Just inside the main doors, a chauffeur dressed in blue and red waited, holding a sign with the name Hunt marked on it. With him was another couple—a man in his mid- sixties and his much younger, very busty, blonde wife.
"I'm Hunt," Ethan said. "Sorry we're late. My wife was feeling sick and had to get some fresh air."
The driver nodded. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, his plain face suntanned and bored looking. "Would you mind if we take Mr. and Mrs. Randy with us? It appears their chauffeur has disappeared."
"Really? Well, sure, that's no problem." He held out his hand to the older man. "Ethan Hunt."
"Bob Randy and my wife, Bliss."
