The absolute hardest thing about writing?  Making it original.  I did my best with the operation in this part, but there are just some things that have to be done.  There'll be more to come in the next parts, and don't think for a second this one will run smoothly.

Disclaimer: The character of Ethan Hunt and associated details regarding the IMF are the property of Paramount Pictures.  They are used solely for non-profit, entertainment purposes only.
 

Chapter 3 - “Opening Gambit”

Janine Price woke, lazily stretching the sleep from her limbs.  Untangling herself from the satin sheets of her massive bed, she got up and pulled on the robe hanging beside the nightstand.  She took a few steps towards the bathroom, to find her companion, Tommy Tarraka, already up and in the shower.

“Good morning,” she yawned.

“Good morning,” came the reply, muffled by the sound of rushing water.  “Sleep well?”

“I always sleep well after a big sale,” Price almost purred as she pulled open the shower curtain.

**********

Down on the second floor of the penthouse, Damian Campana was already up, and had been for more than an hour.  It was just this kind of diligence that had won him such a high position in this particular business concern.  Although, he often told himself, it was a much higher position that he had been looking for.  With that in mind, it had been Campana himself who had sought out a buyer for the information he could provide on his employers.  Campana hadn’t had any moral illusions about the situation-- the IMF had simply been the highest bidder.

But in the last few weeks, he had become aware of a little extra attention being thrown his way, and none of it good.  His personal accounts in the Grand Caymans had been checked without his consent, and he’d been seeing the same red Camry in his rearview mirror every other day.  “The Lady and the Tiger” had yet to find their way into his communication lines, and he had no intention of giving them any time to try.

He poured another cup of coffee, fully realizing that it would do nothing to calm his nerves.  Campana had given the mayday signal to his IMF contact four days ago, and had gotten his reply within hours.  “Orders from Director, IMF: Bail-out confirmed.  Await IMF team extraction.  Expect no further communication.”  The e-mail erased itself from his system thirty seconds after he had read it.

And so, he had lived the last few days a virtual recluse, nervously waiting for the team to come.

Soon enough, his employers made their way down the stairs.  As always, Tarraka and Price were sporting the latest couture from Europe, ready to be chauffeured around Manhattan flaunting their wealth in the faces of both the general public and the law enforcers continually in the shadows.

“Still feeling... under the weather, Damian?” asked Price, not terribly interested in the answer.

“Yes, unfortunately,” Campana answered flatly.

Tarraka chuckled.  “Don’t worry-- you won’t be missing anything more important than Janine here emptying my wallet.”

The couple headed for the door.  “Ta ta,” Price tossed over her shoulder, and Tarraka opened the door.

Standing in the doorway, hand poised to knock was a young woman, with another young woman beside her.  Both were dressed in the uniforms both Price and Tarraka recognized as the ridiculous costume of the building’s cleaning staff.

“Oh!” said the taller of the two.  “I’m sorry, sir-- is this a bad time to come in?”

Tarraka winced at the girl’s accent-- piercing and distinctly Long Island.  “We prefer to be home when the cleaning is done.  We thought we’d made that clear to the management.”

“Yes, sir,” said the other maid, “but this is on the list as an acceptable time to check.”

Janine looked the pair over.  They were typical of the maid’s they’d seen over their two years in this place-- young, long-limbed and pretty.  The fact that she didn’t recognize either was common, as well.  The job had a horrible turnover rate as the women were quickly fed up with the chauvinistic behavior of many of the tenants.  They looked safe enough, she decided, and she was itching to go out and celebrate their latest sale.

“Oh, Tommy,” she said curtly, “Damian will be here.  He’ll be more than happy to keep and eye on them.”  She turned around.  “Won’t you Damian?”

Campana nodded absently.

“Well, then it’s all settled.”  Price headed out the door, brushing past the young women, Tarraka a step behind.  The maids stepped inside.

Without a word, the brunette headed upstairs while the blonde walked towards the living room.

**********

The lobby security guard looked over the jumpsuited worker before him.  Wrinkled clothes, disheveled hair and taped-together glasses didn’t convey the typical look of the workers who usually serviced this particular building.

“Work order?” the guard asked, obviously bored.

Sniffling loudly, the man handed over a stapled set of papers that had been rolled up in his back pocket.

**********

T.J. Delacorte was in his element.  Sitting comfortably in a padded office chair, ensconced safely in the back of a nondescript cable service van half a block away from the action.  The electronic security for the building had been impressive, but not spectacular.  It had taken just twenty-three minutes to crack, and now he was in the process of planting a little false information.

“And there you are, Mr. Aquino-- the lock is picked.”

**********

The security guard scanned the screen in front of him briefly, then returned Justin’s work order.  “Here ya go.  Freight elevator’s in the back.”

“Freight elevator?”

“All employees use the freight elevator-- building policy,” the guard replied without looking.  “Remember-- ya only got clearance to go into that _one_ apartment.”

Shrugging, Justin headed back.  “Very nice, Teej,” he whispered.

The answer buzzed from the earpiece of his glasses.  “My pleasure.”

“That was cake,” said a third voice over the comm line-- Ethan’s voice.  “Nothing compared to what we should find on their personal computer system.”

A few minutes later, Justin found himself on the top floor, and made his way to the utility closet.  He reached into his bag and extracted a wallet-sized case.  Unzipping it, he removed a black credit-card sized piece of plastic wired to a small circuit pack.  Justin slid the card into the electronic lock.

“Teej,” he whispered, “I’ve got ten bucks that says it takes longer than ten seconds.”

“I’ll take that,” T.J. replied, and began counting down.  “Ten... nine... eight... seven... six...”  He watched the alphanumerics scroll across his screen faster than he could read.  “Five... four... three... two...”

Justin watched the lock’s lights turn green, and cursed under his breath.  “All right, you win.”  He slipped inside, and with practiced ease, picked out the appropriate apartment’s set of cables.  He looked for the coaxial leads for the building’s closed-circuit television security system.  An eight-inch run of the wire had been spliced on, a subtle difference that could only have been detected by looking for it.  Justin whistled.

Reaching into his pack again, he removed a thick Swiss Army knife, selecting a sharp blade.  He ran the tip down the splice, exposing a lot more circuitry under the plastic cover than normal.

“Base, this is Two,” he radioed.  “Looks like you were right, Ethan.  Someone’s pulling a signal off the CCTV feed.  I wouldn’t be surprised if the other end of the transmission is in Tarraka and Price’s limo right now.”

“That’s what we expected,” Ethan replied.  “Can you pick up the signal?”  He drummed his fingers on the hotel table waiting for the reply.

“Three-two-five-point-nine kilohertz,” said Justin.

“Did you get that, Four?” said Ethan, keying T.J.’s comm channel.

“Feeding you the pictures now, base.”

Ethan called up the window on his laptop.  It popped up, showing four views of the penthouse-- outside the door, just inside the door, the upstairs hallway, and the living room.  He selected Alexa’s channel.

“One, this is base.”

Alexa continued dusting Price’s crystal knickknack collection.  “Go ahead, Base,” she whispered.

“We’ve confirmed the CCTV tap.  It’s video only, and covers the entryway, upstairs hall and downstairs living room.  Can you secure the package?”

She thought a moment.  “Affirmative, Ethan.  We’ll put him in the downstairs bedroom.”

“Fine.  I’ll signal you when to move him.  Get the package ready.  Do you copy, Three?”

Diana whispered, “I copy.”

Alexa headed downstairs, to find Campana already in his bedroom.

“Mr. Campana,” she said, regaining her grating accent, “is there anything special we can do for you today?”  Diana joined her quickly in the doorway.

“No,” Campana replied tiredly, “just the usual.”

“That’s too bad,” said Diana, stepping inside.  “Mr. Kittredge would be disappointed.”

Campana bolted upright.  “Kittredge?  You’re IMF?”

“Just stay calm, Campana,” said Alexa, “my friend here will take care of you.”

A few minutes afterward, Alexa heard the front door open.  Disheveling her hair, she stuck her head out the door.  She watched cautiously, hand on the pistol strapped to her back, as Justin entered the apartment.

**********

Tommy Tarraka almost choked on his mimosa.  “Now who the hell is that?”

Janine patted his shoulder.  “It must be the air-condition repairman.  We okayed it, remember?”

“I do _not_ like this, Janine.  Campana’s got those two in the bedroom, and now there’s another person in our house!”

“Have another drink, Tommy.  With what we paid for the internal security on that place, our secrets are safe.”

“I hope you’re right.”

**********

Alexa nodded imperceptibly to Justin, and headed out the door.  Justin smiled.  To keep up the act, she’d pulled down the shoulders of her maid’s costume, and let her hair half hang out of it’s bun.  She sashayed up to him, the picture of a textbook solicitation.

“You lookin’ to get to work, handsome?” she cooed.

“Always,” he replied.

“Very amusing,” said Ethan over the comm.  “Now go to it.”

Justin headed across the living room to the office, while Alexa returned upstairs to the master bedroom.  They set about their devious work.

TO BE CONTINUED...