"You were right to call me, Brandt," Hunley said instead of a greeting when he caught up with the analyst. "Where is Hunt?"

"He's on his way," Brandt replied curtly.

"We don't have much time," Hunley urged. "What does he intend to do?"

"I don't know," Brandt said and suppressed a dry chuckle at the thought that that was the truth for a change.

"Have you informed the British government that Hunt has targeted the Prime Minister?" Hunley asked irritated.

"I have -" Brandt began, but was interrupted when they were joined by another man.

"Director Hunley," he greeted them. Despite his tuxedo he looked dishevelled somehow, as if he had to get ready more quickly than anticipated. He was short, especially standing in front of the CIA director, his greying hair was slicked back and he wore glasses. "What is going on here?"

"Chief Atlee," the director responded in kind. "I have reason to believe the Prime Minister's life is in danger."

Atlee's frown deepened and nodded towards the building to indicate that he wanted them to follow him there. "I'm listening."

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

"Sorry, darling, of course there was a line at the bathroom."

The Prime Minister of Great Britain looked away from the stage as his wife joined him again. He smiled as she rolled her eyes good-naturedly. He was about to reply when a bodyguard stepped forward as discreetly as he could to cause as little disturbance as possible.

"Sir," he said quietly. "Chief Atlee from MI6 needs to see you. He says it's urgent."

The PM nodded, suppressing a sigh. "Excuse me," he said to the woman by his side and stood up.

"Actually," the bodyguard continued his whisper, "I was asked to bring both you and your wife. We have reason to believe that your security is compromised."

He raised his eyebrows and met his wife's surprised gaze. She swallowed, but stood up as well, refraining from asking further questions until they followed the man out of the auction room. In the hallway there were already three men waiting for them.

"Chief Atlee," he asked, turning to the only familiar face. "What is this about?"

"Prime Minister, this is Director Hunley of the CIA."

"Prime Minister," the taller of the two remaining men responded. "We have reason to believe someone targeted you. Your and your wife's lives may be in danger."

The PM threw him a glance when his wife couldn't quite suppress a gasp. Then he looked to Atlee, awaiting further information.

Instead the third man spoke up now. He was American as well. "Sir, maybe we should discuss this somewhere more secure?"

"Yes, of course," Atlee agreed at once and headed down the corridor, indicating the others to follow him. They reached an empty sitting room, and he turned to the two bodyguards. "Nobody enters this room until we are finished."

"Yes, sir," they said obediently and took their positions outside the door as soon as it closed in front of them.

"Now, Director Hunley," the PM started once they were alone. "Excuse my bluntness, but who is this person? Why is he after us?"

"Sir, the man who is after you, Ethan Hunt, was part of a disgraced intelligence agency which has since been dissolved," Hunley launched into his explanation. "Unfortunately he has gone rogue, intent on dismantling an imaginary terror network."

"And if you don't mind my asking – what do I have to do with this phantom network? And more specifically my wife?" the Prime Minister asked, a little confused, and motioned to his wife to stay calm. She had made her way to stand close to Chief Atlee. He worried this might scare her, he liked to keep her out of these things as much as possible.

"New intelligence suggests that he's been manipulated by one of your own former agents. We believe he might try to get to you through people close to you." Hunley nodded towards the woman, then indicated the man next to him. "This is William Brandt, a former colleague of Hunts. He came forward with first-hand knowledge of the plot against you."

"Sir, Hunt is in possession of a virtual Red Box that can only be opened by you," Brandt explained. "He believes it's the key to bring down the Syndicate."

The PM straightened. "The Syndicate you say?"

"Yes, sir," Hunley put in apologetically. "That's what he calls it."

"Atlee." The PM turned towards his SIS Chief. "He couldn't possibly be talking about that Syndicate? Because you assured me that that Syndicate was merely an exercise."

"Darling, what are you talking about?" The PM's wife stood behind Atlee by now, still flustered, obviously trying to stick to the background.

"This is none of your concern, darling," he responded, faintly angry that she had to go through this ordeal. "Atlee?" he prompted again.

"The Syndicate..." he stammered, caught of guard. "It – it was an exercise, most certainly."

"And yet here we have the Central Intelligence Agency indicating otherwise," the PM replied coldly.

"This is clearly the doing of Agent Faust," Atlee said. "Right now our main objective should be -"

"Sir," Brandt interrupted. "Does the name Solomon Lane ring a bell?"

"Yes," the Prime Minister answered sourly, a little surprised, but still without hesitating. "Unfortunately it does."

"...so there actually is a Syndicate?" Hunley couldn't help asking.

"It was a hypothetical brainchild of Chief Atlee." He didn't bother trying to mask the undercurrent of anger in his voice any more. "Recruit former agents from other nations, supply them with a new identity and use them to surgically remove our enemies both at home and abroad. Its operating budget was to be hidden off shore in a virtual Red Box which only I would control. It would have made me judge, jury and executioner with zero accountability." The PM looked at his wife when he said the next sentence. "I rejected the proposal unequivocally. Furthermore I was given every assurance that it never passed the planning stage."

"No, no, no," Atlee said quickly. "There is no Syndicate. I'm convinced that Agent Faust-"

"Atlee," the Prime Minister hissed. "Save it for the public inquiry." Angrily he turned towards the door but found the CIA director blocking his way.

"Sir, I urge you not to leave this room."

"Excuse me."

"Please," he said. "Hunt is uniquely trained and highly motivated. A specialist without equal, immune to any counter-measures. There is no secret he cannot extract, no security he cannot breach, no person he cannot become. He has most likely anticipated this very conversation and is waiting to strike in whatever direction we move. Sir, Hunt is the living manifestation of destiny, and he has made you his mission."

"Don't you think you're exaggerating?" the PM asked as respectfully as possibly, but stopped himself when he saw Atlee charging towards him.

His hands went around the Prime Minister's neck and executed pressure, apparently intent on strangling him in front of everyone.

In that moment the PM's wife produced a gun from underneath her dress and shot Atlee in the back. The man sagged down to the floor immediately. At the same time Brandt took out a similar weapon and turned it on the Prime Minister. The red feathered dart hit him square in the chest. He, too, sagged towards the floor, but Hunley rushed to catch him and sat him down on a nearby chair.

When the director looked up to stare incredulously at the dark-haired woman, she was just grabbing the side of her face and pulled it clear off, revealing white-blond hair underneath.

"Holt?" the CIA director gasped in disbelief.

"God, I hate these things," Skye muttered, peeled the voice chip off and let the mask drop to the floor. Then she turned to Hunley and pointed the gun at him. "'Living manifestation of destiny'? Really? If you would be so kind to move over there." The gun followed Hunley's careful steps.

"Holt, I hope you realise -"

"And shut up." Next she pulled a phone from beyond the neckline of her black-and-white dress. "Stand by to receive."

"Ready," Luther responded at once.

Skye nodded at Brandt, who went over to the PM to initiate the scanning process. Once their techie confirmed the retinal scan was complete, he pressed the man's palm to the sensor pad.

"You've got a very warm hand," the PM slurred.

Brandt's face morphed into a slightly desperate quizzical frown as he slowly turned his head towards Skye. She replied with a shrug. He sighed with relief when Luther announced, "Biometrics confirmed. The prompt is Kipling."

"The prompt is Kipling," Skye said and handed him the phone.

The analyst turned towards the PM. "Sir, I'm gonna need a pass phrase," he said softly, enunciating carefully. "The prompt is Kipling."

"Yes, of course," the PM said with his slight drug-induced lull. "'If you can keep your head when all around you are losing theirs. If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you.'"

Brandt stood up and held the phone to his ear. "You got it?"

"I got it," Luther replied. "Oh man, do I got it."

"Brandt, what the hell is going on here?" Hunley interjected sharply, still holding his hands up since Skye held him at gunpoint.

"When you confronted Atlee about the Syndicate, he attacked the Prime Minister," Brandt explained calmly.

"Yes, that's true," the PM agreed.

"And his wife saved him."

"Did she?" he slurred. "I'm very grateful."

"As for Chief Atlee," Skye took over and bent down to turn Atlee on his back.

He groaned. "Do you know who I am...?" he began slowly.

"If you want to ask Mr. Atlee some questions he might tell you that the Syndicate was his idea," Brandt said to Hunley.

"But Lane decided that he really liked that money and used it against you, as he would."

"That's... true," Atlee said sluggishly.

Hunley looked at the two agents in surprise.

"And in order to cover up his failure he erased the disc we secured and tried to frame Ilsa Faust," Skye continued.

"That's... also true..." Atlee replied.

Hunley now nodded, still slightly unsure, when Brandt handed him a syringe. But there was something like appreciation in his glance.

"The antidote," the analyst explained.

Skye straightened. "The Prime Minister's wife is with Agent Stickell in the van outside. She's safe."

"And what are you going to do?"

"We," Skye said, already at the door, "are going to catch Lane."

Once outside, closely followed by Brandt, the woman took out her phone.

The response came quickly. "You're cutting it very close, Skye."

The hoarse voice on the phone made the agent feel sick. She didn't know how he knew her name, and she didn't care. "I'm on time," she stated calmly, but without disguising her anger. "Where do we meet?"