Chapter 4
When you're a spy it's very tempting to trust no one. It may feel safer to rely only on yourself, but in reality there are very few jobs that can be done solo. A good spy learns how to find people he can trust, but it's never easy to hand over the control.
...
It was already late in the afternoon on the day before the auction when O'Neill's ship finally docked. Jack Tracey called Sean and Sean informed Michael.
"Time to pack up and head out," he announced to Sam, Lucy, Rory, and Ryan, who were in the middle of a poker game.
They gathered the dive gear, the schematics of the ship, and the explosives and waited for nightfall. It was an hour's drive from the Glenanne house to the small abandoned dock where O'Neill's cargo ship was anchored. While Michael drove, Sam used the time to review the diving techniques they had practiced. Michael smiled to himself over how much Sam was enjoying being able to dust off his SEAL training and put it to good use.
By the time they reached the coast the rain was coming down in buckets. They pulled off onto the shoulder of a rather desolate road, down shore and just out of sight of the cargo ship. The men changed into their scuba gear while Lucy loaded the supplies into the boat. They reviewed the schematics again before carrying the large, soft-sided boat into the water.
"Lovely weather this evening," Sam joked as they climbed on board. Everyone was already drenched.
"Sometimes it's a good thing you can count on all this Irish rain," Ryan noted. Then he had a thought, "The rain's not gonna mess up this stuff, is it?"
"No," Rory assured him. "I know Fi loves her C4, but Semtex has all the same benefits plus it's waterproof. Pretty handy 'round these parts." He held a hand up to the rain and smiled.
Michael and Sam paddled with a slow, methodic rhythm that ensured the oars made almost no splash as they entered the water stroke after stroke. The rain would cover much of their noise, but they still needed to remain as quiet as possible. Michael was nervous about Ryan's inexperience with both diving and handling explosives. He could see that Ryan was nervous too, but they'd buddied him up with Sam so Michael hoped he would be fine.
When they reached the hull of the cargo ship, Michael attached a large suction cup hook and tethered their smaller boat to the larger one. He said a silent prayer to St. Michael and hoped that everyone would remember their part of the plan. Michael and Rory went in first, taking a few of the Semtex sticky bombs to place along the stern below the water line. Sam and Ryan went next with the bombs for the bow leaving Lucy alone on board to gather the next batches of charges.
Lucy heard voices just as Sam and Ryan rolled backwards off the side and into the water. All four men had made the smallest splashes possible, but Lucy thought for sure someone on board had heard them. She grabbed her rifle and pressed her back against the ship. The inflatable sides of their raft bounced silently against the hard steel.
"You hear that?" one of O'Neill's men asked another.
"Just birds goin' fishing," another one assured him.
Michael and Rory surfaced at the side of the ship. Lucy held out a hand of silent warning and Michael pulled Rory back below the surface.
"Don't see nothing," the first man said.
"Told ya," the other one mocked him. "Come on. I'm possin' wet."
There were no more noises from the ship after that. Michael and Rory resurfaced again a few moments later and Lucy passed them more charges.
The process was repeated until there were enough plastic explosives attached to the hull of O'Neill's ship that there was no way anyone would survive the blast…and if they somehow did they'd soon find themselves entombed on the ocean floor.
...
It was past midnight when they returned. Sam was quickly asleep, but Michael found he couldn't settle down enough to rest so he set about doing push-ups next to the bed to burn off nervous energy. There was a soft knock at the door.
"Michael? It's Lucy."
He slipped out in the hallway so they wouldn't wake Sam.
"What is it?"
"There's a new email from O'Neill, confirming the details for tomorrow," she paused. "There's a new video. I thought you'd want to see it. I left it up on the computer in the barn."
"Thanks Lucy," he clapped her on the shoulder and slipped out the back.
His arms ached and he was now exhausted, but he played the short video clip over and over again. It was not staged like the last one, just surveillance footage of Fiona in a locked room. It began with her eating a small bag of chips and ended a few minutes later with her curling up on the metal floor to sleep.
He was watching it for the fourth time when he heard a gasp from the doorway. He spun around to find Mrs. Glenanne clutching a folded quilt. He clicked the video closed as she slowly walked over to him.
"What have they done to her?" she whispered.
"Here…please, sit," he guided her into the chair at the desk. She held the quilt tightly in her lap to keep from shaking.
"I'm sorry," she looked up at him. "I couldn't sleep and I heard you and Miss Lucy talking. I just wanted to bring you this…for tomorrow…" she patted the quilt. "It was Fiona's when she was little. I thought she might need something warm'n'cozy…you know, once you've got her back."
He smiled his thanks and accepted the quilt. "I'll put it with the other supplies," he assured her. "Thanks."
"Can I watch it?"
"Um, I…I don't know if…" Michael tried to find a way out of it.
She reached out to grab his arm. "Don't be like them," she looked at him sternly. "I love my sons but they treat me like some wilting flower. Fiona's my daughter. I deserve to know what's going on." They locked eyes for a moment. "Please, Michael."
He nodded without saying anything and they watched the video together a few more times. She seemed relieved after he explained the complete, finalized plan to her, and some of the contingency plans. She walked arm in arm with him back to the house.
"Good night, Michael," she whispered and patted his cheek.
...
"Today's your lucky day, sweetheart."
For a split second Fiona actually felt a glimmer of hope at O'Neill's greeting. Then she remembered his twisted version of reality.
"Oh no, wait," he continued, his voice mocking the look on her face. "Make that my lucky day." He chuckled, pleased with himself.
He entered the cell with armed guards waiting behind him as always. "Time to go," his voice was as chipper as a parent getting ready to take their child to the circus.
He reached for one of her arms and she tried to wrench it away from him but only ended up backing herself into a corner.
"Now's not the time for games," he scolded.
Too tired to fight much further, she let a handcuff click shut around one wrist, then the other. 'If this is it,' she thought as a head bag blacked out her view of the world, 'then this is it. Better to go out with some dignity.' And with that thought she raised a foot and took an educated guess at where to aim.
"Goddamn, mother fucking chancer, for fuck's sake," he pushed her out into the hall roughly. "You're lucky there's people out there who want you in one piece." He continued swearing as they walked down the hall and Fiona smiled to herself under the cover of the cloth.
...
"Mike, you got eyes on Lucy?" Sam's voice came through the comm.
"Yep. And ears. Everything's fine."
"All righty then," Sam replied. "Keep us updated…these guys are twitchier than those bounties Fi picks up," he said, referring to Rory and Ryan. The other brothers had remained back at the house with Mrs. Glenanne. The three men were parked farther down the road in the truck, out of sight from the boat and positioned to make a quick and inconspicuous getaway. Rory, the demolitions expert, would be in charge of blowing the charges. If their plan for keeping all of O'Neill's men and the other auction participants on board the ship until it blew did not work, Ryan would drive and Sam and Rory would use the sniper rifles to make sure there were no loose ends.
"Will do, Sam." Michael said. "Lucy just got through the security on the ship…they should be starting any minute now."
The screens in Michael's hiding spot in the van displayed three video feeds. One of the feeds rotated between all four sides of the van. They had installed tiny pinhole cameras that just barely poked through holes in the bumpers and sidewalls. The van was scratched up enough that a few extra speckles would never be noticed. Lucy was wearing the other cameras. The feed from one of them showed what Lucy was looking at, thanks to the camera hidden in her glasses, and the other showed what was happening behind her, due to the camera hidden in her jeweled barrette. He also had an open line to Barry, back in Miami, so they could manage Lucy's accounts in real time.
Michael watched the screens as a guard walked Lucy down a metal-walled corridor to the room where the auction would be held. Lucy settled into a seat on the far side of the room and took a casual look around to give Michael a good view. There was a podium at the front of the room, next to the second entrance and four rows of chairs were lined up facing the podium. Michael recognized several of the other bidders from missions he'd worked with Fiona in Ireland. There were a few other men who looked to be from the Middle East, Northern Africa, and Eastern Europe. Flipping again through the intel from Jack Tracey, he compared the pictures of the Real IRA leaders O'Neill was looking to impress with the silhouettes of the men in the front row. One of the men turned to speak to another and Michael was able to confirm his identity.
"The men at 10 o'clock are going to be your biggest competition," Michael spoke into Lucy's earpiece. "Just keep an eye on them."
Lucy coughed to conceal an, "I know."
Michael tried to remind himself that Lucy knew what she was doing. She was a trained operative, he'd trained her, and they'd gone over the plan not two hours ago. It was killing him to have to watch from the van, but there was no way he'd ever be able to get on that boat without being recognized. This was the hard part for Michael, sitting back and trusting everyone else to get things right, letting other people walk into dangerous situations. When it got down to crunch time on a mission he liked to be the one walking into the fire. If things went badly it was on his head and he would be the one in danger, not the people he cared about.
After a few more minutes the room quieted as the door next to the podium creaked open. An armed guard entered the room, followed by O'Neill, who was dragging Fiona by the arm, then another guard. O'Neill removed one of the handcuffs, looped it around a pipe that ran from floor to ceiling and then attached it back to Fiona's wrist so that she was standing with her back against the pipe, arms held behind her. She struggled against it for a moment in frustration but soon gave up.
"Hello, ladies and gentlemen," O'Neill leaned into the podium, barely containing his excitement. "Good morning to you all."
As he watched from the van, Michael was having a difficult time controlling his urge to punch a fist through the video monitor.
"That guy sounds like a real jerk," Barry said over the phone line.
Michael refrained from replying.
"I present to you today, Fiona Glenanne," O'Neill continued, waving an arm in her direction. "Considerin' you've come all this way for our little auction, I'll not bore you with the details of her crimes. I'm sure you are fully aware of why she's here. If there aren't any questions, we'll get started." He paused to allow for comments.
One of the IRA men in the front row spoke up. "How're we to know this is really her with that bag over'er head?" he asked.
O'Neill looked embarrassed. "Yes, yes, of course," he apologized to the man a little too profusely. He turned around and yanked the bag off of Fiona's head and Lucy ducked her head quickly, examining the strap of her shoe. Fiona blinked at the lights and sneezed before trying to get a peek around the room while she had the chance. She stared into faces she hadn't seen in decades and some she'd never seen before. Black market deals were often faceless.
The man from the IRA whispered something to the man sitting next to him and they nodded at O'Neill with approval. With their permission, O'Neill dropped the bag back over Fiona's head as quickly as he'd taken it off.
Michael's fists clenched subconsciously.
Fiona felt tears welling in her eyes and tried to force them away. She would not cry. The brief glimpse around the room had only heightened her alarm. To see the faces of so many enemies all in one place, all staring her down and watching with glee as she stood there powerless…it was like a nightmare come true, something no one in the business would ever want to face. She tried to control her breathing as a few tears made trails down her cheeks. For once she was thankful for the head bag as it ensured that no one would know just how scared she really was.
"So then, if there are no other concerns we'll start the bidding. You each have a card with an ID number on it. Write your bid on the card and we will collect them."
Lucy fiddled with her pen waiting for Michael to tell her how much to bid.
"Go big, Lucy," she heard him through her earpiece. "We're playing with Monopoly money here. The sky's the limit."
"Still needs to be believable," she muttered under her breath.
"Let's go with the high end of what we talked about," he replied.
"Okay," she whispered.
After writing the number on the card she folded it in half and raised it daintily above her head. One of O'Neill's men came to collect it. When they had all of the cards, the bidders were instructed to remain seated while O'Neill took Fiona and the cards and left the room.
As the door shut behind them, Michael leaned his head back and forced himself to take deep breaths. It would all be over soon.
...
"Now then," O'Neill mumbled to himself as he sorted through the cards spread out on a large table.
Fiona sat hunched over in a corner. Her mind ran through any potential last minute escape options. After all this time, things like that were still second nature. She preferred those thoughts anyway to the thoughts about what would happen once O'Neill decided on a buyer. The kind of people who would pay to buy an old enemy on the black market were not generally the kind of people who wanted to kill that enemy off in a quick or painless manner. They might not even want to kill that enemy at all. She shivered. There were many things in this world worse than death.
O'Neill tossed out many of the offers easily. Some were ridiculously low. Others offered goods or services that were of no value to him. He finally narrowed it down to two cards. One card offered little money, but it paired the low financial offer with the offer of partnership and prestige he had been hoping for. The other card offered only money, but it was five times more money than any other offer on the table.
"Well, well," he continued talking to himself. "This is unexpected." He traced the zeros on Lucy's card with his finger. Lust was taking over as he considered a change in the plans. If this later entry panned out he would have enough money to buy his way to the table…and enough left over for some pet projects he'd been planning too. He smiled to himself and that smile turned into a small chuckle, which turned into full-scale laughter. Things were finally going his way and soon he would have everything he'd ever wanted.
His manic laughter gave Fiona chills. She knew this might be her last chance to try anything. If she succeeded, great, and if she failed and died trying? Well then surely that would be better than whatever was waiting for her once they took her off the ship. She pulled her legs up under herself slowly to avoid detection as O'Neill told one of his men which bidder to bring in. As the man left the room she moved as fast as she could to her feet. It was a shot in the dark but she tried to head towards where she sensed the open doorway was.
"Where'd'ya think you're goin', sweetheart?" O'Neill laughed even louder than before, amused by her pitiful escape attempt. "Here," he said. "Lemme help you…" He leaned across the table and gave her a quick shove. His strength was a little more forceful than he'd intended. Her head smashed hard into the metal doorframe and she fell like a rag doll to the floor.
...
"Bidder number 12, please come with me," one of the guards announced to the crowd. "Everyone please remain seated. The auction ain't over 'til the funds change hands."
Lucy rose to follow the guard into the next room. She glanced briefly at Fiona, who was lying lifeless on the floor, but quickly fixed her eyes confidently on O'Neill. Out in the van Michael frantically ordered her to turn back to Fiona so he could see if she was all right, but Lucy ignored him.
"So," O'Neill looked her up and down and then met her gaze. "I read your file. You're really willin' to pay this much over that Westen fellow?"
Michael stopped talking and squirmed in his seat, suddenly terrified that they'd spooked O'Neill with their high bid.
"Why would I make a bid if I wasn't willing to go through with it?" Lucy kept her voice even.
"Fine," he nodded, "But you ought to know, if you're trying to cross us they'll soon be fishin' little pieces of you out of the ocean, so they will. Understand?" Lucy continued to stare him down. Satisfied with the legitimacy of her offer, he turned a laptop around to face her. "Enter your account information here and we'll make the transfer official."
"Not so fast," Lucy held up a hand. She pointed down at Fiona on the floor. "What happened here? I'm not giving you any money for damaged goods."
O'Neill smiled but Lucy could see a flash of panic cross his face. "No, no, she's fine. Just got a little too plucky." He reached down to pull off the head bag. He lifted one of Fiona's eyelids but she was out cold. He smiled sheepishly at Lucy. "She's fine, she's fine," he assured her.
He slapped her face a few times to try to bring her around but Fiona didn't move. Michael held his breath, unable to do anything but watch. Finally O'Neill kicked her in the side with his boot, not the hardest he could, but enough to make her moan and curl protectively to her side, her eyes fluttering. "See? No problem," he smiled at Lucy in relief. "So, we have a deal."
She eyed him coldly. "We have a deal." She leaned over and began to type the long string of numbers Barry had given her.
"This is it, Barry," Michael told him. "You ready?"
"Hell yeah I'm ready," Barry answered. "Ready to claw this guy apart with my bare hands."
"Focus Barry," Michael cautioned, his voice tight.
Lucy double-checked the numbers and hit enter.
"Now Barry, go!"
Lucy stood and watched the computer screen, waiting for it to load. Fiona moaned and Lucy glanced down at her. Her eyes were closed and she was clearly not fully aware of her surroundings, but she was breathing evenly and Lucy knew she'd be all right soon enough. It was better she didn't realize who Lucy was at the moment anyway.
"There we go," O'Neill observed as the computer finally logged the transfer.
"So, we're set then?" Lucy paused and leaned in closer to O'Neill, speaking softly. "For this much money I'd like to request one small favor."
"We'll see what we can do," he smiled over the computer, leaning toward her as well so that they were practically nose to nose.
"I know there are some very angry men in that other room," Lucy murmured seductively. "Give us 15 minutes to get away before you let them leave, would you? I wouldn't want to have spent all this money just to lose my prize a block away." She smiled charmingly at O'Neill.
"No," he agreed. "We can't have that now, can we?"
...
Lucy followed behind the guards as they half walked, half dragged Fiona across the crumbling asphalt parking lot.
"That one there, the white one," Lucy instructed them.
From his hidden compartment at the back, Michael was able to watch every step Fiona took on the monitors. It took every ounce of strength in him to keep from leaping out into the parking lot and taking the guards down with two swift kicks to the head. His muscles twitched, longing to satisfy their desire for revenge, but his mind held firm to the plan and he tried to trust that each person would fulfill their part in it.
"Here we go," Lucy cooed like she was talking to a newly adopted shelter dog and slid open the side door of the van. "Put her right in here, boys," she pointed out the bench and asked them to attach the cuffs to the wire grating that separated the holding cell from the driver and passenger seats.
Michael continued to watch through the monitors. She was here, right here in the same vehicle. They were separated by only a thin metal door. His heart was racing and he wanted nothing more than to be over there, right now, but he needed to stay on the line with Sam for the moment.
Fiona leaned heavily against the wire wall she was handcuffed to. "Please," she whispered repeatedly.
"Sam, are you all set?" Michael forced himself to refocus his attention on the bomb blast that would finally bring the operation to a close.
"Ready and waiting," came Sam's reply.
"Hold on," Michael said.
After thanking the guards and taking the keys, Lucy climbed into the front and started the engine. Michael watched as the guards walked back to the cargo ship and crossed the gangplank to reboard the ship.
Fiona's pleas grew louder as she felt the vehicle vibrating around her. She knew she was being driven to her death…or worse. At least on the ship with O'Neill she'd known he wouldn't do anything bad enough to kill her, but with this mysterious woman she had no idea what might happen and her mind jumped to the worst conclusions. "Please, if you let me go…I don't know who you are, but I know people…I can help you…whatever you need…please don't…"
"Just drive, Lucy," Michael whispered over the comm.
"I know," she answered back quietly. They pulled out onto the road, Lucy driving as fast as she could without looking suspicious.
"Mikey, are we a go?" Sam asked. "You guys far enough out? Any loose ends to take care of?"
"No," Michael told him. "No loose ends. Go ahead whenever you're ready."
"Roger."
The word wasn't even completely out of Sam's mouth when the explosion on the boat rocked the van. Fiona screamed but Lucy continued driving. The van swayed back and forth as she avoided bikers and pedestrians running away from the scene. Michael threw open the metal door and plunged himself into the holding cell with Fiona.
"Fi! Fi!" he spoke to her urgently as he came to kneel in front of her and pulled the black bag off of her head. Being so close to her again brought every emotion he'd held back over the last week crashing to the forefront. His breath was ragged but his senses were on high alert. She stared at him with wide, glassy eyes, unmoving. Her skin was tearstained and pale, mottled from stress. Her hair was unkempt and knotted up in some spots from rubbing against the head bag for so long.
"Michael, here," Lucy passed the keys through the wire mesh as she drove.
"Fi! Fiona," he pressed her to respond while he uncuffed her. Her wrists were rubbed raw in places. He held one up to his lips and kissed it softly, just below her thumb. "Fiona," his voice pleaded with her for a response, a word, a movement, anything. She continued to stare at him, through him, like he was a mirage, a ghost, or some figment of her imagination. "Fi, it's me…me and Lucy. It's okay. It's over."
The arm he had kissed extended tentatively to touch his face. She brushed her fingers along his brow, over to his ear, and down to rest on his chest right over his heart. "Michael?" she murmured, her voice still full of disbelief.
"Yeah, Fi," he tried to reassure her. He pushed some hair out of her face and ran his hands down her arms. She winced as he grazed over bruises. "It's me. You're safe now."
She took in a violent, gasping breath as if sucking in the full reality of the situation and her whole body shook. "Michael," she repeated like it was the only word she remembered. "Michael." The van hit a bump in the road and she crumpled into him, arms wrapping around his neck, grasping fervently at the fabric of his shirt. "Michael."
"I'm right here, Fi. It's okay." he shushed into her hair and laid kisses along her neck. He sat back, settled against the wall, and pulled her into his lap. She clung to him, face buried in his neck. He could feel the tears trickling down his back after they had soaked the collar of his shirt. She started shivering as the shock of the day's events set in. He reached one arm over and pushed open the seat of the bench. He grabbed the quilt Mrs. Glenanne had picked out and wrapped it tightly around her tiny frame.
Michael hadn't ever thought it would be possible for Fiona to lose weight, but between the stress and a prisoner's diet he could tell she was smaller, less muscular, more fragile. As the van rocked over the old road, he rubbed circles on her back and kissed the top of her head. She smelled horrible, the way any prisoner would after more than a week in captivity, but it didn't bother him in the least.
He felt her grip on his neck slacken and knew she had worn out what little strength she'd had left. He continued to hold her tightly while she slept and whispered softly to her that she was safe and that everything was going to be all right. The words were as much for his benefit as they were for hers.