasn't the only one trying to help. "Well, in that case, all I know about you is you chose to resign."

Luther chuckled. "Man, you don't have to worry about Ethan. They'll never catch him."

"No, they're not gonna catch him," Brandt agreed, allowing his cynicism to take over fully. "No, this is the CIA, this is Hunley we're talking about, things are out of control, and they're going to kill him." He looked into Luther's eyes. "They're going to kill Ethan, they're going to kill Benji, and they're going to kill Skye. We have to get to them first. Are you going to help me?"

Luther paused, and took a step towards Brandt, seizing him up. "You need to understand something," he then finally said. "Ethan is my friend. And if I have one second of doubt whose side you're on..." Luther tilted his head. "...mh."

Brandt nodded, his frown etched into his forehead. He just so kept himself from swallowing. "I believe you."

"All right."

"All right."

"What do I have to go on?"

"Not much," Brandt said, handed the techie the file he'd brought and went back towards the car. "And not a lot of time."