A/N: A big thank you to everybody who has read, reviewed, favorited or put this story on your alerts. Your support for this tale has been amazing and very much appreciated we hope you continue to enjoy reading of Michael's and Fiona's exploits as they try to out run the combined forces of the Glenanne family, the CIA and MI6, plus all the enemies both foreign and domestic they have both gathered in their short lives.
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BE BRAVE LITTLE ANGEL
Chapter Two
"Ya just have ta be brave, little angel." The lilt vanished and it was Michael Westen, American spy, who was staring back at her now in all deadly seriousness. "While I do what I was trained to do."
"Be brave, little angel?" Fiona repeated his words back to him, a frown forming at the code he had used, a code her father had made up to warn his young daughter of danger. "Ya expect me ta keep me head down an' pray while ya fight me battles fer me?.. D'ya think I'm thot weak now am carrying ya child thot I cannae pull me own weight?"
"No, I know you're not weak," he argued back. Removing his hand from where she had placed it over her stomach, he captured hers and entwined their fingers. "But if we're gonna do this, there's gonna be times when I need you to hang back. I can't be worrying about you when I should be concentrating on whoever's coming at us."
"An' I cannae stand back like some damsel in distress." He saw that stubborn streak he knew so well in her expression. At times, her classic Celtic pigheadedness had made him smile. But this was not one of those times. "Me mother held off an attack on me da's pharmacy when she wa' six months pregnant wit' Seamus. It's nae in me ta hide away."
Michael stared back at her puffy tear streaked face, seeing now the glow of pride in her blue-green eyes and he knew the Irishwoman was only thinking about the excitement and romance of being on the run with her lover instead of the hard reality of their situation.
This was her mother's fault... He had only met the tiny formidable clan matriarch a handful of times, but the woman's stories of bravery and adventure under fire were repeated so often that the love affair of Maeve and Patrick Glenanne had passed into family folklore.
The CIA's top flight covert operative let his sharp sight slip over her shoulder to the re-enforced front door. Once they stepped over the threshold and outside, there would be no turning back for either of them. He would be declared a rogue agent and she would be branded a traitor and it was no secret what the IRA did to those they perceived as traitors.
"Fi, if we do this – before we do this, I want you to be clear on what we're gonna be facing. The CIA, British Intelligence, and once – and once my people burn me, every single person I've pissed off on four continents will be coming after me and when they find out about you and our child, they will come after you too because they know how much it will..." He couldn't finish the sentence. The very thought of it had suddenly become all too real for him.
The petite woman gazed at the pallor of her dark haired lover as the words died on his lips.
"Are ya tryin' to scare me, Michael Westen? Cuz I tol' ya befer I donnae scare easily," she declared boldly. She was putting on a brave front, but the spy caught the slight waver in her lilting tone.
Maybe he was finally getting through her naivete. She knew the dangers of living on the Emerald Isle, but there was a whole world of hurt out there she knew nothing about.
"I'm not trying to scare you, I'm trying to make sure you understand that it will never be over. We'll be running for the rest of our lives - you're gonna lose everyone you care about, your family."
"We'll be together... We'll find somewhere." She squeezed his hand and tried to smile and he knew she didn't get the finality of his words. He'd seen it before when an asset had to be relocated for their own safety, or as part of a deal. Apart from the rare exception, they all believed that some day they would be able to go home or at least call their family or a lover.
"Look, I'll understand if you don't want to do this," Michael tried again. The last thing he wanted to do was wreck both their lives, only to end up with the woman he loved hating him because of all the things she had lost. "I could leave, I could send you money and maybe – maybe in a few years time we could meet up away from here and it could work out."
He didn't want to leave, he didn't want to think about going back to work, having to become somebody else in some other country. He didn't want the knowledge that he had a child who he might never meet and who would never know what his or her father had done for them. But if it meant both mother and child would be safe and happy, he would do it.
"You said ya wanted ta be wit' me. Ar' ya trying ta wriggle out already cuz -"
"No, no, nothing's changed. I want to be with you. Of course I do. But I want to be sure you know exactly what you're getting into... CIA, MI-6, MI-5, Russians, Serbs, Iranians, the Provos..." He took another deep breath. "Your brothers.... They are all going to come after us. Are you positive this is what you want to do?"
At the mention of her siblings, the fiery redhead drew away from him. "Thot's tha real reason ya want me ta step back, isn't it? So if it comes ta it, I won't be thar ta stop ya killing me brudders." The slap that landed on his already bruised cheek made his ear ring.
"I don't want to shoot anybody!" The spy yelled back, holding his palm over his abraded face. "But once we run -"
"Ya promise me here and now ya won't raise a hand against me family!" She was on her feet now, the fury she felt showing in every inch of her quaking frame.
Joining her in front of the fire, he tried to take hold of her hands again, desperate to make her understand before they did something there was no coming back from. "Fiona... Fi, please listen..."
She jerked and twisted her wrists to break his grip and a tightly packed fist came at his jaw; however, he grabbed her hands and this time gripped them painfully as she fought against him.
"Fi! Stop it! Fiona, stop! I can't make that promise! You said it yourself, as soon as the truth comes out, Liam and Sean will want me dead. This is one of the reasons why I agreed to leave. I wasn't abandoning you, I was giving you a chance for a life without having to look over your shoulder every day for the rest of your life!" He pinned her arms to her sides as she started to struggle again.
"Tom Card made me see the truth... Even if the CIA had agreed to protect you and let us work together, you would have still had to leave your family behind. I wasn't sure you wanted that."
As his expression softened, the fury faded from her eyes and Michael slowly released his hold on the Irish spitfire as he felt her relax.
"When the CIA turned me down, the only way to protect you, protect both of us, was to leave, to disappear without a trace so you wouldn't be connected to me. But if you want me to stay, if you really want to do this, you need to understand that once we begin, there's going to be no way back for either of us. No one will protect us, including your family. We're gonna be totally alone and on the run. There will be no one we can trust."
He took both her hands into his again, knowing what came next was probably going to earn him another smack to the face and he needed his head clear.
"You need to understand this, understand what's really at stake here. Fi, your mammy may have held off a rioting mob with a shotgun when she was six months pregnant, God forbid that you have to do the same, and still, for all that, one day your Da didn't come back, your brother Pat didn't come back, Claire..."
The already pale Irishwoman turned as white as sheet and looked like she was about to try to swing again. Quickly, Michael released her trembling fingers and put both his rough palms on either side of her face. Staring into those moisture-filled eyes, he hoped his intent and his sincerity was clear.
"I don't want to leave you, I don't. I will do whatever I have to make sure you're safe, whatever that is. If I leave now, we could be together again later, we might not. But you would be safe under the protection of your family. If we run, it's just you and me against the world for the rest of our lives and it's a big world out there with lots of angry people in it. Once we do this, there's no going back."
He leaned forward and kissed her forehead before releasing her. Stepping away, the spy watched closely as she processed what he'd just said.
When she next spoke, there was a look of determination in her eyes he had only seen before when Ms. Glenanne was about to declare war on an enemy. "I donnae want a life without ya thar at me side or me babby ta lose a father... But I donnae want me brudders dead either."
She sniffed and swiped angrily at the moisture filling her eyes in an effort to compose herself and turned away, striding towards the bedroom.
"We have ta leave nar, right this second," She spoke over her shoulder. "If we get outta Dublin t'night, befer anybody knows we've gone, we could drive down ta tha South coast, take a fishing boat, or one 'o tha speed boats fram tha marina." The redhead was in the bedroom now, pulling a suitcase down off the top of the wardrobe and laying it on the bed. "We could go ta France or Spain an' nobody would be any tha wiser. Europe is a big place. We could lose ourselves in any one o' a dozen countries."
Biting down on his bottom lip, Michael gave chase.
"No packing." He slammed the case lid closed before Fiona could begin filling it with clothes. "I thought I was clear. We're gonna be travelling light. We're taking only what we can carry on us. Which means guns, ammunition and all the cash we have hidden around this apartment."
"Nothing?" She paused. "Michael, I -"
"Nothing, Fi... I'm sorry, but it has to be this way." Dropping to his knees, he reached under the bed and hauled out a long canvas bag. "Weapons, ammo and cash... Then, if there's room, a change of clothes, how's that?" He rose up and dumped the hold-all down on top of the suitcase.
She pursed her lips and looked from the canvas hold-all to the wardrobe containing her clothes and her shoe collection.
"I told you it wouldn't be easy." He tried to be gentle this time. "You just have to think of it all as stuff. If you can't walk away from a few possessions, how are you gonna be able to leave behind the bigger things? I've been trained to do this, leave in thirty minutes or less. You -"
"It's not a problem," Fiona declared firmly. "I know how to make money. I can get more."
"Fi, are you sure? Because-"
"Stop askin' me thot same bloody question! Am sure, as sure could be. Now drop it, will ya?"
He flinched as she came at him, expecting her to land another punch to his sore cheek or jaw. But instead of raining blows upon him, his petite lover wrapped her arms about his neck and began kissing him with such desperation and need that it took his breath away.
"This is whot I want," she proclaimed when she released him and then blew out a short breath. "So tell me how do we get away fram har clean?"
"We can't," he admitted. "Not completely, but we can make it hard for them to follow us. We wait for the call to tell me it's time to go." He could see the argument coming already, so he held up a finger to forestall it. "It's the only way. I'm pretty sure if either one of us pokes our heads out of that door before the call comes, we'll find either Tom Card's or Chambers' surveillance team or both waiting for us."
He turned back towards the open bag on the bed and then pulled his pistol from under his pillow.
"When I go out the door, you sneak out behind me. I'll go down the steps to the right and deal with Card's driver. You're gonna have to duck down and make it to the stairs at the far end. When you get to the ground, find us a car and I'll meet you behind the building."
"Why nae get rid o' yar man Card's driver an' take his car? Tis a fancy MI6 Audi saloon an' it's bound ta armoured an' wit' a full tank."
"You really want me to answer that?" The government issued tracker hidden somewhere on the chassis sprang to mind.
"No, I want ya ta turn off tha lights so it looks like ya've been a good little spy an' drugged yar asset." The soft palm which caressed his cheek and the sparkle in the blue-green eyes all took the sting out of the words.
He was glad she could still joke at a time like this, because he was doing his best to hide how terrified he was by the twists and turns of the evening. How the hell was he going to protect them all in seven or eight months time?... If they even managed to last that long.
Switching off the lights in the living room and the bedroom, the couple began to tear part the flat in earnest, pulling every piece of hardware they had hidden around the few rooms including some secured inside the furniture and in the walls.
()()()()()
Riordan Murphy made his way home from his hard days labor as a stacker driver on Dublin docks via a stop at the neighborhood pub. By the time he had taken in what was commonly known as a skin-full, it was dark and already well past supper time. Crossing over the street, he stumbled up the curb on the opposite side and made his way through a set of gates which led to a small car park and the entrance to the block of flats beyond, where his wife of fifteen years would be waiting for him with meal warming in the oven.
Climbing up the stairs, he reached the third floor balcony and made his way along to his own little slice of heaven. Fumbling with clumsy fingers at getting the key in the lock, he eventually entered his home and came to an abrupt stop. His drink sodden mind was trying without success to come up with what he could have possibly done to cause the love of his life to be pacing in front of their three bar electric fire, with a flame and coal effect base, looking like bloody murder was in offing.
"Berni? Whot's up, luv?"
"Are ya deaf?" came the puzzling reply.
But then the loud bangs and creaks coming through the wall from next door made it through the alcoholic haze. "Ach, thar jus' havin' a party, luv. Leave tham alone."
"A party is it, ya daft man? I heard har cryin' earlier an' thar wa' enough shoutin' ta raise tha dead. I thought he wa' fixin' ta leave har fer sure this time, then all this started."
"Tis none o' our business," Riordan muttered. He knew who lived next door, just the same as everybody else did in the block of flats, and wanted no part of whatever was going on between the couple.
"It wa' made our business when ya took thot man's money," his spouse reminded him. "Whot d'ya think he'll do if it is sommit an' we dinnae tell ham?... Whot d'ya think he'll do ta us?"
It had happened on a balmy Saturday afternoon in six months ago. Mr. Murphy had left the football grounds on Connaught Street after watching his team, The Bohemians, beat their rivals, the Shamrock Rovers FC. Everybody was in a good mood. Oh, there'd been a little scuffle on the terraces, but nothing serious, and he was just on his way home to get changed for a night out celebrating when a large black car had pull up alongside of him, the window at the back slowly rolling down.
"Riordan Murphy?" He had found himself staring into a set of icy cold pale blue-grey eyes. "Am Liam Glenanne, an' I have a favor ta ask o'ya."
Everybody who had lived through the late nineteen seventies and all of the eighties knew who Liam Glenanne was. Informers, criminals (those not sanctioned by the IRA) and traitors in their own ranks on both sides of the border feared the appearance of this man.
"A favor? Whot ever ya want, Mr. Glenanne, sar." After all, what else he could have said?
"Ya live next ta somebody very dear ta me. I want ya ta keep a friendly eye on har... Ya know tha sorta thing... Anything happens ya think I need ta know about, ya give me a call on this number." A gloved hand appeared and handed him a piece of paper with a number scrawled on it. "Day o' night, tis no never mind ta me... An' here fer yar troubles." Four fifty punt notes came through the open window. "Ya'll get tha same every week.... Donnae let me down, Riordan."
"Damn ya, woman." The man of the house went to begin a search for the scrap of paper, but stopped when his wife held it out to him along with the telephone. "If this turns out ta be nuttin', McBride is certain sure ta kill us, an' if he donnae, thot woman o' his will."
"Well, ya shoulda thought o' thot befer taking tha man's money, shouldn't ya?" Bernadette Murphy turned away as her husband dialled the number, her hand quivering as she raised the cigarette between her fingers to her lips.
"Mr. Glenanne, it's Riordan Murphy..."
()()()()()
Their home looked like it had been gone through by a professional search team. The couch where they had spent so many evenings was upended and the cloth coverings ripped away. There were holes in the walls and plaster scattered over the carpeted floor. The kitchen units were dismantled, exposing hidden stashes of ammunition and explosives. With everything pulled from its hiding places, Michael and Fiona stacked all their emergency supplies on the bed.
"Your Hecate II sniper rifle with ten rounds, two sawed off shotguns with a box of fifty cartridges, a modified Remington Shotgun, fully loaded with no spare ammo, our handguns and two full boxes of 9 millimeter bullets plus full clips..." Michael made it sound like a pitiful amount of fire power.
"Yar forgettin' thar's six pound o' semtex, forty meters o' det cord an' three electronic timers. Thar's two smoke grenades an' -" Fiona's words were cut off by the ringing of a phone – her mobile phone. Looking at the clock on the bedside table, the Irishwoman could suddenly feel the beating of her heart. A call so late at night was never a good thing.
"Fi?"
She glanced at the display on her cell and then up at her lover. "Liam... Liam's callin' me. Whot d' I do? If I -"
"Answer it, Fi. Just find out what he wants and hang up."
She shook her head... It wasn't as easy as that. Her guilty conscience was already hard at work, warning her that her oldest brother wouldn't be calling so late unless he knew something was up. Dinnae he always know when somebody wa' lying ta ham?
"Damn it, Fiona, answer your -" The ringing stopped before he could finish his demand. "You should have answered," the spy accused softly.
"An' whot would ya have had me say ta ham?" she snapped back.
All she could think about was how badly she had just messed up. If she'd answered, he might have believed whatever she told him. But now... everybody knew that Liam didn't cope well with being ignored. It was a cardinal rule: you always answered the phone when a family member called. In her overwrought emotional state, all the young Irishwoman could think of was that now it was a race to see who got to them first: her brothers or Michael's bosses.
"We have ta leave nar." Ms. Glenanne began loading their weapons into the bag. "I have money, lots o' cash, hidden on thar Kennedy industrial estate. It'll be enough ta pay somebody ta -"
"Fi, wait... Fiona, wait!..." His hand landed over hers, stopping her rush to pack. "We can't leave until I get the call from Card."
"If we stay har -" The house phone interrupted her words and they both turned to look into the lounge.
"Answer it," Mr. Westen hissed, pulling her towards the white slimline device hanging on the wall by the door. "Find out what he wants!"
"Michael!" She yelped at his rough handling. Freeing herself from his grip, she aimed a punch at his chest to make him back off. Snatching up the handset, she drew in a shuddering breath. "Yes?"
"Fiona, why dinnae ya answer yar mobile?"
"I – I'd left it in tha living room. By tha time I got ta it, ya rung off. Why ar' ya callin' at this hour?"
"An ya dinnae think ta ring me back? …... Are ya okay?... Is McBride wit' ya?"
"Yes, am fine. Whot d'ya-"
"Jus' listen ta me, sweetheart. Am on me way o'er, jus' keep ham thar. I need ta speak ta ya both... Donnae tell ham I'm comin' though. Can ya do thot, sweetheart?"
"Whot's -"
"Jus' stay whar' ya are... Am on me way."
Before she could ask any more questions, her brother ended the call and she was left staring numbly at the handset. It was just as she suspected. He knew. She had no idea how. He only had people all over both Belfast and Dublin in all walks of life keeping him informed on what was happening in both cities.
"Ya heard ham. He's on his way. We have ta leave, nar... No more talk o' waiting."
But he was baring the way back into the bedroom, his blue eyes narrowed and boring into her soul. It was an expression she had never seen on the face of her lover and it was a sudden reminder that this man wasn't Michael McBride, but rather Michael Westen that she was about to run away with.
"We are staying right here until I get the call... We walk out now and it won't just be Liam we're running from. We'll alert Card and Chambers' that I've gone rogue. I'm trying to buy us some breathing space, Fi. Calm down and think about what you're doing."
"Calm down? Calm down, ya say? Ya heard ham! He's comin' har an' he wan's ta speak wit' us. He knows sommit." How could he be so bloody cool? Most men would be out of the door and half way down the street at the mere suggestion that Liam Glenanne wanted to have a chat with them and he was just standing there looking like he wanted to kill someone instead of thinking about saving his own neck.
"If he turns up before Card calls, I'll answer the door and tell him you've gone to bed." He held up a hand to stop another outburst. "I know he'll push inside, but it will convince anybody watching that I've stuck to the plan. Once he's inside, I'll neutralize him."
"Neutralize? What d'ya mean ya'll neutralize me brudder?" Her hands were in fists again as family loyalty took a hold of her soul.
"I'll knock him out and tie him up. I'll catch him off guard... He knows me as McBride. He won't expect an attack, not from me."
"And if he has somebody wit' ham?" Her brother had two black belts. How could he possibly...
He was back directly in front of her, his hands cupping her shoulders, those intense blue eyes drawing her in, unlike a few minutes ago when his gaze had been searing her soul.
"Believe me, I can handle it."
And God help them both, she did believe him. She didn't understand why she felt it, but something in those expressive deep blue orbs told her that he spoke the truth.
"Do you trust me? You have to trust me, Fiona, or we might as well forget doing this right now."
"I trust you, Michael Westen. God forgive me, but am trusting ya."
When he drew her closer, his lips gently touching against her forehead, Liam's little sister relaxed into the arms of her lover, her own limbs slipping around his waist as she rested her head against his chest, letting the steady beat of his heart settle her own shredded nerves.
But this respite only lasted a few minutes, as Michael's cell phone then vibrated in his pocket. Releasing his hold, the Irishwoman could only watch as he read the message on the screen. When the dark haired spy looked up at her, she knew the time had come.
"I'll finish packing," he spoke calmly. "You grab whatever clothes you want to take... Leave your credit cards, driving licence, anything that can identify you behind, you won't be needing them."
()()()()()()()()
Less than five minutes after the message had flashed up on his cell phone, Michael Westen picked up the heavy canvas bag weighed down with their emergency supplies and walked out of the flat where they had lived happily for the last six and a half months, pausing he looked down over the balcony. To anybody watching, it would appear he was checking out the large saloon car which was waiting to carry him away and out of Ireland for good.
Behind him, Fiona crept out and along the walkway bent almost double so she would remain out of sight of the surveillance team that had to be watching the front of the block of flats, as there was no way out through the back of the building. All the young Irishwoman carried was her lock pick set, her snub nosed .38 and one of the sawed off double barrelled shotguns.
Reaching the staircase at the far end of the balcony, the redhead glanced back in time to see the man she loved turn his back on her and begin the slow walk down to where the dark colored Audi A6 sat with its engine quietly running.
"Leave me to take care of the surveillance team and the driver. You find us a car, nothing flashy, a few years old but well maintained is good and a common color. Remember, we don't want to be noticed."
He had given her a stern look then, knowing her taste in stolen cars tended to be a bit more showy.
"I'm going to try to get the men on guard to come to me. If I can do it quietly, I'll take them out. If I can't, I'm going to have to get in the car and wait for the driver to radio in that he has me... If that happens, the surveillance will probably come up and check that I've cleaned out the flat properly and that's why I'm rigging the trip wire and the stun grenade inside before we go. It'll make noise but hopefully the neighbors will think it's a car back firing."
"And if ya get in tha car, whot d'ya expect me ta do?"
"Follow me. I' ll drag it out as long as I can before I get in the car. As soon as Card thinks I'm on my way I'll take out the driver and then we'll run." He smiled at her then, a glimmer of the man she thought she'd fallen in love with. "With a wee bit o' luck thot'll give us a half hour head start." Just that fast, McBride was gone again. "If we can get out of the city in that time, we stand a chance."
The flame haired paramilitary had agreed to her lover's plan; however, now as she watched him walk off, she began to form her own more practical alternative. One that didn't involve the man who had stolen her heart getting into a car and driving away with the enemy.
Waiting until Michael had started down the concrete steps which led to the ground floor and the car park, Fiona rushed back in the direction she'd just came. Keeping low, she made it to the staircase in time to hear the heavy fire doors at the bottom bang shut.
Stealthily she crept down, making sure there was no warning echo of her foot falls to alert the men out in the car park. Opening the door only wide enough to slip through, the petite woman made it outside in time to see two men dressed to fit in amongst the locals in jeans and jumpers, cautiously approaching her boyfriend one from either side.
Pursing her lips, Ms. Glenanne placed the shotgun down at her feet. The shortened barrel of the weapon made it great for intimidation, but total useless for a shot requiring accuracy. Drawing her snub nosed revolver from her waistband, she thumbed back the hammer and edged closer to where Michael had now come to a stop.
She smiled her approval when she realized the spy had stopped beside a large transit van, which put him out of sight of the man sitting behind the wheel of the car. After carefully placing the bag down on the ground, Mr. Westen raised his hands and while one of the men stood guard, the other quickly frisked him.
"Mr. Card doesn't want any trouble at the airport," the man standing guard spoke up and Fiona realized the men were British, either spies or SAS. "So, what's in the bag?"
"My dirty laundry, fellas... You want to go through it?" He went onto one knee and began to open the zipper.
"Nah, leave it mate... Get on your way now... We'll go make sure you left the place nice and tidy an' maybe we'll check on that little Irish number you were shacked up with too." The British agent laughed as he turned away, his colleague hesitating only for a second before following behind.
The Irish spitfire raised her gun, taking aim, her temper flaring at what may have happened if her lover had drugged her and left her to be - She couldn't even think about what they may have done to her. All she knew was somebody was going to pay.
But even as her finger slipped inside the trigger guard, Michael was rising up and in his hand he had hold of the other sawed off shotgun. The two British agents were taken totally by surprise, as was Fiona by the sudden attack by the American spy.
Using the shotgun as a club, he hit one and then the other in the back of the skull with the handle of the weapon. The first one went down like a stone, but the second man, the one who had spoken of checking out her drugged body, staggered straight towards where the petite redhead was hiding. Rearing up, she brought her hand gun up and pistol whipped the already dazed man to the ground.
"Fi?" Michael ran at her speaking in a whisper, his face a picture of barely controlled rage."Fiona, what are you doing here?" he demanded between clenched teeth..
He would have drugged her and then those men would have -"Saving yar ungrateful ass. Thot's whot am doin'." She hissed back, giving the unconscious man on the ground a hard kick to the ribs.
"You -" He paused and took back control. When he next spoke, there was a coldness in his tone leaving her in no doubt of his mood. "Help me hide the bodies and then go find us a car!"
They rolled the bodies of the two men under the van and Michael shoved the shotgun back into the bag and closed the zipper.
"I'm sorry," When he looked back at her again, his expression had soften some. The anger in his blue eyes was not for her this time. His voice was so low it was hard to catch his words. "I would have never let them touch you."
"I know thot, Michael..." She pressed a quick kiss to his lips and then turned. "Now go befer me brudder turns up an' skins ya alive."
Grim faced, the former spy nodded. "Don't take too long."
And before Fiona could reply, he was gone, crossing the car park in long easy strides.
()()()()()()()()
When Michael reached the waiting the car, the man behind the wheel wound down the window.
"You're late. Chuck the bag on the back seat and we'll get going. Mr. Card is expecting you in twenty minutes and it'll take me at least that long to get there. You better hope he has the pull to hold that plane or you're gonna be stuck here 'til morning, mate."
Doing as he was told, Michael slid the hold-all along the back seat so he could sit directly behind the driver. "Thanks for the lift."
"All part of the job... I've got five years till retirement and this is the most exciting thing I've done all month..."
The man continued to chat, mostly about what he was hoping to do once he was retired from service to his country and Mr. Westen made sure to sound like he was paying attention. In truth, his eyes were watching the driver's wing mirror waiting to see a set of headlights and Fiona Glenanne staring back at him through the wind shield of whatever car she'd managed to acquire.
"Don't you have to call in? You know, let Mr. Card know I'm coming in."
"I've already done it. I called in as soon as I saw those MI6 boys give you the all clear."
Fiona was trailing behind them in a silver four door saloon, staying just far enough back that she couldn't be recognized. It had to be her. There were so few cars out on the road and it had followed them on the last two turns the driver had taken.
"That's good to know you're on top of the job." Michael shifted slowly forward in his seat.
"Like I was saying, I've been at it th-"
The dark haired now former spy wrapped his arm across the older man's throat, choking him out and trying to hold on as the car swerved all over the road. It took ten seconds to render a man unconscious and, in that time, the driver managed to put the large car up on to the pavement and into two parked cars before he finally passed out.
"I'm sorry." Michael patted the unconscious man on the shoulder and then grabbed the heavy canvas bag as the PIRA operative pulled up alongside of the car wreck he had managed to create.
"Really, Michael? I thought tha idea was fer a quiet escape... Is this whot passes fer stealthy fer spies?"
"Just drive, Fi." He slammed the door shut on the Toyota Corolla and let his head fall back against the head rest. This was it. All his bridges were burned now. It was now just him and the flame haired Irishwoman who held his heart.
"We'll stop at tha industrial estate whar I have me money and be on our way south. Then we'll be on a boat ta France by tha morning."
He let her talk as he tried desperately to keep himself from flying apart. He had done it. He had left the agency which had been his whole live for the last nine years and he had done it for the love of a woman.
()()()()()
A large black car parked a little way down the road from the scene of a car crash. Two parked vehicles side-swiped and then the wrecked Audi over the curb and on the sidewalk. One uniformed member of the Garda turned from the scene and walked towards the rear of the waiting automobile. At his approach, the back window slowly wound down.
"Witnesses say thar wa' some sorta fight takin' place inside tha Audi... Once it crashed, this young fella got out an' jumped inta a silver Corolla driven by a long haired young lass."
"Thank ye, Desmond... Har," he handed over a small roll of notes. "Lose tha report on this an' I'll see yar missus gets thot fancy coat she's been eyeing up in Frasers."
"Anythin' ya want, Sar. Ya know me." The police officer smiled as he tucked the money away.
"Aye, thot I do, Desmond, thot I do."
Moments later the black car was pulling away from the curb. The man with the cold pale eyes sitting on the back seat leant forward and touched his loyal man behind the wheel on the shoulder. "Me sister has a stash over on tha Kennedy estate. Head o'er thar and I'll direct ya in."