In the end, Makarov still let Ethan Hunt and his team go, only detaining Benji as a hostage. This time, they had taken a heavy blow, yet somehow still got absurdly lucky. Makarov believed that the one who snatched the plutonium in the end was part of their group—otherwise, they would've been dead for sure.
"Who was that guy?"
With his back to Makarov's group as they walked away, William asked quietly.
"I don't know. He's not one of ours. Luther, what's the situation?"
In a distant building, Luther was remotely operating a drone in a futile search. Hearing Ethan's question, he responded helplessly, "Sorry, Ethan. We lost him…"
As the remote support operative, Luther hadn't been on-site. He was monitoring the situation through the drone. When everything went south earlier, his heart had been on a roller coaster.
First, Ethan and the team's cover was blown, and there was nothing Luther could do. This was Istanbul—they had no local support. The only allies they had, the CIA operatives, had been part of a setup. Essentially, they had handed over the plutonium on a silver platter.
The only thing Luther could do at the time was call the police, hoping their arrival would distract Makarov and give Ethan's team a chance to escape. But when the police heard the location, they simply hung up. That area was a lawless zone; unless a full squad of heavily armed officers entered, any lone patrol would just become a missing persons case.
Then, a twist of fate—without needing Ethan's instruction, Luther had immediately started tracking Owen. He was certain Owen wasn't part of their team, but the man clearly knew Ethan. Whether Owen was framing the IMF team or it was just coincidence didn't matter—he had taken the plutonium, and they had to get it back.
What followed was a series of insane maneuvers by Owen—barreling through the shantytown like a wrecking ball in a scene straight out of a Hollywood blockbuster. At that point, the drone could still keep up. But once Owen entered the building, the drone lost him. He surfaced once more after that, but disappeared again quickly.
…
Meanwhile, in a bustling market, Owen walked swiftly through the crowd with a backpack on his back, alert to his surroundings. Fortunately, no pursuers had appeared yet.
Taking cover around a corner at a crossroad, Owen contacted his support.
"Nikki, what's the status?"
Also hiding elsewhere, Nikki was monitoring a satellite map on her screen. "All clear, Owen. The routes around you are safe…"
With her confirmation, Owen picked a direction and continued walking. After a few steps, he asked, "What about the IMF team?"
Though he was angry with the CIA's operations, the IMF team was technically on the same side. He had tried to help them while he could. What he hadn't expected was that Makarov had snipers in place—if not for Owen's sharp instincts, he would've been taken out. But he had no idea what happened to the team after he left.
"The good news is, they got out."
"And the bad news?"
"One of them was left behind as a hostage."
Owen shook his head. He didn't know what deal the IMF team had struck with Makarov, but he hoped they were lucky enough to survive.
In truth, Owen had never liked the IMF's way of doing things. In his past life, watching their movies, he thought they were cool—always saving the day. But when it came to being in their shoes, he realized just how reckless their risk-taking style really was.
Just like this time—if Owen hadn't shown up, Makarov would've gotten away with the plutonium. Even if Ethan had other methods of retrieving it later, it would've meant gambling with the lives of everyone on Earth. No wonder the CIA had tried to shut the IMF down several times. If Owen were Director of the CIA, he'd do the same.
"Owen, what do we do now? I mean, the plutonium—are we going with the original plan?"
Nikki asked over comms. They had come up with two contingency plans: Plan A for handling the plutonium if they managed to seize it, and Plan B for dealing with Makarov if they captured him—which, realistically, was almost impossible. There was no way Owen could extract Makarov on his own in the middle of that chaos. He wasn't the Terminator.
"Plan A."
With Owen's confirmation, Nikki quickly purchased a plane ticket to Azerbaijan using Owen's Turkish entry identity. At the same time, she began packing up and erasing their presence. Meanwhile, Owen carried the case with the plutonium toward the train station. The plane ticket was just a decoy—to mislead anyone tracking him. If anyone investigated, they'd believe he had flown to Azerbaijan.
…
In the car, William muttered in frustration, "Looks like we'll just have to wait two more hours…"
He had also heard the comms between Ethan and Luther. They had lost the plutonium's location—but they still had a backup plan. Before the trade, they had hidden a tracking device inside the plutonium case.
Anticipating that Makarov's people would scan for bugs, they had used a specialized timed beacon. Initially inactive, the device would be invisible during scans. Two hours later, it would automatically activate—by then, no one would expect a second scan.
As for the concern that the plutonium might be separated from the case—it wasn't really an issue. The plutonium was radioactive, and the original case not only offered bullet resistance but also radiation shielding. Unless Makarov's men had a death wish, they'd definitely keep the original container.
The beacon wouldn't activate for two hours, but they couldn't waste that time. "Luther, pull up the list of all foreign nationals who entered Turkey in the past few days…"
About ten minutes later, after confirming they weren't being followed, Ethan and the team returned to their safe house. At the entrance, Luther handed over a stack of documents.
"These are all the foreign entrants we filtered from the last couple of days. I ran them against our database and narrowed it down to these forty-something individuals…"
Ethan and William each took a portion and began reviewing. The profiles Luther had compiled were all somewhat suspicious. The CIA's database was immensely powerful, covering sensitive individuals from across the globe, and the IMF had access to its highest clearance.
Mossad operatives, FSB agents, retired SAS commandos, Belgian armed police…
File after file passed through Ethan's hands. All of them seemed capable, but none had an obvious motive. Then Owen's file appeared before him. Ethan's eyes narrowed. Steve Owen—he remembered that name. A rookie agent from CTU, a decent shot. Why would he be here?
"This guy suspicious?"
Next to him, William noticed Ethan fixating on the profile and couldn't help asking.
"Not sure. But I've seen him before—he's CTU."
(End of Chapter)
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