Out of the ashes:
Chapter twenty nine,
Though she always claimed she loved the luxury, and decadence of staying in first class accommodation, truth be told under normal circumstances Fiona despised wasting her precious time, laying motionless under cloudless skies, soaking up rays of sunshine.
Too much downtime found her muscles aching for action. Her mind, desperately seeking some form of entertainment, and her fingers itching to cause some mayhem. Beaches were for clandestine gun deals in the middle of the night, not for lounging on for hours at a time motionless.
But after a midnight boat ride hidden amongst a stash of smuggled guns, she had needed to feel the sun on her body. A gentle breeze helping to relax muscles that she hadn't even realized were taunt. She thought that at least for a while she would enjoy playing at being an ordinary tourist.
Her phone, began to vibrate again. Creasing her brow, she reached down to where her bag lay under the sun lounger. It had been the same thing all day, ever since Michael realized she had gone. She checked out the latest list of associates, to complain to her about Michael.
"Fiona. You know I think of you as a sister right. But Mike has threatened to kill me if I don't give him access to your accounts." Barry nasal whine came out of the speaker on Fiona's phone.
"Fi, baby. What's going on? Michael has some seriously bad mojo going on. He says he's going to burn my warehouses to the ground if I don't tell him where you're hiding." Michael had got to Seymour as well.
"Hey sweetie it's Dougie. Your man has made it clear he is coming for answers. We've still got his car, you mind if I dump it some place away from me?"
"I hope the pair of you not answering your calls means things are back to normal. When you surface, one of you better give me a call." So Michael hadn't told Sam she had gone.
She continued to scroll down the list of voice mails, Michael it seemed was working his way through every criminal in Miami. She turned her attention to the messages he had left her, all were pleas for her to comeback, to talk to him to tell him she was safe. He sounded so lost, but she harden her heart. She wasn't going back until he actually made some effort to make a change.
A shadow fell over her, blocking out the sun. Looking up she expected to see a waiter instead she gazed up at two men dressed in suits, and sun glasses one stood on each side of her lounger.
"Now be a good girl Miss Glenanne, and come with us." She felt a chill at the harsh London accent, her heart rate accelerating rapidly.
"I'm quite comfy here thank you." She replied with a smile, while trying to slip a hand under her back where she had secreted her compact pistol.
"If you bring that gun out, I'm going to start shooting darlin' and you don't want that. It would be a shame to ruin all these civilians holidays."
She glanced around, at all the holidaymakers nearby, and realized she had no choice. Bringing out her hand she got to her feet, and watched as the other man picked up her gun, and bag. With one on each side of her, they escorted from the beach, and into a waiting car.
()()()
Michael's knuckles turned white as he gripped the door frame to Max's office. His eyes were fixed on the blood soaked body laying on the floor. A faint moan from the stricken man, had Michael cautiously entering the room. There had been no sign of the assassin outside in the corridor, which meant it was possible he was still hiding inside the room. But unbelievably Max was still alive, and in dire need of help.
"Hey, Max hold on, I'll get help." Michael knelt down, while desperately fumbling for his phone.
Feeling the comforting presence of a friend, Max opened pain filled eyes, his breath coming in short rapid gasps as blood bubbled from between his grey lips. He reached for Michael's arm with a feebly pawing hand. He knew he was dying, and even as the darkness was closing in he had to try to pass on a warning.
"M-my wife.." His voice little more than a whisper. Swallowing he tried to continue. "My wife, go see my wife. Tell her.." He grasped at Michael's arm fighting to finish his last words, but to no avail, as with a final shuddering breath, his body went limp.
Gently Michael laid his hand on Max's forehead before drawing his hand downwards closing the fallen man's eyes. With a sigh he sat back on his heels, when a woman's scream brought him to his feet. Spinning round he found himself facing a scared office worker who stared back at him in horror before fleeing down the corridor yelling for help.
"It's not.." He tried to explain, but then he caught sight of his reflection in the glass door of the office opposite, and saw the blood that coated his hands, and pant legs.
It was then, that Max's killer sprung from his hiding place, barging passed Michael, and along the corridor. Michael instantly gave chase, the man was incredibly fast on his feet. Before Michael could reach him he had crashed through a fire exit setting off the alarms. Following close on the man's heels Michael raced down the staircase desperately trying to close the gap. Ignoring the shouts to stop coming from the security guards who had turned up to investigate the woman's screams.
Finally he burst out on to the street, squinting in the early evening sunshine. Only to catch a brief glimpse of a car's brake lights disappearing around the corner. The killer must have had a car, and driver waiting for him. Falling back against the wall, Michael took several deep shuddering breaths. A sinking feeling settling over him, somebody had set him up for Max's murder, and he had fallen for it.
There is nothing worse than knowing you've been set up, and having no idea whose behind it all. Because it is not the enemy you see coming that gets you in the end.
"Freeze!"
Michael froze, the feeling of hard metal being pushed into his side causing him to tense.
"Put your hands up." He could hear the fear in the security guard's voice, and feel the fear in the way the gun barrel shook against his side.
Acting with brutal speed and efficiency, Michael spun round smashing the man's gun hand into the wall causing the weapon to drop from nerveless fingers to the ground. Not finished he continued his attack wrapping his hand around the back of the guard's head he slammed it into the wall as hard as he could.
Letting the body fall to the floor he looked up and down the street, pleased that there was no witnesses to the assault. He was relying on purely on the survival instincts drilled in to him by years of military, and government service. After picking up the guard's gun, Michael took a moment to check the man was only stunned before dragging the body behind a row of dumpsters. Stripping off his own bloodstained clothes he swapped them for the guards uniform.
Leaving the man handcuffed to one of the large metal dumpsters, Michael rapidly walked away. Keeping his head down he did his best to fade into the background amongst the other pedestrians. Only when he reached the steps leading to the loft did he feel remotely safe, and that small piece of relief disappeared when he saw the steel re enforced door leading to his home had been opened.
As his eyes flickered around the surrounding are, searching for anybody laying in wait, he was also listening out for any sounds coming from inside the loft. From what he could hear whoever had broken into his home was still in there. Pulling out the gun he had taken off the guard, he steadied himself, and then went through the door fast.
He couldn't believe his eyes, coming to an abrupt halt he stared at Anson Fullerton sat on one of the bar stools resting his back against the counter. Looking totally at home, eating yoghurt.
"What? Doctor Full.." Michael let his hand drop to his side, confusion registering on his face. He had entered the room expecting to face an assassin, not a psychiatrist.
The man waved at him, a welcoming smile on his face. "Call me Anson, come inside, and shut the door we have a lot to discuss." The man spoke in a soft relaxed tone, as if breaking into near strangers homes, and stealing their yoghurt was the way he conducted all his meetings.
Michael carefully closed the door, slipping the gun into the waist band of his pants. After a moments hesitation he went to the fridge to get himself a bottle of water. "Er look this isn't exactly the best time for a visit..." He wanted the man gone as quickly as possible.
"Nonsense this is the perfect time." Anson smiled, turning his laptop round so Michael could see the screen. Michael watched in stunned horror as he realized he was looking at the security footage from Max's office. It showed him arguing with Max the anger plainly visible on his face. The picture wavered, and flickered before the clarity returned, to show him at Max's side as the man died in his arms.
Michael blinked as it all began to sink in. "You! You're.."
"I'm the only one left." Anson confirmed with a smirk.
Michael came round the counter fast, one hand going round Anson's neck as he dragged the man off the chair. The other pulling the gun from his back.
"What are you doing here? Why kill Max?" He pressed the gun under Anson's jaw. His faces inches off the older man's.
"Put that gun down. Unless you want that footage to go straight through to the FBI." Anson ordered. And when Michael didn't comply. "Let me elaborate, put that gun away. Or you, and your friends will end up being locked away for a very long time." All signs of good humour were gone now.
The gun barrel pressed in harder for the merest second but then with a snarl of frustration Michael stepped away.
Anson straightened his shirt, that was close he cursed Raines interference in his carefully laid plans. Thanks to his training in mental health he was accustomed to dealing with violent unpredictable people, but for the most part those people were not trained killers with a personal grudge against him.
"Now remove the clip from your gun, and eject the bullet from the chamber." He read mutiny in Michael's cold expression. "If you won't do it for me. Do it for that woman who discovered you in Max's office. If I'm not out of here safely in the next twenty minutes she is going to be killed, and something that incriminates you will be left near the body."
Michael took another step back, doing as Anson ordered. "Good boy, it's good to know you're capable of following simple instructions. Now, before I explain how much trouble you're in. Hand over your phone."
Dropping Michael's phone into his jacket pocket, Anson returned to the bar stool, and picked up his yoghurt. "That security footage, it's just icing. I know threatening you personally is a useless exercise. But.." He paused, gesturing with the spoon for Michael to sit down too. "Nothing gets your attention like threatening your friends and family."
"This is between you and me, leave them out of it." Michael was still on his feet, his eyes boring into Anson's. His fingers flexing, as he yearned to place them round Anson's scrawny neck, and crush the life out of him.
"No. They're leverage. You see, I knew nobody was guaranteed to bring out the mad bomber in Fiona like Larry, and those mission reports I gave him would send her right off the deep end. Do you know when she last used that same chemical signature in a bomb?" Anson's patient, smug tones were grating on his nerves.
Michael shook his head, but he could guess.
"It was the last bomb she ever made for the IRA, in fact it was the very last thing she ever did for the cause." Michael shut his eyes, how could she have been so reckless. "So you see, if that little piece of information found it's way to British intelligence... And it will, if you don't do everything I tell you to... I doubt she'd make it to trial, what do you think? I mean she made an awful lot of enemies over the years."
Michael sank down onto a chair, his head was reeling as he realized that the man facing him held Fiona's fate in his hands.
"Leave her out of it. I'll do whatever you want." Michael replied sounding defeated.
"She's perfectly safe as long as you behave, and the same goes for Sam Axe."
Michael's head jerked up. "Sam?"
"Now I know we used the threat of him losing his pension to keep you in line before, but it didn't really work did it? This time you mess up, and he'll spend his sunset years in federal prison. Remember that bug of his that Larry had planted in the FBI field office. Well I had a few copies made, at the moment there is one in a department of defense communications office. What do you think the discovery of that will do to your friend?"
"You don't have to do this." Michael replied coldly.
"Yes I do. The fact you haven't shot me proves it." Anson finished his yoghurt, and closed down his laptop. "Oh one more thing if your friends lives aren't enough to keep you in line. You should know your brother Nate has run up almost a hundred thousand dollars worth of debt. At the moment I have arranged for the man who holds that debt to be patient... How do you think your mother would cope if your actions crippled your brother, and ruined his life?"
The ring tone from Michael's phone, interrupted Anson's speech. Looking down at the screen, Anson's smile grew even wider, and he handed the phone back. "You had best answer that. Just remember I'm listening. So keep your mouth shut, and no one needs to get hurt, or in the case of Fiona, deported, and assassinated."
"Hello." He answered flatly.
"Michael. Where are you?" Director Raines demanded.
"Home. At the loft, we completed the mission, and I came home." He lied, trying to ignore Anson who was watching him like a hawk.
"Max is dead. Somebody got into his office, and stabbed him in the back. The feds are there at the moment but we're taking over the investigation. I've a specialist team coming in from Langley in the morning. What happened? Why didn't you go to the office with him?"
Michael sucked in a breath, and closed his eyes. "I was tired, Max told me to go home, and he'd catch up with me tomorrow to write out the report." Lying to Raines was going to cost him whatever credibility he had left. Even if he managed to take Anson Fullerton down, Raines would never forget the lies he was telling now.
"Right, Special Agent Pearce will want to speak to you in the morning. Afterwards I want you to go back to the Jackson Memorial Hospital you have a one o clock appointment with a neurologist. I'll speak to you afterwards."
When the call ended Michael closed his phone, and raised his eyes to stare at Anson. The man was obviously enjoying himself, and there was nothing he could do but go along with what he wanted him to do.
"Well done. But you still have a long way to go before I trust you. For now, just remember you hold your friends, and family lives in your hands."
Michael didn't speak, he watched as Anson walked out, and continued to stand staring off into space. He was under the thumb of the man he hated, and unless he was prepared to see everyone he loved destroyed he had no choice but to do as he was told.
Slowly he made his way over to the work top, picking up the gun he slid the clip back in, and loaded one into the chamber. Walking out onto the balcony, he stared out over the canal his eyes narrowing as he chose a target. Raising his hand he unloaded the gun into a derelict warehouse. Shooting out all the windows, once the gun was empty he threw it with all his might out into the centre of the water. Sinking down onto the ground, with his back against the wall Michael closed his eyes.
()()()
Fiona was scared, but she did her best to hide the fact. Once in the car, handcuffs had been tightened around her wrists, and a bag dropped over her head. She could feel the presence of the men on either side of her, neither spoke so she got no more clues to whose hands she had fallen.
The car journey was short, but it was followed by being forced up metal stairs and on to an aircraft. She flinched as a seatbelt was tightened about her waist, and as the plane took off her mouth went dry. Nobody would be coming to help her, by the time Michael found out where she had gone she would probably be in a shallow grave.
In the end she had to ask, her voice muffled by the head bag. "Who do you work for?" She asked. There was no reply. "Please, where are you taking me?"
"Somebody wants to talk to you, that's all. Just be a good girl now, and shut your mouth." It was the same man who had done the talking at the beach.
Fiona racked her brain, trying to work out who, out of all her enemies had the power to pull off such a well executed extraction. Unfortunately the list was long. Wriggling in the seat she tried to make herself comfortable, she would find a way to escape she always did. The thought helped to comfort her, as she waited to find out how much trouble she was in.
It seemed that they hadn't been airborne long when they started a steep descent. The landing was bumpy, and the plane came to a sudden stop. She guessed they were still in the Caribbean and they hadn't landed on an official runway. Not a good sign.
When the doors opened she was hit by a wave of heat. She accepted help down the steps and was pushed into another car, feeling the welcoming chill of air conditioning. This time the journey lasted several hours, along bumpy unmade roads. The heat and lack of food and drink making her tired and disorientated. At some point she must have fallen asleep, for she woke with start as the bag was jerked off her head.
With the handcuffs removed she got out of the car, wondering what she was going to face. It was not what she expected, she was stood on a small beach surrounded by steep walls. Blinking and shading her eyes she looked around. Noticing the guards stood along the cliff tops above.
"Your bags are inside." The man pointed to a bamboo cottage. "You can do whatever you want, as long as you stay in the cove. Try to leave, and your next accommodation won't be as pleasant."
Before she could ask any questions he left. "Who wants to see me?" She shouted, but got no reply.
