The car pulled over to the side, and Chikalyev led Owen toward the two groups already waiting on the clearing. Owen scanned both parties carefully, his face unreadable, while they likewise scrutinized him in return.
In the distance, Nikki's laptop screen displayed everything Owen was seeing. The glasses Owen wore were in fact a covert camera, transmitting his perspective in real time. As his gaze moved, the system began automatically cross-referencing each person with intelligence databases.
"Heather Ruth, information broker. Operates mainly in Eastern Europe. Involved in drug and arms trafficking in addition to intel," Nikki read over the comms.
Owen glanced toward the opposite faction, now able to place their leader thanks to the ID. He gave Heather Ruth an extra moment of attention—this man had been linked to Beth's assassination case and was also involved with the Cruel Angels organization.
The CIA had originally been tasked with dealing with Heather Ruth. Owen didn't know what had come of that, but it clearly hadn't stuck. Now, here he was again—this time involved in a nuclear weapon transaction.
Turning his attention to his own side, Owen scanned the faces until he spotted Makarov himself, surrounded by his loyalists.
Nikki confirmed it through the comms: "Yuri, Skorchen... all hardcore Makarov followers."
Owen approached the group. Makarov remained silent, simply giving a small nod to one of his men. That man turned and gestured for Owen to follow.
"Verify the goods," said the man—Yuri, according to Nikki's intel. He was one of Makarov's most trusted operatives.
Heather Ruth nodded to one of his own men, who came forward with a metal case. He set it on the table between the two groups and opened it with a click.
Inside was a small, circular warhead—much smaller than Owen had expected.
Yuri and the courier stood beside the case and turned their eyes to Owen. He shrugged and reached into his pocket for a small device.
He didn't know exactly how Pavlovich would have authenticated a plutonium core, but he'd come prepared.
In full view of everyone, Owen brought the device close to the warhead. It began to emit a loud "beep-beep" sound.
"No issues. It's real," Owen declared, turning to Makarov.
Makarov's eyes locked on the device. Owen explained, "It's a cesium probe. It reacts to plutonium isotopes. The sound is from a radiation monitor. Together, they confirm this is a genuine plutonium core."
Makarov then turned to Chikalyev, who nodded. He'd heard Pavlovich explain the process—if the device emitted those signals, the core was genuine.
"Your decryption program?" Chikalyev asked.
"Oh—right," Owen said, feigning a moment of forgetfulness. He pulled out the USB-like device and inserted it into a slot on the warhead.
He had no idea what would happen once it was inserted. If the device failed, he was screwed—he wouldn't even know how to fix it. He braced himself.
The red LED on the device blinked rapidly. Sweat began to bead on Owen's forehead. If the light didn't turn green soon, he might have to bolt.
But fate seemed to be on his side. After a few agonizing seconds, the red light blinked three times—then turned green.
Relief flooded Owen's chest. He removed the device and pocketed it again. Makarov looked to Chikalyev, who gave a subtle nod. Everything matched what Pavlovich had described.
A rare smile crept onto Makarov's otherwise stoic face, and his lieutenants grinned with satisfaction.
In Owen's earpiece, Nikki said, "I just sent photos of the core to the Rapid Nuclear Nonproliferation Response Team. Their analysis says it's a semi-finished plutonium core, likely stripped from a Soviet-era weapon—maybe Russian, maybe Ukrainian."
"It's not capable of detonation yet," she continued, "but in the hands of someone with the proper expertise, it could be weaponized within 72 hours. Normally, these cores have complex security mechanisms that prevent chain reactions. That decryption device you're holding is designed to bypass those failsafes—and probably even initiate detonation after decryption."
Owen's mind raced. Pavlovich was dead—blown up back at the safehouse. Nuclear experts weren't exactly a dime a dozen. There was no way Makarov could find a replacement on such short notice. That meant Owen's stolen decryption device had just become the most critical piece of this puzzle.
"You've verified the core. Now what about the money?" Heather Ruth asked.
Owen stepped back, calculating. Somehow, he needed to steal both the plutonium core and the decryption device without getting shredded by the crossfire.
"The money's no problem," Makarov said. "But first, I think there's another matter we need to discuss."
Suddenly, Makarov's men subtly began to surround Heather Ruth's crew. Owen found himself trapped in the middle of both factions.
"Makarov, this is no way for a businessman to behave," Heather Ruth said, his tone calm.
Makarov looked like he was planning to take everything—money, core, device—and leave no witnesses.
But Heather Ruth didn't seem worried. He even smiled. "You didn't think I came without a backup plan, did you?"
Just then, a melodic female voice rang out: "Are you talking about those CIA agents you stashed on the perimeter?"
Owen turned toward the voice—and froze. Avril, the White Mask.
What the hell was she doing here?
He didn't need Nikki to confirm her identity. He'd know her anywhere, in any form. Owen remained stone-faced.
Avril strolled up, all smiles, while Makarov's men drew their weapons, pointing them at Heather Ruth's team.
Owen's brain worked overtime. With the White Mask now involved, the situation had officially entered critical mass.
Heather Ruth said nothing. Avril adopted the pose of a victor. Several figures appeared in the distance—agents, armed, but not making aggressive moves.
Seeing them, Heather Ruth's confidence seemed to falter. Avril pointed at the newcomers and said sweetly, "Are these your backup? Because it looks like they're not on your side anymore, Mr. Heather Ruth—or should I say... Ethan Hunt?"
Owen's jaw nearly dropped. He couldn't hide his astonishment anymore and stared at the man across from him in disbelief.
Avril reached out and ripped off Heather Ruth's face mask, revealing Ethan Hunt's unmistakable features—only now, his trademark cool expression had twisted into something far less composed.
(End of Chapter)
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