A/N: For those of you who have been waiting patiently or gently nagging me with PMs, here is the next chapter of my S6 AU story which steps away from the show canon at the mid-season finale while Michael Westen and his team were stuck in Panama. I do apologize that this chapter is chock full of dialogue and not a lot of action, but as you read you will see it is necessary.
Happy Birthday, Barb.
AIDEN
Chapter Thirty Seven
Plan, Prepare, & Execute
Part one: The Plan
There is a fine line between healthy caution and paranoia...
It had been a strong dose of caution, honed from years of living under the same roof as a petty thief with an uncertain temper and two sons whose criminal efforts ran from stealing groceries to more recently committing what many were unfairly calling treason, which had made Madeline Westen lie to the two federal officers who had turned up on her doorstop.
And now as she stood inside the private elevator which would take her up to the penthouse in the Chadwick Hotel, sandwiched in between those same two federal agents who had dragged her forcibly and shoeless from her home, the bottle blonde did her best to contain the paranoia that was growing with every floor they passed by on their way upwards.
She bit down on her bottom lip, risking getting lipstick on her teeth as she thought of what could possibly be so important that they wouldn't even give her time to grab her shoes?
Why wouldn't they tell her anything? It wasn't like she hadn't tried to get answers... Was Michael alright? Had something happened to Fiona...? Fiona's was in poor health and then there was the baby she was carrying...
OH! The baby…? Though she was sure she had kept that last part to herself, she wondered how many people knew about her soon to be daughter in-law's condition. Fiona had made it clear the fewer, the better.
But mixed with the paranoia which was nearly paralysing her was a growing sense of indignation.
When you are under stress your senses are heightened, making it easy for you to spot potential dangers or opportunities…...
When the elevator carrying the trio up to the penthouse came to a stop and the doors slid open with barely a whisper, the elderly blonde was ready and like a greyhound out of the gate she sprung forward on adrenaline-fueled legs, taking the two younger men completely by surprise.
However, the pair of field agents had youth and years of training on their side and before their troublesome charge had gotten more than a few feet away, they caught up to the smaller far older woman and brought her back under their control.
"Let go! Let me go! I want to see my son!" As soon as her captors' hands landed on her shoulders, Madeline began to rage as she impotently struggled in their grasp.
"Ma'am, you need to calm down," the senior of the agents ordered brusquely as he resisted the urge to take stronger measures.
"I knew we should have handcuffed her..." He was muttering under his breath when he realized that a pair of very angry blue eyes surrounded by over top make-up were glaring back up at him.
He swallowed the rest of his comments and instead nodded to his junior partner.
"Meadows, get the door."
Unfortunately, stress can also make it hard to tell when a danger is real or when it is just a figment of your imagination...
"Michael..." His mother put all her fear and heartache into that one whispered word, emotions now relieved by the sight which greeted her eyes. He wasn't hurt, and by his actions neither was his girlfriend. Nor was her son in chains and about to be dragged away to some deep dark prison.
It wasn't that she had wanted him hurt, but if Michael wasn't in danger, why had-
Her eyes alighted on the man that her oldest was bent over a table with, busy moving papers around and talking in hushed tones.
"You! Was this your idea?"
"Mom?"
All of a sudden all the fear and paranoia which had been building up since the arrival at her door of two federal agents had left and what remained was a withering anger. How dare they do this to me!
Fixing her infuriated blue eyes on her son, Madeline said, "So good to see you in one piece, Michael... Was this your idea or his?" Mrs. Westen sent the senior counter intelligence agent a look filled with contempt.
"Mom... I er.."
She waited, watching as her only surviving boy scanned the room, looking everywhere but at her, until his gaze which was skimming over the floor paused at the sight of her bare feet.
"What happened to your shoes?"
"Ask Frick and Frack here." She finally shrugged off the grip of Bly's minions and crossed over to stand directly in front of the CSS agent. "And as for you. How about you –"
She got no further. Michael wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his side. "Not now, mom." He tried to turn her away from the older man but his mother was having none of it.
"Michael, you asked me to visit because you were concerned about Fiona and then next thing I know I'm being accosted on my doorstep and dragged into a van... They didn't even let me put on my shoes or lock the door." Twisting around in her son's arms, she looked up at him and sniffed, shamelessly playing on his emotions. "I was so scared that..."
He may have thirty years of karate, combat experience on five continents, a rating with every weapon that shoots a bullet or holds an edge... But he still hadn't found a defense against his mom crying into his shirt...
Her son, who had been awkwardly patting her on the back, lifted his chin to speak over the top of her head. "Bly?"
"Agent Kendall, care to explain?" The man in question looked over to the older of the two agents. His half smile and his indulgent expression showed that she wasn't fooling him for one minute.
"Mrs Westen lied to us... She was attempting to flee and then resisted when we– She gave us no choice, sir," Agent Kendall concluded quickly, his cheeks reddening as all eyes in the room turned to him.
"Really? You couldn't control one civilian, a grandmother half your size?" Bly shook his head in mock disbelief.
"Sir, you made it clear Mrs. Westen was to be brought here immediately. She was being obstructive–" He continued to try to defend himself but his words trailed off when he realized nobody was going to leap to his defense.
"Give it up, Kendall," Bly ordered with a sigh. "I am well aware that Mrs. Westen can be a little – challenging at times... But she's here now and so no harm done."
"No harm done!" Madeline gave a yelp of indignation, but was restrained from saying more by the sudden tightening of her son's grip.
"Go downstairs and make arrangements for two separate transports for later this evening." Bly continued talking. "We are going to need an escort for Mrs. Westen and as well as for our primary and his partner..." Finally he turned his attention to the cause of all the disruption. "Please Ms. Westen, accept my apologies."
And there was that damned annoying smirk again. Madeline scowled back at the younger man and slowly stepped out of her boy's arms.
"Michael, I need to have a word with you." Her hand dipped into the pocket of her white linen pants and squeezed the velvet bag containing the rings. "In private."
"Mom, I'm kinda busy at the moment. Can it wait?" Now the crisis seemed to have been averted, his attention was already back on all the paperwork scattered across the table.
Somebody was going to have to remind Michael about his priorities, was what she thought. But what she said was, "I was really hoping – "
"Michael, we have quite a lot to get through," Bly interrupted.
The man was an insufferable pain in the ass, she fumed internally.
"Mom, why don't you go and visit with Fiona?" He was back at her side, the flat on his hand on her back, gently but firmly guiding her across the room to the large glass doors which led out onto the suites massive terrace.
"Michael, I - this is really important–"
"Not now, mom... Go talk to Fi and I'll call downstairs and get someone to pick you up some nice shoes from the lobby store." He all but shoved her out of the door and in the direction of his fiancée, who was lounging beside the pool.
"Madeline..." she greeted the older woman warmly. "Michael said you would be visiting."
Her soon to be daughter in law swung her legs off the lounger and onto the tiled floor and lifted up her sunglasses. "What happened to your shoes?"
"Agent Bly and his bunch of storm troopers, that's what," the blonde huffed as she made her way over to where the younger woman was sitting. "I don't know how you can stand to spend so much time with that man."
"Sit down and tell me all about it..." The auburn-haired minx glanced over to where her lover was watching them as she spoke. "Then we can plan our revenge." She winked as Michael rolled his eyes.
Fiona smiled broadly as she turned her attention back to her beloved's mother.
"You know I once followed that odious toad around all day without him having any idea I was there. Think how easy it would be for me to plant a nice little bomb right underneath where he sits in that fancy Town Car of his." The Irishwoman smirked as she sat back down with other woman facing her from a matching lounger.
"Did I ever tell you how he trashed my house the first time he came to town? Those thugs of his broke in, cut the phone lines and completely made a mess. It took hours to clean up. He even cut open Frank's favorite chair with a switch blade! Who does that?"
"Yes, I recall he made quite the mess in the loft the second time he dropped by for a visit too, didn't he, Michael? Are you sure you should leave him unsupervised in Elsa's hotel? He's not the neatest house guest."
"And how he broke Frank's urn?" Madeline chimed in again, eager to contribute to the Bly bashing. "Just smashed it on the floor, just like that."
Madeline felt tears begin to build but she brushed them away after imitating the motion Jason Bly had used to destroy the ceramic jar which had contained a portion of her husband's cremated remains.
"Yes, I believe you did mention it... several times... Tha bastid, a car bomb is too good for him. Too quick." The redhead's blue-green eyes brightened with malice.
"I think that's enough, Fi." Michael crossed the space in a couple of quick steps.
"Oh, I think we've only just got started, don't you, Madeline?" Though Fiona was talking to the older woman, all her attention was on the dark haired man looming over her, the spiteful light in her eyes at odds with the playful grin on her lips.
"I know you're unhappy, but I am working on getting us both sometime away before the hearings start." He spoke so lowly that Madeline had to lean forward to eavesdrop on the two lovers.
"You want me, us, to forget what that man did?" she demanded in obvious mock outrage.
Although she was no fan of Jason Bly, his fiancée was forced to acknowledge that the CSS agent was their best hope of ending this permanently without a bloodbath. While she loved a good gun battle or two as much as the next guy, she had a child to think about now and although that meant that she had to tolerate the CSS agent for the moment, that didn't mean she couldn't fantasize about hurting him... just a little.
"That was your father's urn, Michael. It was very precious to me." Madeline broke into the couple's conversation.
"I helped you clean up, remember? There wasn't that much of him in there anyway. Most of his ashes are under that tomb stone in Sewell Park."
"That's not the point, Michael."
"For now it is... We have a chance here to end it all for good." He pressed a kiss to Fiona's cheek, his mouth so close to her ear that Madeline didn't get to hear the whispered plea for them to play nice, just for a little longer.
But as Michael began to walk away his mother had no trouble hearing Fiona's last words to her son.
"I'll do as you ask, Michael, but should we really be putting all our trust inta a man who does such sloppy work? I mean he had yar eye color down as hazel on thot fake autopsy report."
Passing over the threshold back into the cool interior of the penthouse, Michael pulled the sliding doors shut and leaned back against the glass, staring up at the smooth white ceiling overhead.
Quietly blowing out a breath, he reminded himself that he'd actually been grateful that Bly had broken that ugly urn. He had hated seeing it around his mother's house once he'd been forced to return to Miami and he had been quite pleased when he'd gotten to throw the remains of it out.
"You know, Westen, things would go a lot smoother if you could get control of the women in your life."
Of course the man had to spoil the moment… At Jason Bly's words, the former spy glanced across the room at the man who was possibly going to help clear him of all charges... although it was just as likely that the CSS agent might see him thrown into some black site prison far away too.
"Ha, yes... Not going to happen Bly." Michael strolled back to the group gathered by the table. "You've tried telling my mom what to do, how did that work out for you? And what were you guys thinking pulling her out of the house without her shoes?" He addressed the query to the agents in question who were standing off to the side of the large wooden surface in the center of the space.
Bly accepted a sheet of paper from one of the men manning the phones before answering. "Kendall and Meadows are new. I have to keep rotating the teams watching your mother for their own mental health and physical welfare. You know we had to confiscate a shotgun after she threaten one of my agents? They're supposed to be her protection detail. What part of that does your mom not get? Seriously, Michael, threatening to shoot somebody when he's trying to jump start the battery on that excuse for a car she drives around?"
"She does have a reason to be a little paranoid right now," her son returned reasonably. "Your agent wasn't exactly dressed like a Triple A mechanic."
"So, who else shows up to sabotage cars in suits and sunglasses?"
"Actually you would be surprised how much a network of burned spies likes to dress like they still work for the government," the former agent countered. "Can we stop talking about how high strung my mom is and get back to the job now?"
"Gladly," Bly answered.
For the next hour the two men, supported by a multitude of CSS agents, worked on their audacious plan to firstly prove that there was at least one more man left amongst the legion of rogue operators already deceased or languishing in jail and with a little bit of luck uncover the identity of the mysterious high ranking member of the intelligence service.
"I still don't like the idea of you or Sam acting unsupervised. Especially as you're both going to be in West Virginia barely a hundred miles apart while I'm back here digging through old information and trying to make it look like you and Ms Glenanne have been moved to a safe house. I've got to justify to my superiors the cost of all this." Bly looked across the table at the man who was now, however reluctant the CSS agent might be to admit it, his best chance of unraveling the conspiracy still infesting the CIA.
"We've gone over this how many times now, Bly?" Michael asked, standing up straight and arching his back in an effort to get rid of the kinks from bending forward for so long. "You know what Sam's plan is, you read the memo."
"I read it, but that doesn't mean I have to like it... This isn't your show, Westen, and your team has a nasty habit of thinking they can ignore protocol. We need to be able to bring this to trial, not just take these guys out."
Rather than talk tactics on the phone, Sam Axe had decided after his video conference with Steven Benson to send a note to the agent in charge via his girlfriend, Elsa Dearbon's, personal secretary. In it, the ex-SEAL had explained that he would be following his friend Mikey's advice to leave the investigation to the experts. He was going to join Elsa on a visit to her Columbus, Ohio hotel and while there he was going to kick back and look up an old friend of a friend residing over the hills.
"Stop worrying, Bly. I promise you this will work. Sam and I have done something similar before while we were both still working for the U S government. All you have to do is stick to the plan and make sure everybody's attention is on you and your team while Sam tries to dig up some actionable intel from this Anderson woman."
"And apart from what I am already doing, how do you suggest I do that?"
"Annoy Riley's prison guards, chase down Cards latest PA, she must know something you missed earlier. While you're doing that, check out his former one too. She was with him a long time, she might actually know something useful. Think of it as using buckshot and watching what flies out of the bushes." He paused, his mind suddenly going back to the Bly bashing which was probably still taking place outside.
"Or better yet, think about how you irritated the hell out of me when you first came to Miami and then double down." Michael barred his teeth in a grin as the man who held his future in his hands glared back.
"I don't know, Westen. With the hearing moved up, I am beginning to think we should concentrate on Card for now. There is enough evidence to clear you of the worse of the multitude of offenses you've committed. With your testimony, what we have on tape and from what we have gotten from the team supporting Card's illegal operations, we can prove he was dirty and then we can concentrate all our attention on –"
"NO!" The former spy's fist hit the table with a bang... that along with his angry retort now had everyone's attention on him.
Taking several deep breaths, Michael fought to regain is composure before continuing in a calmer manner. "That's a mistake. You still don't get it. If we don't pull this out by the roots while we have the edge on them, it will just spread again and again. Have you forgotten these people were prepared to commit murder in a crowded downtown area with a high-powered rifle to silence one man or kill one of their own with a Hellfire missile on foreign soil? What do you think they will do to me and Fiona the minute the heat dies down?"
The spy's eyes narrowed as something else came to mind, as he was struck with what the old Michael Westen would have done if somebody had dared come after him for any one of his many misdeeds. "And not just me and my family, what do you think they will do to you and your family? Do you think you're untouchable? Are you willing to bet your family's lives on that?"
Watching as the older man paled, he softened his tone as he spoke again. "If we drop this now, we'll be risking everything. They will be in the wind and gone. We have to keep up the pressure on... You have to give Sam a chance to find out what this Anderson woman knows."
"Michael?"
From all eyes on the spy, they now turned to the sliding doors where two women stood looking in.
"I'm fine, Fi," Michael answered his lover's query, barely noticing as Bly moved away holding his cell phone up to his ear.
"Well, you don't look fine," Madeline insisted, moving further into the room, her expression daring any of the agents present to try to stop her from reaching her son's side.
"It was just a bit of a disagreement about tactics, that's all... I think we understand each other now. Ah, mom..."
Stretching out his arms, the dark-haired man tried to steer her away from the table and all the details of their mission. There was no need to scare his mother any more than she already was by letting her read some of the details on the dangers facing them.
"It didn't sound like just a disagreement."
"Well, that's what it was."
"Should you really be arguing with the men, even if one of them is Bly, who are trying to keep you out of jail, Michael?" the blonde tried to take a peek at the paperwork which held so much of her son's attention.
However, using his extra height it was easy for the six-footer to keep the older woman from reading more than just the odd line or two.
But then again why try to read a few lines when you can snatch up a page bearing your name? It was your business wasn't it if it had your name on it?
"You're shipping me off to Las Vegas?"
With fingers far more nimble than they should be for someone her age, Madeline had plucked up the small piece of paper holding the details of her flight and the arrangements for her safety.
"Mom –"
"Las Vegas, Michael? You want me to go into hiding with Ruth and Charlie?" She couldn't have hidden the hurt in her voice even if she had wanted to.
"It's for the best." He tried to pull the page from her hand, but instead of relinquishing her hold she tightened her grip.
"I want to stay with you and Fiona... I – I love Charlie but you said it yourself, you and Fiona need me."
Wiping a hand over his brow, Michael tried to think of the best way to get his mother to follow the most basic safety protocol regarding taking untrained civilians on operations, especially ops this high stakes and this risky. Why couldn't she just do as he asked? He took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. There was only one thing he could say.
Dropping his hands down onto her shoulders, he turned her to face him and leaned down so he could look her straight in the eyes. "Mom, this is serious. I need you, Charlie and Ruby er – I mean, Ruth, to be safe while I am away. I can't do what I need to do if I'm worried about you."
"I'm not afraid, Michael."
"I know. But I am."
He let out another deep breath and took it as a hopeful sign that his mother hadn't started arguing with him again immediately.
"You will be going to the Chadwick in Vegas. Elsa has arranged it with her chief of security, David Geary, you remember him? He'll be watching over you. It's a really great place. There are three pools, a Casino... And it is all on the government's dime." He did his best to sweeten the deal, hoping against hope that she wasn't going to decide to make another scene... well, any more of one than she already had.
For the first time in quite a while, he didn't have to consciously stop himself from pulling away when she laid her palm against his cheek. Swallowing down his own sadness at that moment, he found himself leaning into her contact.
"Okay, I admit it, Michael. I'm afraid," Madeline said. "I am afraid that this is the last time I'll ever see you."
"Not going to happen." He straightened up, pulling her into a hug. "This is going to work out. In a few weeks, we'll be free of all this and me and Fi will be back home."
As he mentioned his lover's name, he looked over and found that the mother of his child had moved over to join them, her slender fingers dancing over the exposed documents as she skimmed over the various details. He closed his eyes and swallowed. He was supposed to be helping to keep her calm and safe, not risking her health and their baby taking her into more danger.
"Fi?" It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her to go with his mom. He could spin it that she would be going to add an extra layer of protection surrounding his family.
Then he opened his eyes and found himself staring into her blue-green orbs and knew in that instant that she would never agree to go. "Can you go and see if they've got my mom some shoes yet? She'll be leaving soon."
"I haven't had a chance to pack. You're not sending me away without any clothes, Michael."
"No, mom, of course not. Fi, can you also see what's available in my mom's size at the lobby shop or at least give Elsa's secretary her sizes and the government can pay for a new wardrobe too."
He waited until his beloved reluctantly moved away from the table and went over to talk to one of the nearby agents before turning back to his mother. "So, what was it you wanted to tell me about earlier?"
Madeline scanned the room and then looked back at her son. "Not here, it's private."
"Okay, come with me." He led the way over to the room he was sharing with his fiancée and once they were both inside, he closed the door and leaned back against it. "What is it, mom?"
Reaching into her pocket, she brought out the velvet bag and shook the rings out on to her palm. "I know family doesn't mean much to you, although I think that is going to change when you have a child of your own. These were your grandparents' wedding rings. Not Grandpa Adam," she said, naming Frank's step-father. "But your Granddaddy Elias and Grandma Donna's rings... She gave them to me on her death bed. She wanted you to have them, Michael."
She took hold of her son's hand and turned it over so she could drop the two gold bands into his palm.
"I –" he paused, almost overwhelmed with the gift. "Mom, these should be saved for Charlie."
Madeline closed Michael's fingers over the jewellery. "Donna wanted you to have them. You always did have a special bond with her... Remember how you would only eat her soft-boiled eggs? Every time I tried to feed them to you –"
"Mom, you burnt them. They didn't even go hard, just kinda cracked and went brown." He laughed softly.
"Well, so what?" Madeline sniffed and squeezed his fingers. "You liked my spaghetti... You did like my spaghetti, didn't you, Michael?"
"Sure, yeah, um, of course."
"For a spy you lie like crap, baby." Madeline smiled and did her best to hide the waterworks which were threatening to burst forth.
"I'll try to do better," he answered and turned away, reaching for the handle to take them back into the main room and her away to the other side of the country. "We should go, ah, go now."
In the living room, they both discovered Fiona and the disgraced Agent Kendall waiting with a pair of white slingback sandals.
"Westen…" Bly was back in the room too with a brand new folder in his hands and a rather pleased looking grin on his face. "If you've finished with your goodbyes, we have a lot to get through and not much time."
"That's fine, Michael. I'll see Madeline off and you can get back to shuffling papers and making plans," Fiona spoke before her future husband could respond. Walking swiftly, the younger woman swept the older one from his side.
With one last gentle peck to his mother's cheek and a whispered goodbye, he left Madeline to Fiona and what sounded like a very detailed discussion about shoes.
Slipping his grandparents' wedding bands into his pocket, Michael returned to the table, though his eyes were on the new folder.
"I take Mrs. Bly and any little Blys are now receiving the protection they should have had from the start?"
"Has anybody ever told you what a bastard you are, Westen?" the CSS operative growled.
"All the time..." He had a sharp memory of that rundown motel where Fiona had found him six years ago and her opening lines.
How the sun had shone through her red-gold hair as she had stood looking out of the window and then how she had sauntered over to the bedside. "And I – I wanted a chance befer ya died, ta tell ya whot a bastid ya are."
He looked across to the open living room door into the lobby to where the two most important women in his life were walking along slowly over to the elevator. They turned and he mirrored his mother's wave and then, before she took that first step out of his sight, her only living son turned away.
"But let's not dwell on my character. What have you got there?" He nodded towards the mystery file still being held in Jason Bly's hands.
"Yours and Ms. Glenanne's new identities have come through." The other's man expression held more than a hint of malevolent joy.
"Let's see." Holding out a hand, the ex-spy wasn't overly surprised when the CSS agent held the details out of his reach.
"Do you know how hard it has been to come up with a half decent cover IDs for you two? We've had to make sure that there was no possibility that any of the Greenbriers other guests were from the same location as your legends. We've also had to run checks on all guests and staff to make sure they have never met either of you, which considering you've visited the area and DC more than once hasn't been easy. And that is without being able to check on the people who might have been in any of the areas you laid waste to during your CIA days."
"Stop whining about how tough it's been and show me what you've come up with." He made another unsuccessful attempt to take the folder.
"Show you?" His smirk began to grow. "I was looking forward to watching your face as I told you, but thinking about it – here. Let's just take a seat while you look and I'll give you the highlights."
Snatching the proffered folder, Michael followed the agent in charge over to the U-shape of comfy chairs surrounding the couch. Taking one chair, he sat down, crossing one leg over the other while he waited for Bly to get comfortable. With a nod of his head signalling for Michael to begin reading, the older man began to talk.
"You are Tommy Brunell, a former musician whose band only ever made it as far as playing the bars and clubs of downtown Tallahassee. Somehow, not recorded, you met and later married Tiffany Lonsdale-Brunell. Born and raised in Texas, she is the sole heiress of Lassiter Lonsdale, who became a multi billionaire after selling his father's oil company back in '82... The real Tiffany is living in a commune in rural England. She is separated from Tommy but as he is currently residing in an Italian prison, I think we're safe."
"An Italian prison?" Michael looked up. He had been playing an Irish man whose real-life persona had been locked away in an Italian jail when he had first met Fiona.
"It was in your dossier. You've used the cover of an Italian fugitive before," Bly commented and then went back to the brief that Michael was skimming over.
"He was caught trying to smuggle drugs through customs in Rome. Tiffany walked free and he took the whole rap. So, I guess it must have been love at least on his side."
"It says Tommy was from Tallahassee? I haven't been there for years and there isn't time to study up. If you've missed someone... Wouldn't it be better to completely make up a cover?"
"You know how things work, Westen. Facts are the hallmark of a good false identity."
"Exact –" He tried to interrupt, but the older man plowed on.
"We'll get you a tourist guide to look at... As I was saying, it's harder to create history than it is to alter it. This way if anyone gets curious, as long as they don't check too closely, you'll be safe... Brunell is a drug addled burnout and Tiffany is an airhead. I don't think anyone will notice if you make a little mistake or two. They'll probably expect it," Bly concluded.
"So from the moment we part company, you're Tommy Brunell, a Florida based loser and his hippy-chick stinking rich wife who have just returned from Europe. I have checked your dossier and Mz Glenanne's Interpol file and you have both caused havoc throughout most of Europe over the years. I think you'll be just fine."
"I guess we better get Fi back in here and bring her up to speed." He glanced at the enclosed photographs of the couple and winced.
Tiffany with her long straight black hair and several piercings wasn't going to be a challenge for his lover. Though the wig she was going to have to wear was going to be a strong reminder of that god awful black thing she used to wear on occasion back in the Ireland.
No, it was Tommy that was going to be a total pain in the ass for him. No wonder Bly had been so happy. He stared again at the image of the man whose identity he was about to usurp. Shaggy black hair topped by a panama hat, sunglasses with round frames and purple lens, an unshaved chin and what looked like tattoos on his neck and arms.
He jumped as Fiona landed on the arm of his chair, her cheek brushing against his as she studied the page. "No wonder Agent Bly is grinning like the cat who all the cream..." She paused, her long fingers stroking through his hair. "I like him... It's not your normal look, but I think you can pull it off."
"It is going to be nothing but a pain... Look, not only all that." He waggled a finger over the picture before moving it aside to show the accompanying description. "The tattoos are going to be bad enough to keep on top of. But, here, Tommy Brunell has brown eyes. I'm going to have to wear contacts too."
"So, you finally found a way to get those hazel eyes right, hm?" Fiona snarked at the other man across from her fiancée. "Well, as long as he doesn't get the autopsy part right too, I guess you can deal with it."
Michael sighed. She was right. He had certainly done worse things in his day then wear contacts and paste on tattoos.
"Okay, we know who we are, now we need to work on the how and the when of getting out of here unseen and on our way to Greenbrier."
"Oh, I have that worked out, too," Bly assured him with a shark-like smile, standing up and motioning back towards the table where they had spent most of their day. "And I'm pretty sure you're going to hate it as much as I already do."