A/N: Apologies to anyone versed in Irish history! The BN timeline about these early days is somewhat muddled, presenting conflicting information. More importantly, much of the 'action' described as happening in Ireland during their blooming romance would likely have had to occur years earlier. So, throwing historical accuracy to the wind, the tale begins...
Stone of The Heart
The Assignment
"You're kidding, right?"
"I never kid, Michael." Tom Card, CIA Training Officer, stared at his protégée who was clearly miffed at his new assignment. "Think of it as a vacation."
"A vacation? I've just had eight weeks of leave." The spy was ready to get back to work with an assignment commensurate with his skills.
Tom scoffed, "Six of those weeks were spent in a field hospital in the desert. Three bullets to the chest, I believe. If only one of them had been a half inch to the left, you and I would be spared this conversation." Michael rolled his eyes and began pacing slightly. "Look, Michael, Langley wants you on special assignment. The belief here is it might be a little less taxing. Give you more time to recover."
Michael was clearly not convinced. He felt fine. Work would be the best medicine for a complete recovery. He had spent too many empty hours, too much time thinking about the past. "But Ireland, Tom? The worst is over there. Nobody cares about Ireland."
"Thanks for your astute political observations, Michael. I'll be sure to pass that along to our friends in the British Embassy. They'll be pleased to hear their problems there are a non-issue." Tom's expression indicated there was very little room for negotiation. He held a file in his hand, giving it a slight wave.
Michael grabbed the file and slumped into the nearby chair. He opened the file and began to read. "Belfast? You're sending me to Belfast."
"See, Michael, things are lookin' up already. You can add it to your resume. You will have been stationed in all four of the list of B's to avoid: Baghdad, Beirut, Bosnia, and now, Belfast. Look, if it's really that objectionable to you perhaps I could swing a nice desk assignment stateside. Miami perhaps? Give you a chance to spend some quality time with mommy." Tom broke out into a toothy grin awaiting the spy's reaction to this new suggestion. A death glare emanated from the man before him. Tom continued, "Besides, you could do with a change of climate. Do you own an umbrella?"
Michael was no longer pouting but still was not convinced this was the best place for his first assignment back but he was ready to listen. Tom sensed the change in mood and began to explain. "Place is a powder keg, Michael. This peace deal they're talking about is for real. The Irish and British governments are hammering out the details. Hell, they even have the IRA buying into it, at least, parts of the IRA." He paused noting that the younger man's interest was increasingly piqued. "But here's where it gets messy. Not everyone wants the war to end. The Provos look like they're ready to split. A new radical army likely to emerge, one that wants the peace deal to blow up - literally. The Prod paramilitary groups think they're getting screwed in the deal. And everyone with a pulse up there is stockpiling guns in case all hell breaks loose."
"I thought disarmament is part of the conditions of the agreement." Michael studied the file before him.
Tom grinned, "I see you used your hospital stay to catch up on current events." He leaned forward, "It is, but we've got 600 years of distrust here. Looks like everyone wants a little insurance in case this ceasefire goes south. That's where you come in." Michael looked up. "Our man on site tells us guns are still coming in from the US, Russia, Libya, but guns are also going out, sold to all kinds of militias around the world. Looks like some enterprising Army members are setting up their own little gun running businesses, as well. "
"And you want me to stop it?" Michael looked confused.
Tom ignored the question. "There's one dealer in particular we're concerned about. His biggest clients are the world's biggest enemies. We also want a read from the inside on if this deal is as promising as it looks or if the IRA is playing us all."
"What about MI-5? They must have people in place for this kinda thing." Michael did not want to compromise an operation already in process by a friendly government.
"The US is sticking its neck out to broker this thing. The higher ups want us on the right side. You know, a happy photo op. Maybe a Nobel Peace prize." It was evident that Card was less concerned about this last bit but did want information about the armament situation.
Michael could see that there was a legitimate reason for this operation. "Fine." He turned his attention back to the file. "Looks like there's already an asset in place. I assume I come into play through him?"
"Murphy. Nervous type. Not our best call. He's a low level IRA grunt - a middleman of sorts. Basically, cars come in through the Port of Dublin. Sometimes there are surprises hidden within. He picks up the cars, takes them to a safe house nearby the border, and strips them of stashed weapons. IRA soldiers a little higher up on the food chain pick them up, distribute them. Others even higher up act as a conduit selling to the highest bidder, getting cash for the movement." Tom paused.
"So, I assume you would like this dealer..." Michael left his words hanging and expected Card to fill in the gaps giving Michael the full picture of exactly what he was walking into.
"Name's Hannon. Buys in bulk and sells to little armies throughout the world. We need to put him out of business. Ireland is our best shot to get him." Card could tell Michael was on board. "You'd be doin' double duty here: nab the bad guy and give us some Intel about what's happening with the IRA, info that we can either use ourselves or trade with the Brits for one of our ops. Win-win all around. Whaddya say, Michael? You've always been a tea man. It's perfect for you!"
"News flash, Tom, they drink it hot there." Michael smiled. "When do I go?"
"That's my boy! Three days. You'll meet Murphy in Dublin during one of his pick-ups. You'll be working with him stripping the cars. Car guy like you, well, it's a match made in heaven." Tom continued to sell this particular assignment, knowing Michael fully had expected to return to the Middle East. "Make note of the buyers and sellers. Let us know how and when we can make a move on Hannon. Could take awhile. That fiancée of yours okay with that - Samantha, right? That was one quick romance. Gotta be honest, I didn't think you had it in you." Tom had been very surprised to discover that aloof Michael Westen had taken the plunge toward commitment.
Michael squirmed slightly. He was still uncomfortable about his new status. Things had moved very quickly, too quickly. Samantha was everything that he could have hoped for in a partner. She was beautiful, a skilled operator who understood his love of the game. She made so few demands and accepted his work. So why was he still so apprehensive of this next step. "She'll be fine." He handed the file back to Card and stood up prepared to leave the office.
"Whoa. There's one more important factor in this cover if this plan has any chance of success. How's your Irish accent?" Tom waited, wondering if Michael could pull off this essential requirement for his cover.
The spy thought a moment, turned toward his mentor, and flashed a warm smile, his face softening as he spoke. "Name's McBride. Michael McBride. Pleased to meet ya." Then, he reverted immediately back to himself, reserved, serious. "Satisfied?"
"That'll work." Tom released his protégée with a wave of his hand.
Michael left the room cursing the bullets that removed him from the battlefield and apparently banished him to the shores of the Emerald Isle. He intended to hurry this job along so he could leave Ireland in the past, like so many other unwanted memories in his life. Get in, get out, be done with it. It was a philosophy that suited him well throughout his career. He expected this mission to be no different. He was certain that Michael McBride was slated to have a very short existence.
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Denny Murphy was compromised through the delivery of one of the American shipments. Shortly afterward he was approached by a US undercover operator and a deal he dared not refused was presented - work with their intelligence agency or a rumour would be spread that he was working for the British. The second option would lead directly to a bullet through the head and an unmarked grave. He complied with the promise of a new life in the United States once the goal was reached. He just had to survive long enough for the government across the pond to deliver on that promise.
Mindless chatter filled the makeshift workspace, an abandoned barn on the outskirts of Scotshouse, just a few kilometres from the border. Denny was likeable enough but he had chosen the wrong path. He wasn't suited for this type of life. Michael was surprised that he had actually lasted this long in the field.
The general conception in the neighbourhood was that Murphy was a loyal but skittish lapdog. He lent his support for the cause through the cars he processed rather than the use of the guns that came his way. Luckily for Denny, there was plenty of firepower in the surrounding towns and countryside and many willing to go to great lengths to protect the stream of weapons and money flowing into the movement. Armies need cash to operate and robbing banks simply did not provide all the funds required. Denny Murphy had value, but little respect.
Michael watched the interactions between his 'boss' and the soldiers that passed through the enterprise. His impatience increased with each day as he realised that the likelihood of any information of import passing through this way was a long shot at best. If he had any hope of completing this operation quickly so he could return to real action, there was only one solution; he needed a new asset, someone with the balls to take a risk.
Michael's musings were interrupted as the sound of a vehicle could be heard crunching along the gravel driveway. No one was expected so both men tensed. Michael reached for his gun, releasing the safety, and prepared for whatever might come their way. Denny lifted his head to view the approaching visitor -a lone figure in an unfamiliar car with Belfast plates. Michael followed his lead moving slightly to the left to get a better angle should gunfire erupt. The driver came to a halt, exiting the car with a flourish, and stood motionless waiting to be greeted.
"Bloody hell!" Murphy instantly recognised the visitor. He groaned and his agitation was readily apparent. Michael could almost smell the man's fear. He took a longer look at the new arrival trying to ascertain Murphy's visceral reaction to their visitor. A petite redhead stood in the yard, her arms crossed, her foot tapping in impatience.
"Ex-girlfriend?" Michael whispered to his companion, wondering if that might explain Murphy's odd behaviour. But before Denny had a chance to answer, a shot rang out.
"Next one is goin' into your arse unless ya get out here, Murphy! I'll not be kept waitin' forever!" The woman shouted, her weapon pointed toward the barn.
The American intended to protect his asset and aimed at the intruder. Murphy leapt to where the spy was positioned pushing the barrel of the gun in a different direction. "Are ya daft, man? She'll shoot us both dead, she will! Just stay out of sight. She's not one for takin' to strangers." Then, Denny Murphy emerged from the shadows of the barn, a faux smile of welcome on his face. "Fiona! Was just having a wee. Apologies for not greetin' ya properly."
Michael watched the exchange perplexed by his associate's demeanour. After weeks of watching the man deal with hardened volunteers that passed this way, collecting or depositing arms, he had often noted his nervousness but never had seen Murphy exhibit fear until this moment. The woman with several Barrett rifles in her truck was evidently giving Murphy orders for their proposed delivery. He watched their conversation and was struck by her presence. She scanned the perimeter as she delivered her message, concisely and commandingly. The woman had skills and confidence.
She turned to leave and Michael noted the relief that seemed to wash over Murphy's body. She opened her car door, paused a moment, and her eyes fell exactly on the spot where Michael was hiding. A small smile formed on her face as she drew her weapon once again and fired, the bullet hitting the floor inches from his feet.
"Tell your man there, lurking in the shadows, that it's considered proper to greet a lady when she calls. Next time I come, I aim higher." And with that, she sped away. Michael watched her drive away, a grin forming at the corners of his mouth. He believed he had just found a potential asset. Things were beginning to look up.