"Ethan, what the hell is going on? I just got word from HQ—IMF has been disbanded…"
Luther stormed in, shouting in disbelief. Beside him, William stayed silent, but his expression said it all.
Ethan didn't answer. His face was a storm of conflicting emotions.
Owen, seeing that Ethan wasn't going to speak, explained on his behalf: "The order came directly from President Palmer. The IMF team is officially disbanded…"
IMF—the Impossible Mission Force—was the CIA's internal codename for the team. The nickname "Mission: Impossible team" was just something Owen called them privately, a nod to his love for old movies.
Seeing the disappointment on Luther and William's faces, Owen felt a twinge of sympathy. He didn't approve of the IMF's methods, but he couldn't deny they were real unsung heroes. How many times had they defused world-ending crises that no one ever knew about?
But times change. A new president means new alliances. President David Palmer had always favored CTU over the CIA. The IMF team had lost their protected status at the top, and now they were being cut loose.
Still, despite everything, the sudden disbandment of such a decorated team left Owen feeling melancholic. He understood Palmer's decision, but he couldn't help but feel a pang of sorrow—perhaps one day, the Rapid Response Team would meet the same fate.
Then again, maybe this would be a blessing in disguise.
Each member of the IMF team was extraordinarily talented. Disbanded, they could still serve as agents in other operations—or even retire and live normal lives. With their skills, they'd do just fine.
While Owen was contemplating the team's uncertain future, Ethan suddenly spoke up: "Owen, I have no issue with the IMF being disbanded. But I want to ask you a personal favor. Help me rescue Benji. He's still in Makarov's hands. I have to get him out…"
Owen looked at Ethan, catching the direction of his gaze. He narrowed his eyes. "You want me to hand over the plutonium, don't you? Use it to trade for Benji?"
Ethan didn't reply, but his eyes made it clear—that's exactly what he wanted.
"No way."
Owen's refusal was immediate and firm. "You know what would happen if that thing ends up in Makarov's hands. I can't let you take that risk…"
Owen saw the light in Ethan's eyes change. He was clearly preparing to make a move. Quickly, Owen added, "Hold on. I won't give you the plutonium—but I will help you rescue him."
"With what?" Ethan asked, confused.
"With them."
Owen proudly pointed toward the door. Just as he did, the sound of a screeching car brake echoed outside. A moment later, several figures stepped through the doorway, silhouetted by the sunlight.
Owen's smile grew wide as he stepped forward to greet them, embracing each in turn.
At the front, Ghost let out a hearty laugh. "Owen, looks like you've been having a blast while we were away—causing all kinds of headlines."
Everyone laughed. Owen hugged each of his teammates: Monica, Ghost, Swagg, Heartbeat—this was his foundation, his confidence.
Owen briefed them on everything that had happened to the IMF team. His squad fully supported his decision to help. The Rapid Response Team had always been a unified force—Owen was their leader, and his choice was theirs.
Owen turned to Ethan. Though he disapproved of the IMF's tactics, he respected Ethan as a man. Ethan's willingness to risk everything—including a nuclear device—to save Benji spoke volumes about the bond within the IMF. Owen admitted to himself that, if their roles were reversed, he might have done the same.
At that moment, Nikki's voice cut through on the comms: "Wait for me… I'm in too."
…
With Nikki and Luther—two elite hackers—working together, it didn't take long to track down traces of the GRU's movements. Vehicles, weapons, food, routes—something always left a trail. Using reverse analysis, they soon pinpointed the GRU's base of operations.
Ding-dong~
In front of an unassuming building, a mailman rang the bell over and over. After a long moment, the door creaked open a crack, and a man inside asked warily, "Who is it?"
"Sir, this is a package I was asked to deliver to you on someone's behalf…"
The mailman smiled brightly—mostly because the guy who tipped him had been unusually generous. The package hovered midair as the man inside didn't take it. "Who sent it? Who told you to bring this?"
"Uh… A gentleman. He said he was a friend of yours…"
Still suspicious, the man reluctantly accepted the package after repeated urging.
The mailman muttered to himself as he walked away. Inside, the GRU operative stared at the box warily.
Something wasn't right.
He signaled his team to stay hidden and carefully placed the box on the coffee table. He examined every edge and seam for wires or traps, then pressed his ear to it—no ticking. It didn't seem like a bomb.
Still cautious, he retrieved a set of specialized tools and ran diagnostics. Eventually, he determined that the box was likely safe.
Finally, acting as the designated daredevil, the GRU operative opened the box—and his jaw dropped at the sight of the three plutonium cores inside.
Unbelievable.
After all the blood, effort, and loss of life, they hadn't been able to reclaim the cores—only to have them delivered like this. It had to be a trap. But the readings were clear—these were the real plutonium cores.
Suspicious or not, the mission was to retrieve and repatriate the plutonium. They didn't know the sender's true intentions, but the GRU agents quickly packed up and evacuated the location—clearly, it was no longer secure.
In the distance, Owen lowered his binoculars. The plutonium had been safely handed over to the GRU. What they did with it now was none of his concern. The president's task was done.
Now came the personal mission—rescuing Benji. And if they could take down Makarov while they were at it? All the better.
"Where to next?" Owen turned to Ethan.
Like all IMF members, Ethan had a tracking chip embedded in his body. That's how Luther and William had found him without direct contact earlier.
Ethan pulled out a small device, checked it, and frowned. "Italy. Venice."
(End of Chapter)
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