Chapter 3
Covert missions are a lot like jigsaw puzzles. All the little pieces have to fit together before you can see the big picture. As a spy, it's vital that you're able to visualize how all the details will eventually fit together. Miss a piece of the puzzle before the big day and you'll never reach a satisfying conclusion.
...
The rest of the day was spent setting up a base of operations in the old barn behind the Glenanne house. Mr. Glenanne had raised sheep before he died, but the large building went unused now. They unpacked and set up the computers from Lucy's company, and gathered additional tools from Sean's and Rory's stashes as needed. Mrs. Glenanne and James forced Sean to work the rest of the day from the living room couch, but he was still able to man the phone to get in touch with the contacts they needed help from.
Sam unpacked the electronics with mounting enthusiasm. "Funny how you can forget that not everyone has to make all their gadgets," he mused, pulling out and examining something that looked like it came off a spaceship.
Michael looked amused. "Not sure even I could pull off high-speed internet in an outbuilding on a farm in rural Ireland."
"You're welcome," Lucy smirked. "Of course it helps when your company owns its own satellites," she smiled and went back to work.
It was late in the day when Ryan came to find Michael. The change in latitude had led Michael to lose track of time. In Ireland, so far to the north, the summer days stretched longer than in Miami and he hadn't realized how late it had become.
"Michael," Ryan leaned down to see Michael who was on his back doing some wiring under the makeshift desk.
Michael finished twisting the last bit of wiring before crawling out. "Yeah?"
"Sean needs you inside." He offered Michael a hand and pulled him to his feet.
"Thanks," Michael looked him over as they walked inside. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah," Ryan answered him. "I think so. I mean…this isn't exactly my specialty. It's a bit overwhelming. Give me a good cocktail recipe and some beautiful women any day…"
Michael laughed in spite of himself. "Have you had a chance to talk to Sam yet?"
Sean was still laid out on the couch in the living room, but he was joined by a very old, very fragile looking man sitting in one of the wing-backed chairs by the fireplace.
"Michael," Sean greeted him. "This is Jack Tracey. He's my best connection to the old IRA underground. Tracey, this is Michael"
"Michael," the man mused while Michael extended a hand to him. "I've heard so much about you. Is it McBride again, or Westen?"
Michael lowered the hand that had never been shaken. "Um, it's always Westen now," he answered awkwardly. "Maybe you've heard…I'm not exactly on the job any more."
"Yes, I did hear that. Damn shame, I say. I know a few people if you'd ever like a real job again."
Michael laughed uncomfortably. "I'll keep that in mind, thank you."
"Please," Tracey motioned to the other wing-back. He tapped the thick file folder sitting in his lap. "Have a seat. I believe I have some information that will interest you."
...
"Why are you doing this?" Fiona was alternating between feeling helpless and indignant and this was one of her indignant moments. Hands cuffed again, in front this time, O'Neill held her upper arm and led her down a long corridor. Men with guns followed them. After so many days at sea with little to eat or drink, her legs felt barely capable of holding her up. Each step was another gamble.
"Why?" O'Neill taunted her. "Why? Have you forgotten all your Irish history, girl?"
It was the last thing she wanted to hear, but she knew that knowing his motivations might help her find a way to escape. "Why don't you refresh my memory?" she spat.
He laughed, a wicked sound that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. "You want a history lesson then?" He suddenly pushed her through an open doorway. "The O'Neills," he launched into a lecture as he dragged her across the room and set her in a solitary chair along the back wall, "have been in the North of Ireland, in Tyrone, for centuries. We were the first to lead the fight against the Protestants and the English. We could have been kings of Ireland, but instead we've spent generations battlin' just to regain independence."
The men with guns remained by the door to prevent any kind of escape.
O'Neill continued his lecture while he worked to set up a tripod with a video camera. "Now, through the generations, O'Neills have worked with all kinds of organizations to further the cause. When I was growin' up, that meant bein' a part of the Provisional IRA, I believe you're familiar with their work?" He leered at her. "But, you see, PIRA got soft. They gave in to the rhetoric comin' at them from the west and from the Crown and they made peace. They made peace by givin' up everything my family worked so hard to protect, and the Six Counties're still overrun by the Orange. When my father was killed I took it upon myself to take his place. I went to the PIRA, went to people like you, looking for help. I had ideas, you see, big ideas, but PIRA was too scared to get its hands dirty."
"Maybe if you weren't purposefully murdering innocent people and little children we'd've been more welcoming," she muttered under her breath.
"But you see, if that's what's needed, that's what must be done. And that's what I've done, on my own, for the last 12 years. I've been an army of one, advancing the cause when no one else would. Do you know how much you cost me when you diverted those explosives? Years! Years of hard work having to rebuild my reputation. And now, with you here I'm going to be on top again. You were such a rising star when you first joined the cause. It's a shame, but you made a lot of enemies, you know? In your time working with your American spy. Sabotaging Real and Continuity IRA activities, and for what? For the country to remain divided and under the Crown? There are so many people who would love to make you suffer for your role in helping the PIRA decommission, for settling us into this illegitimate treaty. And when I bring you to them, they are going to finally be on my side again. I won't be an army of one, I'll be the one true leader of the remains of the IRA and we will rise up again until the Occupied Counties are free and Ireland is united as it was meant to be."
The rantings of this undoubtedly evil man churned Fiona's already miserable stomach and she couldn't stop herself from leaning over and vomiting onto the floor.
"Clean her up!" O'Neill ordered the guards. He laughed to himself. "She needs to look her best for our lovely customers now, doesn't she?"
...
Michael sat at the kitchen table the next morning sketching out his ideas for how they would need to reconfigure the van in order to use it as a getaway car. It was a gloomy, drizzly day that made him wish he could be back in Miami…a thought that surprised him. While he'd managed to avoid morning prayers with Mrs. Glenanne, Michael did make an effort to go over to the little altar and say a few silent prayers of his own. It couldn't hurt, he figured, and if it could help…well, they needed all the help they could get.
Lucy came out of her bedroom late, past breakfast. She slouched down in a chair across from Michael at the table.
Michael paused his work to look up at her. "You look lovely," he deadpanned.
"Why, thank you," she responded in kind. "I was up all night getting things settled with the cover ID."
"So everything's set?"
"I'm going to try to add a few more backstops, but yes, everything should be fine if they try to check me out…which they will. I decided to go with the rich, jilted, ex-girlfriend. We just need the fake accounts to back it up."
"Ex-girlfriend of Fiona?" he was confused.
"No," Lucy rolled her eyes. "Your ex-girlfriend. In the cover, you and I were a hot item right before you met Fiona. Then you met her, fell in love, and left me to be with her, throwing my life into a tailspin. Years later I'm a rich American businesswoman, but I still blame Fiona for ruining my only chance at love."
Michael tapped his pencil thoughtfully against the table. "You know, some of that sounds very familiar," he grinned.
"Well that just makes it an easier sell," Lucy grinned back. "So I blame Fiona for ruining my chances of ever being with you, and I've come to buy her so that I can exact my revenge."
"Sounds like a plan." he said. "And thanks Lucy, for all that you're doing. You wanna go call Barry with me?"
They rolled up his plans and headed out to the barn to make the call on the video phone Lucy had set up. Inside the barn-turned-spy-headquarters, they discovered Sam and Ryan having drinks together.
"No, no, no," Sam was telling him. "You don't understand. She had so many vacation homes she couldn't even remember how many she had! It was amazing."
Ryan was laughing so hard he couldn't manage to take any more sips of his beer. "I've got to make it down to Miami one of these days," he said, between slapping his palm against the table.
"Oh man," Sam agreed. "You and I could do some major damage on South Beach. Whew," he whistled. "And with your accent, the women would be crawling all over you." They both toasted to that.
Lucy and Michael stood in the doorway watching them with amusement.
"Mike!" Sam finally noticed them. "Lucy! Come have a beer."
"Isn't it a little early for that Sam?" Michael prodded him.
"I know, I know," Sam acquiesced. "But Ryan here needed to relax a little, you know? What's up?"
"We need to call Barry and get him to set up those accounts."
"Oh, Barry's gonna love that." Sam predicted sarcastically. "Fake accounts this big are gonna totally wig him out."
Michael nodded in agreement, "Yeah, but I'm hoping his crush on Fi will win him over for us."
Sam laughed at that. He pointed his beer bottle at Ryan. "You'd better stay and watch Michael work this one. Barry's a hoot."
...
"All right, this is it," Lucy downloaded the file O'Neill had sent her for the auction. The others watched the large monitor intently. She clicked open the folder. It contained a document with directions to the docking location and guidelines for attending the auction. The other file was a short video.
Given what she expected to see in the video, Lucy was hesitant to play it in front of Fiona's brothers…or Michael for that matter. She exchanged a glance with Sam, but he just shrugged and twisted his mouth on one side as if to say, 'Don't think you're gonna be able to get out of this one.'
"Lucy," Michael pressed. "Open the video." His voice was hard and cold. He'd already prepared himself mentally for what he knew he would see.
Rory and Ryan shifted impatiently, waiting. Sean just sat completely still in the wheelchair, focused completely on what they were about to watch.
She clicked open the file and it began to play.
Fiona sat on a chair against the wall of a large room. The walls were a dark, dirty rust color and they contrasted sharply with the paleness of Fiona's skin. She was still tanned, but there was a sickly paleness in her face. She wore the same gray tank top and jeans Michael had last seen her in…right before the smoke bombs crashed through the windows of the safe house and their whole world had been turned upside down. He could see the mixture of terror and stubborn fury in her eyes.
"My name is Fiona Glenanne," she began to speak, obviously from a script. "Yesterday's high in Miami was 97 degrees. Early this morning there was a small earthquake off the coast of Fiji…"
"What's she talking about?" Ryan asked Sam quietly.
"He's making her say that so people have proof she's still alive. Usually people hold up a newspaper or something, but I guess they couldn't get a current newspaper in the middle of the Atlantic. O'Neill's buyers aren't stupid and they don't want to walk into a trap," Sam explained. Ryan couldn't decide if that made him feel better or worse.
Fiona continued reading a list of several more current events and then stared straight ahead at the camera for a moment before it was turned off and the video ended.
"Play it again," Michael told Lucy.
"Michael, are you sure you-"
"I need to check for coded messages," he reached over her and clicked it himself, settling down into the chair next to her.
"My name is Fiona Glenanne," the video started again.
Sam got up and shooed the brothers towards the door, wheeling Sean away even as he tried to turn and watch over his shoulder. "Come on, boys, no need to watch that again. We need to start planning this bombing!" His voice made the bombing sound like a surprise party.
When they were gone, Lucy turned and watched Michael as he watched the video. His focus was so intense he didn't once look back at her. Lucy knew that in a situation like Fiona's, with a captor so ruthless and so experienced, there was little hope of being able to convey any kind of hidden message safely.
"See anything?" she asked.
"No," he sighed and started the video again.
"My name is Fiona Glenanne," her voice emerged from the speakers.
"It would have been too risky. She was being smart."
"Yeah," he acknowledged, but pulled over a pen and a pad of paper anyway.
...
Ryan left later to make a quick trip back to Dublin to check on his club. Meanwhile, Michael, Sam, and Rory spent the day under welding shields, cutting and welding the parts in place for their rescue van. Lucy needed to spend some time on her actual job and was therefore video conferencing from the barn.
Following Michael's plans, they stripped out the seats and the entire interior, down to the bare metal. Directly behind the driver and front passenger seats they installed a wire grating so that it would appear Lucy was seeking to protect herself from her prisoner. In the middle of the cargo hold space they installed a metal wall with a narrow door, similar to a gym locker. The half closest to the front seats would be accessible from the outside by the side, sliding door. They added a bench along the wall opposite the sliding door with a hidden compartment in it for supplies that might be needed after the rescue. This was to be the area where Lucy would ask O'Neill's men to place her newly purchased prisoner. It had to look like an actual holding cell so as not to give away their true motives.
In the back half of the van they installed metal shelving to hold the computers and video monitors that Michael would be using during the operation. This would be the command center, the heart of the operation, so it needed to remain undetectable. They installed a heat-shielding material on all the walls of that compartment and also the back doors of the van, even covering the small windows. Inside, there would be just enough room for Michael to sit and communicate with Lucy, the bomb team, and Barry.
At lunchtime, Mrs. Glenanne brought them out a tray of tea and sandwiches. Sean rolled out to join them and check on their progress. The three men peeled off their protective gear and sat around a small patio table with him to enjoy the much needed respite. Michael was quiet, even more so than normal. Sam understood the reasons for that and allowed him his peace, but Rory, on the other hand, had questions he'd been waiting to ask and this seemed like the perfect time.
"So," he set down his empty teacup. "When you were here before…you were CIA?"
Michael glanced at Sam before setting down his own cup and turning to Rory. "Not exactly," he explained wearily. "I did work for the government, but in more of an independent capacity. You know, plausible deniability and all."
"And when you met Fiona…?" Sean joined in the questioning
"It was planned. I knew she would be a good asset for my mission."
"But it turned into more than that," Rory's face was serious.
Michael twisted the spoon in his fingers. "It was a lapse in judgment on my part. I got attached…and I wasn't willing to cut her out until it was too late and by then that was the only thing I could do to keep her alive."
Since the brothers had gone ahead and gotten the conversation rolling, Sam decided to ask a question he'd always wondered about. "So Mikey, when you were burned, how'd you still manage to have Fi's number as your emergency contact?"
Rory and Sean raised their eyebrows at that.
"It was an old emergency line. Fi and I set up a pair of them and we'd have them rerouted to every new phone we picked up, just in case. I guess she kept hers up even after I left."
They were all quiet for a moment.
"And now you're just out?" Rory continued his line of questions.
"Yes. Burned."
"But you guys still work…Fi tells me about it sometimes…how do you manage to work without your agency?"
"We make do," Michael shrugged. "We never get to work with as many toys as Lucy brought for us this time, but we make do."
"Yeah, Mike's the king of making something out of nothing," Sam chimed in.
"But I do need to get back in," Michael brought up. "It doesn't make your sister very happy, but it's not safe for any of us if I'm burned."
"And that's why Fi's moving back home, then?" Sean asked pointedly.
"Fi's moving back to Ireland?" It was news to Rory.
"That was the plan," Michael explained.
"But then O'Neill got there first," he surmised.
"You got it," Sam answered.
"So," Rory wouldn't let up. "When this is over…is she gonna stay here? You're gonna save her and then just leave?"
Sam watched Michael closely.
"If that's what she wants, then yes." Michael stood up to get back to work. It was easier to evade questions from under the welding shield.
Sean and Rory looked at Sam quizzically. He held up his hands in mock defense. "Don't look at me, I've never understood that relationship!"