We'll Always Have Paris

"So you brought me a professional thief, a trained assassin, and no skeleton key." He shrugged. "I've worked with worse."

That, Eugene Kittridge didn't doubt. The IMF had a habit of recruiting scum into its ranks, and Aaron Brandt had worked alongside them.

Not that that was a problem, of course – scum got things done. Plenty of scum were in positions of power around the world – heck, he was one of them. Being scum meant you did what was necessary, doing what was necessary was more likely to get you where you wanted than if you played by the rules.

But even the rules were going out the window, Kittridge thought, or at least had, over the last 72 hours. Here, on the opposite side of a one-way window in Langley, he'd caught a taste of it. Power grids failing. Finances being wiped out from markets. Breakdown of command and control in military bases around the world, as false reports filtered through of who was doing what, when, where, and how.

The Entity was playing its cards. If it was facing its own extinction, it was willing to fool humanity into self-inflicting theirs. One false move, one erroneous report, and before anyone knew it…well, if the missiles started flying, Langley wasn't exactly the safest place to be.

But if any of that bothered William Brandt, now secretary of the IMF, he didn't show it. Instead, his gaze was focused on the Frenchwoman opposite the glass, a clipboard in one hand, and dark coffee in the other.

"You know drinking too much of that will kill you."

Brandt snorted. "Lots of things have tried to kill me."

"People. Not things," Kittridge murmured, though he was aware that could change. He'd touched down in New York only nine hours ago – just before the navigation systems at JFK had gone haywire. Planes were being diverted, being kept on the tarmac, even kept in the air, but it was only a matter of time before people died, and horribly at that.

"So," Brandt said, as he examined the file. "Name: Paris, no surname, likely an alias, doesn't exist in any database I have authority to access, and hasn't turned up in any unauthorized ones either."

Somehow, Kittridge wasn't surprised.

"Which from where I'm standing, means two things," Brandt said, as he closed the clipboard with a slap. "Either she's that damn good, and the hired hand of the most dangerous man in the world right now has evaded eyes ranging from Interpol to the CIA, or…"

"Or the Entity has erased any files on her," Kittridge said. "A ghost."

The lights above them flickered. Just like the traffic grids that, as of three hours and eight minutes ago, were starting to go down all along the east coast. And Brandt must have been reminded of that as well, because he chuckled as the shadows danced along his face.

"Y'know, I helped save the world from a nuclear war," he said. "Death by AI doesn't have the same touch to it."

"If it makes you feel any better, you'll die horribly regardless."

"Hmm. Well, on the other hand, if you had the key, maybe that would have been averted?"

Kittridge looked at Brandt. Shadows danced on his face, shadows lingered under his eyes. Whatever authority the CIA had over the IMF (a point of contention that had never been resolved), choosing its director wasn't one of them.

"You don't like me, do you Mister Brandt?"

"Don't take it personally sir – I dislike everyone unless they give me reason to."

"I see. So, given your previous relationship-"

"Working relationship."

"…with Hunt, I'm assuming you think the key is better in his hands than mine?"

"The thought had occurred to me."

"Good. So while you're thinking, consider that if Hunt fails (and sooner or later, he has to), he'll have left the world at the mercy of an AI."

"As opposed to the mercy of the CIA and Uncle Sam?"

Kittridge smirked. "Careful, Mister Brandt. Some might see those words as treason."

"Yeah, well, Hunt committing treason tends to get things done. And the two gals he popped into my lap are mine, not yours."

"For now," Kittridge said. "You only got this position because Hanley had an unfortunate rendezvous with a knife."

Brandt's eyes narrowed. "Is that a threat?"

"No, Mister Brandt. Just a reminder that it's not a good idea to keep twisting it." He headed for the exit of the interrogation room. "Still, if Hunt fails, we'll always have Paris."