The Analyst's Nightmare (Mission Impossible 4)

07 ~ Will (Brandt)

IT WAS MOST CERTAINLY him. I recognised him immediately as he'd gotten into the car. I recalled every last detail from then although, I can't say they were particularly happy occurrences. Beside him sat a young boy, with messy blonde hair and bright green eyes. Despite remembering everything from that day, I can't say I remember the boy. His face looks vaguely familiar but that was all I was able to recount.

"Mr Secretary." He spoke. "I wasn't aware you were in Russia." I supposed that was in place of a greeting.

"I'm not. Not since a bomb blew up the Kremlin. Yesterday I flew in to accept the order of friendship from the Russian PM. Now, I'm headed back to Washington. To hand the President my resignation." The secretary replied, a downcast look evident on his face.

I glanced tentatively at the man to see if anything else had changed before I refocused my attention onto the iPad sitting in my lap.

"My chief analyst, William Brandt." The secretary said before motioning fluidly to me. I looked up from the iPad again and plastered a fake smile across my face; extending my hand for him to shake. He didn't shake it, only looked at me somewhat passive aggressively.

"Pen." He said, bluntly. Clearly he'd forgotten his manners.

"Pardon me?" I said, alarmed.

"A pen! Do you have one?" He repeated, firmly.

"Oh, yes of course." I pulled out a pen from my pocket and handed it to the man. He snatched it from my grasp and began furiously scribbling on his palm.

"Sorry about him, he doesn't really have any manners." The boy apologised, holding out his hand. I took it and shook it gently. "Name's Miles. This here's my Father, Ethan." He smiled.

"I know. Somehow, both you and your Father seem vaguely familiar." I replied. Wayyy to go Brandt, make it creepy why don't you? To his credit though, the kid didn't seem at all phased and just continued to smile at me.

"Yeah we've got that effect on people. I wouldn't stew on it though man." A heavy Boston accent lacing his words. I smiled and nodded politely before my attention was pulled toward his Father's outstretched palm; a rough sketch hastily drawn over it.

"Chief analyst you say?" He questioned, an eyebrow raised.

"If you're implying that I made a bad call-" he cut me off.

"European male. Fifties. About six foot, 180 pounds. Blue eyes. Who is he?" He demanded.

"It's a crude drawing but from your description however accurate it may be, that might be Kurt Hendricks. 190 IQ, served in the Swedish special forces. Physics professor at a university. Specialist in nuclear endgame theory. Asked to resign a while ago now because..." I paused to try and think of a polite way to put it but nothing sprang to mind. "Well, because he's crazy."

"Cobalt." Miles said, pursing his lips. I had no clue how he knew the Codename of a nuclear extremist but his Father was an agent so I guessed that had something to do with it at least.

"You have to alert the Kremlin that one of their strategists has a nuclear launch device and one of his operatives has the codes to activate it." The man hurriedly explained.

"And what makes you say that?" I asked, skeptical of his supposed theory.

"I saw him. That's what. Leaving the executive armoury, bag in hand. He set off the explosion to cover his tracks-" his son interrupted.

"It could be weeks before the Russians know it's missing! Unless WE tell them!" The boy warned.

"They won't listen to us! As far as the Russian's are concerned, we just bombed the Kremlin. The tension between the United States and Russia hasn't been this high since the Cuban missile crisis. And the blame right or wrong, points to the IMF." He took a breath and allowed the information to sink. Then continued on. "The President has initiated Ghost Protocol. The ENTIRE IMF has been disavowed.