After listening to Anna's story, Frank and Bryan remained expressionless.
Sure, rescuing a Russian female spy was a new experience for them—but at the end of the day, it was just another mission.
"Vasilev?" Bryan mused. "I've heard of him. His 'killers' rarely last five years. They either die or go insane. How long have you been in?"
Anna shuddered. "Five years… counting my training."
"You want her working for you?" Bryan turned to Jack.
Jack blinked in mock confusion. "What would I need her for? If I have a grudge, I settle it on the spot. I don't need a hitman."
"But isn't she a supermodel?"
Perhaps because his daughter was safe, Bryan finally relaxed enough to smile.
Though he had only joined the conversation midway, he had already seen through the subtle power struggle at play. So, he graciously gave Jack an exit strategy.
"She's too skinny," Jack said dismissively, glancing at Anna's chest with an exaggerated frown. "Not much up top. Her face is alright, I guess—but I wonder if she can even act?"
He reached for another five-figure bottle of wine, preparing to open it.
"You know how many famous designers in Paris want to work with me?"
Anna's chest rose and fell in frustration, but she clenched her jaw, swallowing the insult.
"Sorry. That was impulsive of me."
Seeing her quietly shrink back onto the couch, Jack smirked—PUA success. With a firm twist, he popped the cork.
Frank twitched slightly, watching as Jack poured half a glass for everyone—
And then drank the rest straight from the bottle.
For a moment, Frank pressed a hand over his chest. But Bryan's words soon distracted him.
"You hired him?" The bald man pointed at Jack, then at Bryan.
Bryan kept playing mediator. "He's an FBI agent. And the owner of a… uh… entertainment company?"
"Tech company," Jack corrected lightly. "Go on."
"Right—a tech company. He originally hired me as a bodyguard for one of his rising stars. A few days ago, he offered me the position of chief of security.
In fact, your son might end up working for him, too—writing scripts and all."
Bryan blatantly laid it all out.
Frank looked skeptical.
When they first met, Jack had been introduced through Ethan Hunt's parents. Frank had done his homework—learning that Jack was a rising star in law enforcement, highly praised by Ethan's father.
But in Frank's eyes, Jack was just a kid on the right side of the law.
They were parallel lines—never meant to cross again.
Since Frank prized his retirement, he deliberately distanced himself. The less connection, the safer it was for both of them.
But now?
Jack had not only pulled military strings to get to Paris early—
He had also built a company that had somehow roped in Bryan Mills.
That made no sense.
Even more importantly—
Over the past two days, Frank had seen how Jack operated.
This FBI agent wasn't as clean as he seemed.
So now, this wasn't about repaying favors.
This was about connections.
Favors were one-time transactions.
Connections were ongoing partnerships.
With that realization, Frank turned to Anna.
"How do you plan to leave the FSB? Dead or alive?"
The directness of the question stunned her.
For a moment, her expression wavered—was this hope or just another mind game?
"If dead," Bryan explained, "it means staging your death, then getting plastic surgery and disappearing. You'd go somewhere the FSB has little influence—like China.
If alive, you'd need them to officially erase your record, so you could live freely under a new identity. Given that you're only an unofficial operative, that wouldn't be too difficult."
Anna's eyes filled with tears. She nodded desperately.
"Either works. I just want my freedom."
——
After finishing their third bottle of wine, Anna finally shared her original plan.
It was predictable.
Using seduction to gain leverage—her last remaining asset.
Frank shook his head.
"You really think you could seduce Vasilev?"
Anna made a disgusted face. "I'd rather die than sleep with that bastard."
Jack rolled his eyes. So she has standards.
"He's pushing 70. Probably can't even get it up anymore," she added bluntly.
Even Frank and Bryan rolled their eyes this time.
"Sorry."
Realizing she had just insulted all older men in the room, Anna quickly apologized.
——
After piecing together her past, Jack realized—
Frank's term "discarded asset" had been too kind.
Anna was more like… a roll of toilet paper.
Torn off piece by piece—until only the cardboard core remained, at which point she would be tossed out entirely.
She had spent most of her time in Europe, carrying out missions that included public assassinations.
Sometimes she snuck into a target's life through her modeling career.
Other times, she used sex to get close before eliminating her mark.
If not for French police being utterly useless—and the fact that makeup gave women a natural disguise advantage—
Her cover as a model would have been blown long ago.
In fact—the CIA already had her in their sights.
Just a few days ago, she had walked into an ambush.
A CIA field team had replaced her hidden bathroom gun with blank rounds—then taken her hostage.
They had made her an offer:
Work for them as a double agent—or disappear permanently.
Jack tilted his head. "What exactly did they offer?"
"Three years of service—then I'd be free under CIA protection."
Anna's lip curled in disdain.
Frank snorted. "And you agreed?"
"I countered with one year and demanded to live in Hawaii."
Anna's eyes held a hint of hope—but that quickly faded.
Because Frank was laughing at her.
"You know what I got after 40 years of service with the CIA?" he asked, smirking.
"Ten grand a year in retirement checks, a shitty wooden house in Texas—
And a verbal promise that I wouldn't get silenced."
______
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