[Chapter Six: Jack Fahey]
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[309] Sensitive Information Room, Third Floor, Alliance Base: Counterterrorist Intelligence Center, Paris, France, 12:48p.m.; 5 August 2003
"Okay, where are Emily and Clyde," Sean questioned, a slight frown gracing his face. "It's not like them to be late…"
"I think Emily said something about going to get lunch before she basically ran out earlier," Tsia said, shrugging. "It was rather sudden and I wasn't really paying attention."
"They better hope they arrive soo-n," Sean ended awkwardly as the two Agents hurriedly burst through the door, causing everyone to look over.
"How soon is soon?" Clyde questioned, trying to sound innocent.
"Why are you basically fifteen minutes late?" Jeremy asked, a single eyebrow raised with his arms crossed in front of him, resting on the table.
"Well, according to my watch, we're only thirteen minutes late," Emily said, sitting down in one of the chairs as she tried to smooth out her shirt.
"And why do your clothes look like that?" Tsia said, smirking, noticing how ruffled their clothes were.
"Uh," Clyde said, hesitating as he took his seat as well.
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Dirt Road, Outskirts of Paris, France, 12:15p.m.; 5 August 2003
"Uh, what are you doing?"
"Travelling down a road."
"Why?"
"You'll see," Clyde said cryptically.
"You do realize that if we had kept going on the right path to the base, we would just barely get to our meeting on time," Emily said, exasperated, glancing at the clock.
"We'll be a little late, I don't mind," he answered, shrugging.
"Cly-yde," she whined jokingly.
"Emily," he mocked as he pulled to the side and opened his door, gesturing for her to do the same thing. After they both exited their respective doors, he silently ushered her into the bush, far enough so they no longer had a visual on the SUV.
"I have a loaded gun, you know," she threatened, looking around, and turned to face him.
"Me too," he commented, grinning widely and wiggling his eyebrows, suggesting that he wasn't talking about his pistol that was currently tucked in its holster on his hip.
Emily attempted to send him a stern look, but the purpose was defeated when she smirked slightly. She ended up just rolling her eyes and huffed slightly. "Why exactly are we out here," she asked, placing her hands on her hips.
"I'm surprised you even have to ask," he said as he gently took both of her hands off her hips and held them to their sides.
"Clyde," Emily tried once more, but was once again unsuccessful, this time being cut off by his lips. Once the two parted due to the need of oxygen, Emily contemplated dragging him back to the SUV for less than a second before she said "screw it," and pulled him back in.
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[309] Sensitive Information Room, Third Floor, Alliance Base: Counterterrorist Intelligence Center, Paris, France, 12:49p.m.; 5 August 2003
"That's what happens when you run back," Emily answered quickly, interrupting whatever Clyde was about to say. "We knew we were going to be late, so we tried to hurry up and make up some time," she explained, shooting him a glare when Tsia made a 'mhm' noise and turned away, along with the other two.
Yup, we ran here, the two thought.
"Well, now that we're all here," Sean said, looking directly at the new arrivals, "we can start with the briefing."
Emily provided him with a small, apologetic, embarrassed smile before he turned to the small box on the table in front of where he was standing.
"We are all given knew aliases in regards to this Operation, as per usual," he commented, picking up five different passports out of the box. "They are as follows: Clyde, meet Lyle Rodgers," Sean said, pushing over his fake passport, "Tsia, Leila Rafferty," dropping her passport in front of her, "Jeremy, you'll be Luc Renault, and Emily, you're Lauren Reynolds," he finished, sliding both across the center of the table. "And I'm Lawrence Riley," he quickly added as an afterthought, placing the small book in his pocket.
"So, our primary contact will of course be Doyle – but first we need to find a way to have Lauren get in business with him. As the Irish mob is affiliated with a lot of the IRA, I had some CWS agents do some research in addition to our previous intel. There's a bar located in Boston, Massachusetts called The Black Shamrock that's ran mostly through the mob – apparently Doyle likes to hang out there when he's down in that area. The guy who runs the block out there – Jack Fahey – is dealing with some of the guys who are known to work with Doyle. There is an operative within the mob currently, who has been situated there for an undiscloseable amount of time, and has the ability to assist our efforts in providing us an opportunity to speak to Fahey… see if we can get a chance to meet with Doyle."
Glancing at the photograph that Sean projected upon the large screen that showed a building with the words, 'The Black Shamrock,' Jeremy asked, "I take it you're contacting the mob agent?"
"Not directly, no… but I'll have his superiors notified of our plan after this meeting, and I'll be sure to let them know he is to be contacted by tomorrow morning, at the latest," he replied, taking his seat.
"So, what's our plan then," Tsia questioned as she sat up straight in her chair, preparing for whatever was to be said.
"We'll set a time and place for Clyde to meet the guy," Sean said. Then, gesturing to Clyde, he continued: "Clyde, you'll be posing as Emily – or Lauren's – partner-in-crime, but you won't be using your alias –"
"And why wouldn't I?" he interrupted immediately, clearly alarmed at the suggestion, as the others three all simultaneously raised their eyebrows, indicating their own shock.
"Because, due to previous circumstances, as you know, Fahey will know that isn't the truth. So, because of that, we cannot risk him mentioning the discrepancy and erasing our chance with Doyle."
Two thick seconds of silence later, Emily's eyebrows furrowed and she turned to him and asked: "You already know Fahey?"
"Previous mission," Clyde answered shortly, and turned back to Sean. As he was about to speak, Emily continued to talk.
"Okay, but can't we just use your connection to him to get us in to see Doyle… forget the middle-man?"
"Because, I don't know him that well and the man I was portraying back then wasn't supposed to know about his connection to Doyle as well as the whole ex-IRA weapons dealer thing."
"And the middle-man will do what, exactly?" Tsia asked, looking between Clyde and Sean. "All I can see happening," she explained, "is the potential of us getting the UA accidently busted by not just going to Fahey. We can't just use Clyde's previous endeavours into said Irish Mob and say he was tipped off aboutit when he was there?"
"The problem with that is that I busted his face in – with good reason, of course – and then proceeded to go about my business," Clyde mentioned, sighing slightly. "However, there is a bit of a bigger problem. When I was in that situation with him before, there were… rumours about Fahey's affiliations with arms dealers, and our alias' assignment could not be mixed in with that particular business. He gave us his absolute promise that there was no amalgamation with them – though we actually knew the truth, our aliases technically didn't because we had the information from the SIS database. So, since he knows what I look like, I can't exactly walk in there and spurt out a different name."
"Oh-kay," Jeremy said with laughter in his voice, "that, I guess, is a decent explanation."
"Can we at least tell him your 'new' name is Lyle?" Emily asked, frowning slightly, while adding her own finger quotations. "We can just tell him that's your new name from when you switched out of your previous business to arms dealing."
"We can do that," Sean said, intervening. "I think that'd be best, anyways."
"Also, is there going to be a problem with the fact that you cracked him one in the face? Because I know I personally wouldn't be too impressed with that," Tsia commented with a light smirk on her face, intermingling with the serious expression her features always adorned.
"We had met a few times after that display," he answered immediately, "so there should be little to no animosity between us. Plus, he truly cannot say anything about that measly fight regarding the circumstances."
"Alright, so the back story will be the two of you are cousins who are business partners: Emily, you're the arms dealer, of course, and Clyde, you're basically her –"
"Bitch."
"I was going to say right-hand man," Sean laughed, "but that works too, Emily."
First shooting Emily a jokingly reproachful look, Clyde looked back at Sean and said, "Yeah, I figured so."
"Good – now, I assume the two of you know how you're to continue from there. Tsia, Jeremy. Assuming there'll be windows, you'll both be monitoring the meeting place from a safe distance, observing through an L.D.T.C.," he continued, referencing to a Long Distance Tactical Camera. "I want you both to be watching for any inconsistencies regarding any of the soldiers who will be, without any doubt, around them. If not, both of you will be patrolling the grounds surrounding the building with the camera, and we'll need to rely on Emily and Clyde's audio transmitters." As soon as the team nodded their understanding, Sean nodded once in return, and gestured to the door while saying: "So, I guess you can go enjoy your paperwork that needs to be completed, guys."
"I'm fairly certain we'll be in need of a lot of coffee in order to accomplish that," Emily muttered as they all stood from their seats and walked out the door.
Tsia and Jeremy made affirmative noises while Clyde just looked back at Emily, shook his head with a slight smirk, and said: "As I'm the bitch, I'll grab us all some coffee."
"Thanks for being such a doll," she replied with a cheeky grin, following the others to their respective desks.
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Side Street, Boston, Massachusetts, United States of America, 8:16p.m.; 10 August 2003
The area was rather dark, with only one street light working half way down the road and a malfunctioning one in front of the two figures who were currently leaning against an old, brick building. The gentle half moon cast a hue of natural light onto the city, accenting vague features while a small patch of clouds innocently lurked around the crescent. The tall street light flickered off for a second time within the past fifteen minutes with a quiet pop, causing the woman to sigh and drop her cigarette directly in front of her. Without looking away from the open street she was facing, she used the toe of her boot to stamp out the finished cigarette, clearly annoyed. The man, after quickly casting a small, distasteful glance at the crushed butt, reverted his attention back to the direction he was originally monitoring.
"Are you sure he's coming?"
"Do you doubt me?"
"I asked a question, and your answer was a question – that's not exactly what I was looking for," she said evenly.
"I know," he replied, matter-of-factly.
"Would you like to try again then, Lyle? Because my patience is wearing thin," Emily said, flexing both her hands into fists, "and I have things to do."
"Lauren, you typically do not have an immense amount of patience – I understand that, I truly do," he replied. "However, right now we're slightly low on the totem pole that we are currently trying to climb. And, that of course means we are the ones to wait and be found. Not the other way around, despite that being our usual routine. Just remember: It's for the better."
"For the better, yeah," she muttered with a slight frown, her eyes making eye contact with the British man for a mere second before switching back to trace amongst the abandoned buildings and alley ways. "The thing is: I typically have the decency to not be twenty minutes late for a meeting regarding business of this nature."
"True," he amended, "but you have to consider we are talking about the Irish mob – they do things their way, time be damned."
Nodding her head in slight agreement, Emily – or Lauren, as she is to now be called by everyone – painstakingly checked her watch once more, using the moonlight to aid her in reading the two hands on the small face. Lowering her left arm once more, her right hand twitched slightly as if she were to pull out her gun, but immediately thought better of it.
"Lyle," she murmured. "Two men – opposite side of the road, my direction."
Without looking, Clyde questioned: "One's wearing a gray, button-up shirt?"
"Affirmative. Those the ones we're waiting for, I take it?"
"Let's check," he commented. He turned and started to gently lead her in their direction, but on the opposite side of the street. Once the two Agents were almost directly across from the two men, Clyde stopped abruptly.
"What?" Emily questioned, starting the security phrase that was decided on between Clyde and the undercover mob agent.
"I forgot the wine Noel asked us to bring… it's still sitting on the couch," he said, loud enough to be heard across the desolate road.
"Really?" she asked, with annoyance and disbelief in her voice. Pausing for a moment, as the silence was about to continue, Emily thought they had the wrong guys until they heard a deep, gruff voice speak.
"If you want, my wife has some that she doesn't like," the man spoke from across the road. "Ten bucks, that's all."
After casting Prentiss a quick look, which she only answered with a shrug and gesture, Clyde led the way across the street. "Thanks, that'd save us a lot of hassle, man."
"Follow us," the other said. As each of the four people cast their eyes around the deserted area, they made their way through the open, cast-iron gate. The gate squeaked as the gray-shirted man shut it, trailing last while the other walked in front, with the two Agents in the middle. Without hesitation, the man knocked on the wooden door in an obviously practiced pattern before opening the door himself.
Once the last man entered the building as well and shut the door, both of the foot-soldiers faced the Agents and, the one with the gray shirt, raised his eyebrows and made a hand gesture that only consisted of his right palm being raised, and his fingers moving outwards. Without words, both Agents knew what to do: spread 'em.
Each mobster took an Agent, felt across each of their arms, down their torsos, and continued down each leg, all the while removing any weapons they found in the process. Removing a Ruger P95 pistol from both Agent's hips as well as their backup pistols found on their legs – both a Ruger P90. The pile also contained a knife of Clyde's, and a ring that Emily had on her right hand.
"What's the ring going to do… give you half-a-millimetre cut?" she questioned, her voice laced in annoyance, when the man slid it off her finger last.
"What? Is it important to you – has some kind of chip in it?"
"No," she said, honestly and calmly. "But it is one of my favourites."
"You'll get it back."
"And I hope we'll be getting at least a gun each, to go in there," Clyde said, fixing his shirt that was jostled during the expected search. "In our field, we never don't have a weapon. I'm sure you can understand that."
"Sorry," one of the men said, obviously not sorry at all, "that's against procedure."
"How about this," a new voice said from around the corner. A small, weasel-looking man rounded the corner. "If you promise not to punch me again –"
"Oh, Jack," Clyde commented, smirking. "Can I promise, like you promise? And, in my defence, the punch, I believe, was delivered because you… promised me that there was nothing between you and arms dealers," he said, shaking the man's hand as if they were old friends. "And, I mean… imagine my surprise when I came across a local mobster, here in Boston, who happened to know a profitable link to one… and the name I was provided with just happened to be yours!"
"Ah, well – we all cannot keep our promises, can we?" Jack Fahey questioned, chuckling a bit. "O'Rourke, McLoughlin, go into the other room– I'll meet you there after I'm done here," Fahey said, addressing the other two. Shifting his attention back to the two Agents once the others left, he started to speak again. "What about you, Clyde? I'm pretty sure you mentioned something about never getting caught up in… what did you call it, again? A non-sense means of terrorism?"
"Views change, I guess," he said squarely, shrugging. "Plus, my cousin here was the one who started it. Jack, meet Lauren Reynolds," gesturing to Emily.
"Pleasure to meet you… though I was not informed that the two of you had met before," Emily commented, raising her eyebrows slightly as she shook his hand.
"Back in the day when my name was still Clyde," he said, glancing over at Fahey, hinting that it wasn't anymore.
"Ah, so, my name is Jack Fahey… and you are?" he asked, holding out his hand.
"Lyle Rodgers," Clyde answered, grasping Fahey's hand. "And we have absolutely no history."
"No, no we don't," Fahey answered. "So, L-R and L-R… was that planned?"
"Yeah, but since no one else knows that Lyle changed his name," Emily said quietly, "it wasn't."
"Understood," Jack said, his eyes trailing down her body.
"Hey, Jacky – no need to check out my cousin."
"Of course – plus, I hear you're trying to get in touch with some pretty big guys," he said, shifting his attention to Clyde once more. "They're the ones I don't wanna mess with, considering I already know who I'm going to try and get'chu into business with… and not just the business in dealing with weapons that kill."
"Oh, and is there a name that you can give me?" Emily questioned with a smile, placing her left hand on her hip.
"Of course not, doll-face," he said, immediately regretting his words, knowing that the narrowed eyes was due to the endearment.
"Call me that again and you'll wish you hadn't," Emily warned, gaining a smile from Clyde.
"It's true – you'll really wish you hadn't, Jack," Clyde said, joining in.
"Alright, alright," he amended, gesturing to their weapons. "Grab them, and follow me."
Picking up each of their previously removed items, Clyde and Emily both followed Fahey into a room that was clearly his office. The room was decorated fairly simple, but it was clear he liked to portray his status amongst the walls. A large, silk Ireland flag hung behind the wooden desk, littered with paper and pens. As Fahey took a seat behind it, Emily and Clyde both sat down in the two, high-backed seats sat scraped across the wooden floor.
"So, I was serious, yea'know," he started. "The name thing," he added, though the two Agents had guessed that from the beginning. "But I can tell you how he can help get'cha up through some of the big dogs in arms-dealing."
"And how can he do that?" Emily questioned, crossing her hands in her lap.
"He was Provisional IRA, pretty high up in the food chain out there," Fahey replied, leaning on his desk. "When he left though, he continued with some of their practices."
"You can just say, he's dealing with weapons," Clyde responded.
"Listen, this guy can get you places," Fahey said, ignoring Clyde's comment. "And you're his type, Lauren. If you wanna wait a few days, you can meet him. He's supposed to be in town on the eighteenth."
"That'd be good, Jack," Emily commented, nodding her head slightly with a smile. "And what, exactly, are you going to tell him about me?"
"That I've never seen more of a match for him," Fahey said in all honesty. "It's the truth, that's the thing… at least, from what I've seen," he mentioned off-handed, and then ended with: "and heard."
"Oh, from who, exactly?"
"Murray, I'm guessing?" Clyde intercepted automatically, with Fahey nodding after. Emily took this to mean that he is the undercover agent in the mob. "I may have mentioned a few things to him –"
"Oh, like what?" Emily asked Clyde, arching a single eyebrow.
"A little bit of this, a little bit of that," he responded innocently, flashing her a smile. Looking back to Fahey, he continued to speak, regarding the matter that was almost within their grasp. "I want to know a little more specifically about what kind of deals we'll be making with this guy," he said, gesturing between himself and Emily. "And I don't care about the lengths he'll go to get his guns – this is my cousin we're talking about, Jack. And even though she can probably kick my ass, I'm trying to look out for her."
Keeping her face clear of the emotion she was so desperate to show Clyde, Emily forced herself to contain it and spoke before Fahey could open his mouth. "What he means to say," she said, casting a quick look to Clyde, "is should I – or, apparently, he –" hinting that Clyde is the one she is trying to console, "be able to trust that I'm going to have the ability to see… this man, and be able to be in business with him as well as his associates?"
"Well, I cannot speak for his associates," Fahey answered in a response to start. "However, for as much as I know, other than being fairly paranoid and only trusting in a few people, he's fairly business orientated – mind you, there can always be changes in people," he said. Staring at Emily, he gestured with his hands as if were contemplating something and said: "Maybe he just hasn't had the option to be with the right person to incorporate his business and personal life into one thing."
In response to the unwavering, serious gazes both Emily and Clyde wore when listening, Jack Fahey shrugged, leaned forwards in his seat and placed his forearms on the desk. Gathering up a small amount of suspense, Fahey looked into Emily's eyes, flicked his gaze over to Clyde for a brief moment, and then slowly looked back to Emily before he carefully finished: "This guy… he's a warrior. And he typically gets what he wants."
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A man can't be too careful in the choice of his enemies. — Oscar Wilde
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[Author's Note]
Well, it's cool. You guys can bludgeon me in the face. Multiple times. I understand. *Ducks the knives* Guess I should've expected that I guess. WHAT THE HELL. I don't know. I can sit here and make excuses until I die, but, well… that could be soon with you guys, huh? :/ But, in all honesty, I just didn't feel like it until about a week ago. And then I got sick so I only wrote for an hour or two for five days until I was tired again. Anyways, thought y'all should know that I actually am sorry, and I'll try try try to not take forever for the next chapter :/ I just have to figure out what's going in it… :P Anywho, have a good day and days to come, until I have a new update!
ps, ZOMG. I saw new CM pictures as well as interviews the other day. And all I have to say is: EEEEEEEEEE. (squeal, btw.)
[Lingo]
Long Distance Tactical Camera: pure bs that I made up… but I'm sure it exists somewhere. Basically, in my mind, it's kind of like what you see on tv when the snipers are using their zoom… but this version doesn't have the high powered killing machine attached. :P
Ruger P90/95: two pistols from the RugerP series made by Sturm, Ruger & Company
UA: short form for undercover agent
