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Namarïe!
CLASSIFIED IMF INFORMATION.
THIS DOCUMENT IS REDACTED.
IMF WILL NEITHER CONFIRM, NOR DENY THE INFORMATION WITHIN THIS FILE.
Washington D.C.
U.S.A.
2015
It was nearing noon when Benji Dunn finally found Ethan. The younger agent had been trying to reach him all morning, and could now count twelve missed calls, six voice messages, and seven texts. All of which said much the same thing. Twenty-five consecutive messages in all that went along the lines of, "Ethan, we have a situation. We need you. Where are you?"
All of which had been followed by various bouts of radio silence and/or Ethan's voice telling him to leave a message.
Benji had finally thrown in his hand and gone in person to fetch Ethan, but his flat had been empty. His phone abandoned on the table.
On silent.
"Ugghhh..." groaned Benji when presented with that dead end.
Damn it, Ethan...
As he held up the phone and witnessed all his failed attempts, the screen flickered and died. With a sigh, Benji placed it back onto the table. What was he missing? Maybe he could find a clue as to where Ethan had gone.
After a search, Benji found Ethan's leather jacket gone, along with his keys. His running shoes were missing too- along with his sunglasses. He threw his hands up in the air. "Unbelievable."
He's probably only missed Ethan by twenty minutes.
Sighing, Benji pulled out his own phone, entering a number. It rang- echoing through the room like an erratic pulse. Soon, it was picked up.
"Sir?" said Benji. "No, he's not here. I'm going to go after him. Yes, sir. I'll have him there within the day, sir."
Hanging up, he rocked back on his heels and contemplated the location of one Ethan Hunt.
If he was right, and the man had gone for a run, he could deduce that Ethan would end up at his favourite spot by the lake. If not...well, that only left every café-front which sold coffee.
Let's go with running, thought Benji. The other option only served to make him feel prematurely defeated.
He locked the flat behind him, replaced the spare key under the mat, and trudged off down the stairs, grumbling to himself.
Benji didn't follow in Ethan's literal footsteps: He got back in his car and cruised down the roads towards the park. Walking would have taken too long, and time was of the essence right this moment. It was a matter of great importance...
...and yet here he was on a wild goose chase.
The irony...
If Ethan's not there...
Benji parked the car and trudged through the park, taking the little used walkway that led to Ethan's spot by the lake. It was a mirror of glass, the surface of the water rippling around the ducks that glided along, leading their downey offspring in neat little rows. The old oak tree was comfortably shady, leaves rustling softly.
No Ethan.
"Damn it!" shouted Benji, startling the ducks who swam fast for cover. What could he really do now but wait until his friend got back home, charged his phone, and then called back? How long would that take?
They didn't have that kind of time.
Back along the path he went, gloomily contemplating just what he was going to say to his boss. Benji emerged back out onto the roadside, brushing leaves from his shirt, only to hear someone call his name.
"Benji! Hey!"
He glanced across the street to see Ethan standing under the awning of a café, jacket slung over one arm.
"Oh, thank god..." murmured the younger man to himself, before legging it over to join his friend. "I've been looking for you all morning!"
Ethan frowned. "Oh?" He moved aside from the café door, making room for the two women who came wandering out, coffee in their hands. "Why didn't you just call?"
"I did. You left your phone on the table."
Ethan grinned. "Oh, yes, I did. I remember now."
"On silent."
"Well...what's so urgent?"
"The strike team nabbed a member of the Syndicate."
Ethan seized Benji and hauled him off into the nearest alley. For a moment, all he did was stare at the younger man, then he said, "They're sure? 'Cause after we caught Lane the Syndicate vanished."
"They're sure, Ethan." Benji stuck his hands in his trouser pockets and rocked back on his heels. "The man is listed as Killed In Action. Ex-CIA, actually, and he's admitted to it. Something about how the CIA left him to die on a mission gone wrong. The Syndicate saved his life."
Ethan let out a low whistle. "Somehow, I'm not surprised. I mean- we've seen how agencies treat their workers. Basically cannon fodder."
"Mmmm." There was no argument to be made there. "I'm supposed to bring you in."
"Why?"
"Owing to a...erm, "personal connection" to the prisoner," said Benji, air quoting. "I told them it was a lot of rubbish, but they were adamant that you knew the man. Well...know the man- even though everyone knows you dislike the CIA. They want you to have a word with him."
Ethan nodded. "Well...there's an easy was to sort it out. What's his name?"
"August Walker."
Never in his life had Benji seen Ethan look so shocked. His face pale, eyes wide. The man actually stumbled back, bracing himself with a hand to the wall. There could only be one explanation for such a reaction.
"You do know him?" demanded Benji.
"I...yes, I did...I do." Ethan scrubbed a hand over his face. "God...I thought that out of all the dead agents... he was the only one who was really gone. The August I knew would never have done this."
"Maybe it's a different August?" said Benji, knowing it was a weak attempt at comfort.
Ethan shook his head. "Tall, dark hair, eyes like blue ice?"
"...yeah."
"Shit."