After the meeting, Owen returned to his office, sat back in his large chair, and began making calls. First, he phoned his direct superior, Jack Bauer, detailing every part of the operation. After hanging up, he then called President Palmer.
The president was busy, constantly surrounded by an avalanche of matters demanding his attention. Owen kept it brief, informing him of the Syndicate and his desire to conduct a covert investigation. Palmer had no objections.
There were too many rotten elements in the government. Even the Vice President couldn't be trusted. Palmer placed absolute faith in Owen—he didn't care how Owen handled it, only that he delivered results.
After ending the call, Owen leaned back, staring down in thought. He remembered that the Syndicate had once been the archenemy of the Mission: Impossible team. But that team was long disbanded, and Owen had no way of contacting Ethan or the others. He'd hoped to ask whether they had ever encountered the Syndicate, but their whereabouts were unknown.
After a few minutes, Owen gave up. That lead was currently a dead end. He shifted his focus to the second issue: the liaison officer.
Honestly, during the meeting, the first person that came to mind was Bryan. He had the right background—former operative, formally trained, and well-versed in everything from political dealings to underworld networks. More importantly, Owen trusted him completely. Bryan was the ideal candidate. The only issue was whether he'd be willing to take the job—Bryan had always been reluctant to work for government agencies.
Still, it was worth a shot. Owen found Bryan's number and called.
It rang a few times before connecting. The moment he heard Bryan's voice, Owen greeted him warmly. "Hey, man. How've you been?"
"Oh, Owen. It's you..."
Bryan's voice was subdued. In the background, Owen could hear chaos—and a man crying.
Frowning, Owen asked, "Bryan, what's going on? Where are you? Why do I hear someone crying?"
There was a pause before Bryan spoke again, voice low and heavy. "Owen… Jim is dead. During the last mission Sam's PMC took, Jim wasn't so lucky..."
"Jim?"
Owen was momentarily speechless. He knew Jim—one of Bryan's old friends. He'd met him at a backyard barbecue at Bryan's house. Jim had raved about Owen's Chinese-style skewers. Who would've thought he'd be gone so suddenly? Life really was unpredictable.
Owen was familiar with Sam's PMC. Sam had ties to the Department of Defense and had been able to secure plenty of contracts. Their original security firm had expanded into a full-fledged private military company. Their previous clients were handed off to Bryan.
The company's founding members were all part of Bryan's old circle—former CIA, former Rangers. Sam led the group. Jim had been one of the founders. Owen had good relationships with all of them. They had even helped rescue Monica in Colombia.
"How did it happen?"
Owen couldn't believe it. Jim had been a Ranger, then CIA—he shouldn't have died so easily. But on the battlefield, sometimes your luck simply runs out. Even battle-hardened warriors weren't immune to stray bullets.
"The mission was messy," Bryan said. "The enemy was ready. It was a trap. Jim was covering the rear. A goddamn bullet hit him in the head. They got him out, but… he didn't make it."
Bryan gave him a short version of what had happened. Owen sighed. On the battlefield, bullets don't discriminate.
"Where are you now? When's the funeral?"
"We're in his hometown—Binney County, Sacramento, Texas. The funeral's the day after tomorrow."
"Alright. I'll head there now. I'll be there by tomorrow night."
Owen hung up and had Omega's admin book him the earliest flight out. Then he called in Ghost and told him he'd be away for a few days on personal business—Ghost would be in charge of Omega during his absence.
With everything arranged, Owen informed the rest of the core team and headed for the airport. Omega had no pressing intel to chase in the next couple of days, and with Ghost covering things, Owen felt safe leaving.
This wasn't official business, so Owen didn't use Omega's private jet. He had his secretary book him the earliest commercial flight.
After a night of flying, Owen finally landed in Sacramento. Stepping out of the airport, he saw Bryan waving at him from the curb.
Owen hadn't known the address, so he'd called Bryan during the flight.
"My condolences," Owen said as he shook Bryan's hand.
Outwardly, Bryan looked unchanged—just quieter than usual. The usual lightness in his smile was gone. They hugged, and Bryan gestured for Owen to get in the car. Owen had traveled light—no luggage.
"How's everyone else holding up?"
As they drove, Owen asked. Sam and the others had known the risks when they started their PMC. No one in that line of work could guarantee a safe return every time. They'd lost people before—but this was the first time one of their own had fallen.
"Everyone's managing. Sam's taking it hard, though. He brought in the contract, made the call. He didn't expect it to be a trap. He blames himself for Jim's death…"
Owen nodded. Now that he was leading his own team, he understood how Sam felt. Being the leader meant every decision carried weight—your choices could mean life or death for your people.
As Bryan spoke, Owen got updated on the lives of the old crew. The truth was, they all accepted Jim's death, as painful as it was. This line of work came with the risk. They were men who lived on the edge of life and death. But Sam couldn't let it go—not only had he misjudged the situation, but Jim had also been his closest friend. He was even godfather to Jim's daughter.
Everyone knew Sam's pain. No one blamed him. Now Owen realized it had been Sam crying in the background during his call with Bryan yesterday. The man had held himself together until drinks at the bar finally broke him.
The car kept driving deeper into the countryside until they reached a large house. Behind it lay a sprawling ranch. The front lot was already full of parked vehicles—friends and old comrades who had come to pay their respects.
Owen followed Bryan out of the car. On the way, he learned Jim had owned the ranch—his backup plan for his family. Many operatives liked to do that: risk their lives in the field, but provide their loved ones with a quiet, comfortable life. If Bryan hadn't divorced, he would've done the same.
Inside the house, it was already crowded. The sheer number of guests made it impossible for Jim's family to personally greet everyone.
Scanning the room, Owen spotted Sam and a few of the old crew in a corner. They saw him too and waved. Owen followed Bryan over to them.
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