Chapter 10

Brandt was startled up by an electronic shriek in his right ear that made his teeth hurt. He was much too familiar with that sound that told of some piece of broken radio equipment, and the noise of fighting outside the door that followed only made him more concerned, but at least it gave him some idea of what was going on. After all there was only one of them out there.

"Darkhorse, come in," he asked nevertheless, just to be sure, although he didn't actually think that there would be a reply, and he was right. The fighting outside stopped as abruptly as it had started, and he tried again. "Darkhorse, do you copy?" His voice was still calm, but now with a certain, concerned edge to it. And still there was no reply.

In fact, there was absolutely nothing, the radio had fallen completely silent, which, considering that Ethan, Luther and Benji should all still be listening in, was more than a little concerning, but he didn't want to give in to the thought that the connection might actually be dead. The idea of being stuck alone in a room, where he could be discovered any moment, in a building full of people who were not likely to treat him nicely, without any connection to the outside world, was not appealing.

"Anybody, do you read?" Brandt asked, and started pacing the room in nervous strides. Of course they did not, otherwise someone should have said something already. That silence was even more horrible than the fact that there was no answer from Skye, which he had expected and he was positive that the connection was still active and unjammed. So what had happened out there that was keeping all of them from answering? "Anybody, come in!"

"I read you, Brandt," Luther replied, a little out of breath. When they had entered the room he had noticed the radio call and, hearing the more than obvious concern in the other agent's voice, he had simply dumped Benji on one of the sofas. "I'm sorry," he said. "We had a bit of trouble of our own."

"What happened?" Ethan asked, who had just entered the room behind the others.

"That's a good question," Brandt replied dryly. "It seems that Skye is off the radio, but that's about all I know." He bit his tongue before he could add something about being stuck in a room, but nevertheless his displeasure was obvious.

Meanwhile Luther had called up the camera feeds of the last few minutes and swallowed. "They've captured Skye."

"We've got to do something!" Benji explained, mentally jumping up, which his body translated into a rather slow, staggering motion. Before he had completed it, he was gently pushed back down on the sofa by Ethan.

"We will do something," the older agent replied, taking a closer look at the jagged gash that ran from under his chin up his jaw and ended somewhere behind his ear. "But first, that cut needs stitching and we need a plan."

"A plan for what exactly?" Brandt asked, adding: "Do we know anything yet about what they are up to?"

Luther sighed. "I hate to say it, but I've been skimming through that data we've collected from the server, and if I'm interpreting it correctly, then they are going to infiltrate the IMF."

"Is that even possible?" Benji asked, trying to look at Luther, but Ethan gently, yet firmly pushed his head back into a tipped back position so he could go on cleaning away the partially dried blood with antiseptic.

"Hell, I don't know," Luther said, shaking his head. "I hope not, but they sure seem to think so."

"But we've alerted HQ, right?" Brandt put in. "You said backup's on the way. If D.C. knows what Clarkson Enterprises is up to, they can warn everyone in question and cross their plans before they do something serious."

Ethan listened while he finished the few stitches he had placed and covered everything up with a slim, long piece of band-aid. "That's not going to be enough," he said and regarded his work one last time before he faced the others. "Just think: In our line of work we have to be paranoid by nature, yet every agent has to be able to rely on and trust the agent next to him, to trust the people who chose that agent, to trust the system behind it. Now if the word gets out there that someone has attempted to infiltrate the IMF and we don't know how far they got, people will not be unaffected. Even if we manage to stop them, before they can do any serious damage, the idea alone that something like this might be possible will put everyone on edge and that would ultimately cause a lot of chaos. It took us long enough to recover from Ghost Protocol, the Syndicate and the CIA, we can't risk something like that happening again."

A stunned silence slowly filled the room that was only broken when Benji winced silently. He had tried to carefully turn his head, but found that beyond a certain degree that was not necessarily a good idea. "So what do we do now?" he asked, now that all eyes were on him anyway, looking from one to the other.

"We stop them," Luther said matter-of-factly, but in the next sentence brought up the problem himself. "But we still don't have any details about exactly what they are going to do or might have done already, so the question is how."

"Luther, am I correct in assuming that the main part of whatever they have planned is still in the Roman Tower?" Ethan asked, looking at neither of them. He was staring at some invisible point in mid-air, and Benji recognized a glint in his eyes that showed he was on to something.

"I guess so," Luther replied with a shrug. "I can't say anything for sure, especially as we don't have any details about their actual plans, but I'd say it's a good guess."

"That makes it pretty simple," Ethan said, more to himself, cocking his head as if he was surprised at how easy it all suddenly seemed to be. Not that anyone else saw it that way, but then they all were used to that by now.

"And how?" Brandt asked nevertheless.

However Ethan was already explaining: "We close the doors. Lock them into their own building, until our backup arrives. Luther, how much of that server-data do you have already?"

"Lots," the technician replied. "Just haven't had the time to view it all yet. One more hour, maybe two, and we'll have a complete copy of those servers."

Benji's face lit up as he grasped the details of what Ethan had suggested. "So we go in there, seal the exits, make sure that they don't delete or alter anything before we have the complete data, and when the cavalry arrives, they'll hand the whole package over to the CIA, who will lock them all away as terrorists for the attempt to infiltrate a federal agency," he summed it up and the older agent nodded. Benji allowed himself a small smile. "Neat."

"That still doesn't explain exactly how you want to do that," Brandt put in.

"Well, we already got you in the server room, so that one's secure," Benji said with a shrug, which he regretted immediately, but he didn't let it show. "That means we only have to take care of the doors."

"I'm not going to stay here for another six hours," Brandt replied, more than just annoyed, although he right well knew that unless someone got him out he wouldn't have much of a choice.

"We'll get you out," Ethan brushed the topic away and came to a, for him, more important matter. "How many doors are there?"

"Apart from the main entrance, there's one service entrance at the back, going down into the basement, and three emergency exits: One on the ground floor left of the elevators, one from a maintenance corridor that joins ground floor and basement which is basically accessible only through the elevator-shafts, and one from the emergency staircase that is completely separated from the rest of the building and connects all floors but ground floor and basement. That makes it five doors over all," Luther counted. "The hardest would most likely be the ones on the main entrance, but I think the bigger question is how do we get them locked in a way that they won't be able to open them?"

"I might have an idea for that," Benji said, already rummaging in a closet that he had opened in a spot where formerly there had been only a blank wall. Triumphantly he reappeared with what looked like a box of WD-40 cans, complete with the obligatory red straw, which earned him curious glances from the other men present.

"This is a new generation of super-glue that has just come out of prototype phase," he explained. "Nicely camouflaged as machine oil, as you can see, and not to be confused with the real stuff. A little of that into lock, hinges and other moving parts should render any door stuck for good. You should only try to not get anything on you, the stuff that is supposed to dissolve it is not fully developed yet."

"That might actually work," Luther commented approvingly, and summed up the plan once more: "So we go in, find Skye, get Brandt, seal the doors and get out of the last one. Only, who goes in?"

Benji shrugged. "I could go. After all that has worked so far."

"But it's not going to work anymore," Ethan countered. "With that cut no one would believe you that you're one of them wearing a mask now."

Benji had to admit he was right, but he was not going to give up that easily. "Well, I could wear a mask," he put in. "Of myself."

"You're not going to want to wear a mask over that, believe me," Luther said, and Benji was inclined to believe him. It already hurt enough as it was without a constant cover of tight latex over it.

"I'll go in," Ethan decided meanwhile. It was the only logical alternative.

"But you can hardly walk in there as yourself," Luther pointed out. "We have to expect that they have files on all of us and they'll pick you out faster than Benji, if you do that."

"Don't worry, I'm not planning on doing that. I'll go as Stuart." There was a moment of baffled silence, until Benji spoke up.

"That's even more crazy," he said. "I mean, sure, we can pull a mask off that guy's face, but we've got absolutely no data for a voice chip. If anybody talks to you, you're screwed."

"Not necessarily. I'll go in old style," Ethan replied with a mild smile. "We've been using masks long before voice chips ever came up. And yes, Benji, I am that old," he added at the technician's incredulous stare.

Luther didn't look any less worried than before. "Still, usually you had days or at least hours for preparation back then, with loads of video footage. You're running a hell of a risk, doing it like that. I don't like it."

"Does anyone have a better idea?" Ethan asked, although it was obvious that there was none. Still, he let the silence linger a bit, before he sighed. "I don't really like this either, but it's the best shot we've got, and we might be running out of time any moment."

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

Skye had stopped struggling a while ago. After catching her in the basement, the security guards had carried her into an office and forced her onto a chair. Wrapped up tightly in duct-tape, all she had managed was falling off said chair and that had not helped her in any way. She had spent some time on her own, then had been questioned by a version of herself with a horribly bad temper. Although she was sure that this person had been wearing a mask, it had been the probably weirdest experience of her life.

The woman had been asking all sorts of questions, to which, of course, she had not replied, using all kinds of threats and promises to make her answer. At some point Skye had simply tuned out, however she had picked up that the last threat had been one of physical violence that went beyond the occasional slap in the face, which she now wanted to make true. Obviously she did not want to ruin the carpet of her office in the process, for the agent found herself being dragged through the hallway by one of the gorillas, who were following their boss towards the elevators.

Skye tried to ignore the pain in her shoulder that was elicited by the way the security guard held her by the arm, and made herself as stiff as she could in order to make the way most of her body was trailing on the floor as bearable as possible. Still, by the time they reached the elevator, her knees and feet, especially the bony parts, were beaten black and blue by the floor, and she was sure that it wouldn't take long until something in her arm or shoulder was dislocated. All of that was forgotten, however, when the doors of the elevator slid apart and she suddenly stared into Benji's face.

Her eyes widened in shock at the sight of her boyfriend, who was dragged along in a similar fashion as herself, with the difference that only his hands were bound, it seemed, with a tie. His legs were free, yet he was unable to pick them up and his feet were trailing behind. His body was dangling limply from where he was held firmly by the arm, and he appeared to just managed to keep his head from drooping. Skye was relieved that he seemed to be at least somewhat conscious, although his eyes were nearly closed and blood was streaming down his face from somewhere on his forehead, mostly on the left side.

The man who held him was rather small, wrapped in a long black coat that obstructed his body-features. His pale skin, looking nearly white in the cold light of the elevator, was a stark contrast to astonishingly dark shade of red of his short hair. Despite the considerable difference in size, he seemed to have no problem carrying his load.

"Stuart." The woman said it neither as a greeting, nor a question, simply as a statement, as if she had nothing else to say.

The man looked from the woman who had spoken to Skye and back, until he noticed the ID-card dangling from her neck. He seemed surprised. "Miss Ferret?"

"Oh, of course you don't recognize me," she said, her voice frosty, as if he should have, anyway. Then, more interested, she looked at his cargo, raising and eyebrow. "So you actually caught him?" The way she said it made clear that this didn't raise her obviously low estimate of Stuart.

"He was in the apartment." The voice was definitely British, although Skye couldn't place it anywhere specifically. It was as cold as that of the woman and she could almost hear the crackle of tension between them. It's thin sharpness fit very well with his predator smile, yet, although she was sure she had never heard it before, there was a certain edge to it that scratched at her subconscious mind. It confused her even more when she caught his glance as he looked back at her. "What about the girl?"

"Ah, she's a hard case. Very tough. Very silent," Ferret said, sugarcoating Skye's voice until it dripped with fake friendliness. "I was about to use some more convincing methods, however thanks to your guest, I believe that is not going to be necessary. At least not right now."

"I'd like to ask her a few questions, anyway," Stuart said, and the copy of Skye just shrugged.

"Do whatever you want," she said, waving to her lackey. The gorilla practically threw her over to the other man, who just managed to catch her by the shoulder. For that he had to let go of Benji, who fell to the floor like a bag of sand. She flinched at the sight, but he didn't even groan. It looked as if by now he had passed out completely, when the goon picked him up. "Just be careful there's something left of her when you're done, in case we still need her," Ferret said, before the elevator doors closed.

Skye felt the usual tug of the elevator going downwards, but very shortly afterwards it stopped again. The doors didn't open. Stuart had let go of her and she managed to stay in a somewhat kneeling position, steadying herself against the wall. Next to her head, she heard the snap of a pocket knife. Half surprised, half curious and with a hint of fear, she turned to the man, who smiled back. Not in the predator-like smile of before, but in a way that seemed to belong to someone else.

"Agent Holt," said a voice that was completely different, American, warm, calm, and most of all, familiar. And suddenly she knew where that slight edge had come from that she hadn't been able to place earlier. While her mind still put the pieces into place, the man moved behind her, cutting through the tape that had held her hands behind her back, then proceeding to the ties around her legs.

Relieved she pulled the one stripe of tape from her mouth that had held her mouth shut, and stated what by now was obvious: "Agent Hunt."