Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar

Disclaimer applies to all chapters

Title: Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar
Author: Scribe
Fandom: Mission: Impossible II/X Files
Summary: When Ethan Hunt must impersonate a drug runner to infiltrate the compound of a very dangerous drug czar, he needs someone who looks like the man's male lover to accompany him for authenticity. Fox Mulder is recruited, but neither man knows exactly HOW dangerous the situation is, because Olivero has a long standing obsession with someone who looks exactly like Fox...
Rating: Fan rated adults only
Pairings: Ethan/Fox, Ethan/Fox/Rolly Tyler, Fox/OMC, OMC/OMC
Characters: Ethan Hunt, Fox Mulder, several original characters
Betas: None
Notes:
Disclaimer: I did not create, and do not own the rights to, the recognizable media characters that appear in this story.
I have no legal or bindingagreement with the creators, or owners.
I do not seek, and would not accept,profit from this fiction.
I have nothing but affection and respect for the creators, and the actors and actresses who portrayed these characters.
This story is in no way meant to reflect on the actual lives or life styles of the actors and actresses who portrayed the characters
All original characters are copyrighted by the author. Do NOT use without specific permission
Warning:

Mission: Jaws of the Jaguar

Chapter One
Mission Assigned

The two girls sitting on the brick planter outside the mall were thirteen, and were on a high that only thirteen year old girls who have spent the day at the mall can achieve. They'd hyped themselves with liberal doses of caffeine and sugar, and had reached a stage of twitching giggles. Now they were waiting for a parent to come and take them home, and gloating over their loot.

"That is so totally kewl, Jasmine," the little blonde said, envy clear in her tone. "I wish I had one."

Jasmine examined her prize smugly. "Don't blame me, Tara. If ya hadn't gotten that N'Sync CD you'da had enough to get one, too."

The object of their attention was what looked like a large automatic pistol. Closer inspection showed it to be made of plastic. "What flavor ammo did ya get?" Tara asked curiously.

"Chocolate, what else?" Jasmine showed her what looked like a clip. But instead of bullets, it was loaded with small brown candy lozenges. She carefully loadhe che clip into the butt of the fake gun. "I can't wait to take this to school. I'm gonna nail that booger Mark Blanchard right between the eyes. That'll teach 'im to snap my bra an' ask why I bother wearing one."

"Yeah, well, ya better be careful, or they'll take it. They call 'em 'dangerous nuisances'. My mom says they're gonna recall 'em cause the spring is too strong. They say some kids choked, shooting the ammo into their mouths, an' one kid even put his brother's eye out."

"Crap." Jasmine said confidently. "That's one of those urban whatchamacallits, like in the movie where they get chopped up."

Tara frowned. "Prom Night?"

"No, the other one."

"The Shining?"

"No! The one with the cute guy from Dawson's Creek, except he's blonde, an' he gets, like, hung from a tree."

Understanding dawned. "Oh. Urban legends."
"Yeah, that one. It's just stories grownups are passin' around to stop us from havin' fun."

Tara sounded doubtful. "I dunno. I think I saw it in the paper. They wouldn't lie in the paper, would they?"

"That's not what my dad says." Jasmine pointed the plastic pistol toward her own open mouth, and pulled the trigger. There was a sproinging snap, and a tiny brown pellet shot out, directly into her mouth. She chewed smugly. "See?"

"Do me!" Tara opened her mouth. Jasmine took aim, and shot. Direct hit. Suddenly her friend clutched her throat, eyes going wide.

"Tara?" Tara made a wheezing sound, grabbing Jasmine's arm. "Omygawd! Tara!" She thumped her on the back, hard. "Don't die! I'll do the Heinie maneuver on you!"

As she started to grab her friend, Tara laughed. "Get away from me, you 'mo!"

Jasmine got red in the face. "Tara, you snot!"
"Gimme! I wanna try!" Tara grabbed for the toy.

Jasmine tried to hold it away from her. "No way!"

The two friends struggled for possession of the toy, shoving and snatching. Neither one of them noticed the Jaguar that parked in the space nearby, or the man who got out. He started walking toward the mall entrance that was just to the left of the girls.

As he came up on the curb, Tara wrapped her hand around the butt of the candy gun, and Jasmine tried to jerk it away. She pulled the trigger. There was that familiar, sproinging snap, and a candy pellet shot out of the muzzle.

Both girls froze, gasping in horror. Because the little dart was flying straight at the man who was just passing by. It was going to smack him right in the head. They were doomed.

Casually, without looking around or breaking stride, the man brought his arm up. The candy bullet smacked into his palm, and his fingers closed around it. He took two more steps, then paused, and turned toward the girls.

Tara and Jasmine sat motionless, gaping at him. They were sure they were about to be hauled before mall security.

He regarded them, but they couldn't see his eyes, because he was wearing really kewl looking shades. In fact, this was quite possibly one of the kewlest looking guys they'd ever seen. Oh, kinda old. He was, like, almost thirty, or something. But he looked nice. He was wearing tight blue jeans, and a black T-shirt, and he had the kind of body those guys on Xtreme Sports had. His hair was black, and kind of long, falling over his forehead and ears, and down past his collar.

He just stared at them, no expression on his face. Then he pushed the shades up on his forehead. He had the greenest eyes they had ever seen. He smiled slowly, and Jasmine felt the crotch of her panties get moist, like they did when she went to the Backstreet Boys concert and screamed herself into a frenzy.

He held up the little brown lozenge between his thumb and forefinger, then slowly wagged a finger at them admonishingly. He popped the candy in his mouth. Lowering his sunglasses again, he headed into the mall, chewing.

The girls stared after him. Then they looked at each other and burst into hysterical giggles, hugging each other frantically. "Omygawd!" gasped Tara. "I thought we were toast!"

"I almost was!" Jasmine fanned herself. "Yow!" She looked at the mall entrance longingly. "I wonder if he likes younger women?"

Ethan Hunt munched the candy as he pushed through the doors into the mall. As he walked, he took the headphones of the micro cassette player he had hooked on his belt and slipped them on. He punched PLAY, and a lively instrumental, driven by drums and laced with the wailing of flutes, filled his ears. He window shopped, occasionally snapping his fingers in time to the music.

At last he made his way to a kiosk in the middle of the mall called Munchsters. The glass fronted cases held a wide assortment of bulk candy, nuts, and snacks. As he shut off the music and removed the earphones, the man inside the counter gave him a professional greeting smile. "Need a nibble?"

Bingo. "Yeah, I'm having severe munchies, but I can't make up my mind. What do you recommend?" Proper response given.

"That all depends on your mood."

And counter response. "I'll rely on your judgement."

The man seemed to consider him. "You look like a chocaholic to me." He tapped the counter above a display of brightly wrapped miniature candy bars. "How about some Hershey's Miniatures? A little of everything."

"Sounds good. Half pound, please."

The man scooped the candy onto the scale, watching the needle swing. He removed two, then added one, finally nodding his satisfaction. He poured the candy into a white paper sack, and took Ethan's money. "Enjoy. The Special Dark Chocolates are my favorites."

"Mine, too. Thanks."

Ethan sauntered back out to the parking lot. The two sharp shooters were gone, he noted. He made his way to the forest green Jaguar and got inside. Opening the bag, he unwrapped and ate first a Krackle, then a Mr. Goodbar. The guy was right, he was a chocaholic.

Digging through the contents of the bag, he located a single Hershe Spe Special Dark Chocolate. Ethan skinned off the paper and unwrapped the gold foil. Instead of a chocolate bar, he revealed a micro cassette. Ethan sighed. He really liked the Special Dark.

Ethan donned his headset again. He took another tiny wire and connected the player to a small port hidden in the frames of his sunglasses. Then he plugged the tape into the player and started it. Immediately the familiar, smooth voice with it's hint of Britain filled his ears.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hunt." Ethan half lifted a hand in greeting to the operative who was most likely several thousand miles away. You never could tell, though. It was entirely possible that he was being observed at the moment. Didn't hurt to be cordial.

He closed his eyes, and there was a sudden flicker of light across the backs of the closed lids. When he opened them, he was no longer looking through the windshield at the mall parking lot. He was looking at a photo shimmering on the inside lenses of his glasses. To anyone passing by, they would seem their usual dark shade.

Ethan was immediately interested in this mission, more so than usual. After all, it wasn't often that he began his assignments by being presented with a dossier photo of himself.

No he corrected himself. That's not me. Pretty fucking close, though. I'd say maybe me, five years down the road. What gives?

"This is Connor Galbraith. I'm sure you've noticed the remarkable resemblance to a certain M:I agent, who shall remain nameless."

Ethan studied the photo with interest. Galbraith was at some sort of society bash. Hm. I look pretty damn good in a tuxedo. The photo changed to show Galbraith more casually dressed, climbing out of a Porsche. The photos changed as the voice continued, showing the man in a variety of situations and outfits.

"Mr. Galbraith is an Irish lad made good. He's moved from the streets of Dublin into the lower levels of international high society. His interests are varied. As you can see, he's very sports oriented."

That he was. Tennis, rock climbing (Ethan's personal favorite), wrestling... He shook his head. The surveillance teams never ceased to amaze him. On the street was one thing, but how the fuck did they get such good shots from inside a closed gymnasium, or out in the open with the subject halfway up a cliff face?

"Mr. Galbraith has ties with the IRA, and has used his extensive smuggling contacts to run guns for the cause. But in his case, it's more business than political fervor. He's been well compensated, and has channeled the funds into his main enterprise. Drugs."

A photo of a handsome Latino man replaced Galbraith. He was big, at least 6'3", and powerfully built. His Indian black hair was cropped brutally short. His clean shaven face was handsome, but there was an edge of cruelty to the thin lips. The olive black eyes were sharp, showing a near fierce intelligence. He looked thoroughly dangerous.

"This is Olivero de la Montana, Columbian drug lord. He is known affectionately as 'The Jaguar'. This is due to his preferred methods of dispatching his enemies. He either disembowels them, or breaks their necks, as the big cat does. At present, he's only a mid level player, no threat to the big boys. But if he can form an alliance with Galbraith, and use Connor's extensive smuggling operation for distribution, he can rise to the top. The present powers in the cartels won't like that, and it could trigger a bloodbath. Since it is known that Galbraith uses commercial transport extensively, many innocent lives could be lost in the struggle."

Damn straight. A Columbian in a pissing contest is more fanatic than a Muslim fringe zealot on a jihad. They don't care who gets in the way: kids, grandmas, nuns, dogs. They all go.

"Montana's scheduled a meeting with Galbraith in two weeks time to discuss a merger of interests. Quite obviously, it is in the best interests of all but the two participants that this partnership never come into being."

"We intend to intercept Connor Galbraith and his traveling companion, and detain them. An operative will take Galbraith's place. This should not be too difficult, as Montaa's never actually met his prospective business partner, and knows him only through photographs and by reputation. And, as I'm sure you've noticed, Galbraith bears a certain resemblance to one of our more seasoned and, if I may say so, dashing agents."

"Flatterer," Ethan muttered, grinning.

The subject of the photos changed. The man in these was taller, rangy. He had thick brown hair that seemed to have a tendency to flop, and hazel eyes. Nice. Sulky looking mouth.

"This is Daniel Ballard, Of the Maryland Ballards. It may not mean much to you, Ethan, but I assure you it means a great deal in some circles. Daniel is the proverbial black sheep of the family. He is also Connor Galbraith's personal assistant, and love

The photos that followed were much like the first series. Daniel, sitting in a crowded banquette at a club, lounging beside a pool in a tiny pair of Speedos Niiice. Daniel looked good in a penguin suit, too. Connor had good taste.

"He's a spoiled and decadent young man. He has a trust fund, but it doesn't keep him in what he considers proper style, so he has been living with a series of sugar daddies since he left prep school. He is Galbraith's kept man. Galbraith is quite besotted with him ans fas far as things go with Daniel, he seems to have genuine affection for his patron. Cr anr and Daniel are inseparable, so it would not be believable for Galbraith to make a trip like this alone. An operative will have to be found to portray Daniel convincingly."

This assignment might have a few perks, if I get to squire around someone who looks like that.

"So, Mr. Hunt. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to present yourself at this meeting as Connor Galbraith, discover what you can about Monta's organization, sabotage any chance of Galbraith ever forming an alliance with anyone in the cartels, and get yourself and any other M:I operatives out safely. If you agree, you'll find pertinent information at the agreed upon safe house. We're sending you directly into the jaws of the jaguar this time, Ethan. Be careful."

Ethan put the keys in the ignition and fired up the motor, pulling out. There wasn't much traffic, and he took the ramp up onto the freeway as the voice continued. "As always, should any of your M:I operatives be caught or killed, the Secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions. This tape will self destruct in five seconds. Good luck, Ethan. Five..."

Ethan stopped the tape, counting, "Four." He ejected the tape. "Three." He rolled down the window. "Two." He whipped his arm, scaling the tiny cassette out toward the verge. There was a hissing sound, as the tape began to smoke. "One." It was dissolved before the plastic shell hit the ground.

Ethan disconnected the player, tossing it on the seat beside him. He popped a CD into the dash, and turned the volume up. The same instrumental he had listened to in the mall poured from the speakers. He began to tap his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the drums, singing under his breath. "Dah dah dah, dah da. Dah dah dah, duh dah..." He headed for the safe house.