A/N: What can we say? We could tell you about all the real life struggles that have conspired to keep both of us from having any free writing time these past months, or we could dispense with the apologies and get right on to the story you've been kept waiting so long to read… So, thank you for your continued interest and support and we promise to update more often… Now, on with our tale!
BE BRAVE LITTLE ANGEL
Chapter Thirty Nine
Liam Glenanne stood in his mother's hallway, his right hand impatiently tapping against his thigh as he stared across into the small side room where his brother Colin was busily talking into his phone while simultaneously trying to sling the strap of the large brown satchel he used to carry his recently purchased laptop over his shoulder and gather up the neatly stacked pile of paperwork sitting next to their mother's ancient printer.
"Colin, Col, how long are ya gonna be?" He tried to keep the exasperation he was feeling out of his tone, but it was difficult when all he wanted to do was to get home was quickly as he could.
"Whot…?" The younger man half turned and then raised a hand gesturing, for his sibling to wait. "Five minutes…" he mouthed his answer before returning to his phone call.
"We should be on tha road nar. Can it nae wait?" the head of the family grumbled and then pursed his lips when he didn't get a reply... If he didn't need the information his little brother was gathering, he'd have left the family genius behind with the women... But he needed him, so he clenched his jaw even tighter and prepared to wait.
Ever since Jeannie's phone call, the eldest of the Glenanne siblings had been on edge. The news that his home had been invaded by a member of a foreign powers security forces and his girlfriend threatened had brought back a lot of memories of the bad old days, of dawn raids and being awoken by a soldier's gun being shoved into your face.
He glanced down at his watch and then to the open front door and the driveway beyond, to where his ten best men stood idly gossiping alongside the trio of vehicles which were ready to take them all back to the north.
"Liam… Liam, sommit has happened. I need ya home now." The call had come out of the blue, the sound of her choking, her voice hoarse and full of panic had filled him with a dread he hadn't felt for years.
"Whot's happened?"
"Am at yar house – I – I know ya told me ta get out but – but – thar wa' no flight an' I had me babbies ta –– "
"Am nae interested in yar dogs, Jeannie. Whot tha feck has happened?" He hadn't meant to yell but she was supposed to have been out of the country already and he really couldn't have cared less about the little pack of furry ankle biters which accompanied her everywhere she went.
He had then been forced to wait for her to catch her breath and each second that had ticked by had felt like torture, but finally she had begun to explain.
"Thar wa' a woman hare… she broke in. I donnae how… tha alarm, tha sensors, everythin' wa' turned off."
The alarm and sensors were supposed to have been top of the line, impossible to hack… or so Colin had promised... Except if the person doing the breaking and entering had access to all the expensive and up to the minute toys a government agent would have at his or her fingertips... "Tell me about tha woman," he commanded, though deep down, Liam already knew who she was talking about: tha same dark skinned bitch who had lifted Ryan.
"An American, she wa' an American an' she said she wanted ta see ya, she – she says she knows everything about ya, about –. Liam, she went through tha whole house. Am sure o' it. She told me if ya donnae meet har tomorrow, she's gonna, she's gonna –– "
"I get it, Jean... I get it. I need ya ta calm tha feck down, alright sweetheart?"
"Nar, ya donnae get it... an' donnae tell me ta calm down..." He had felt a swell of pride as the woman who had put up with him for so long tore into him, her indignation chasing away her fear and helping her to focus.
"Tha bloody cow, she – She said, sommit about ya shouldnae love cuz it leaves ya open – it gives yar enemies leverage... I cannae remember har exact words. It sounded like a loada crap ta me... And then she let off some sorta flashbang. It near on knocked me out. Am still seein' stars."
"But yer alright, nar? Yer nae injured?"
"I've got a feckin' headache like ya wouldnae believe an' me chest an' throat feel like I've been force fed an ashtray... Solly probably is tha same, nae thot he'll admit it."
"Am ninety minutes away if I leave right nar..." He had done his best to sound matter of fact. "Until I get thar, I want ya ta open all tha windows an' doors an' lend Solly tha present me mam got me fer Christmas. I'll be home as soon as I can get thar." He hoped Jeannie had understood his message to hand over the Remington shotgun he kept in the bedroom over to the old man and had not in fact given her driver the set of engraved gold cufflinks which had been his mother's actual gift.
"Liam…" Her voice had sounded so small and vulnerable. "Liam, I love ya."
He had closed his eyes, remembering her face the last time he had seen her, the sensation of her hands on his body, the feeling that came with the knowledge that whatever he did, however bad things got, he had somebody waiting for him, someone who cared about him.
"I'll be home soon, nar do as I say." He spoke as if he hadn't heard her whispered declaration. "I've got a few things ta tie up har an' I'll be on me way."
He bit down on his bottom lip, his pale blue-grey eyes narrowing in concentration as he wondered if the Yank bitch knew she had broken one of the cardinal rules which kept the uneasy peace between the different fractions.
The Royal Ulster Constabulary, with the backing of British soldiers, could smash down doors and arrest everyone on the ruling council, they could terrorize the families of active members and shoot down anyone who fought back with impunity, just as they had done to his own brother in 1984. All they had to do was tie their target to a crime which could be called, however loosely, an act of terrorism.
But the reprisals for those acts were just as devastating for them in return. The Brighton bombing had come close to wiping out the entire British government in one go and neither did it stop the kidnapping and torturing of enemy soldiers nor stop collaborators being taken from their homes and executed.
The truce had for the most part ended the violence from all sides. Soldiers were rarely seen on the streets anymore, the homes of the ruling council were no longer raided and the families of once active members on both sides of the conflict were treated as non-combatants and as such left alone.
Equally those working for the foreign government which ruled over their lives for the most part were able to go about their days without the fear of being slaughtered in the street. By blatantly invading his home, the bitch had put the peace at risk and for what…? Michael fecking Westen?
Liam sighed heavily. He was letting his emotions take charge and that was never a good thing.
He had nobody else to blame for what had happened. In his desperation to keep the PIRA out of his family's personal business, the head of the clan had forgotten there were other players in the game just as ruthless and with far better resources. He needed to take a grip of his temper and concentrate on making sure the strategy he had started didn't fall apart and get them all killed.
"Ar' ya nae finished yet?" The eldest scowled over at his brother who was now busily scribbling down something on a sheet of paper and, when he got no reply, he advised curtly that "I'll be out in tha car. Hurry up or I'll leave yar ass behind."
Liam clenched his jaw tighter still, his teeth grinding together as he sought to keep the infamous Glenanne temper in check. It wa' thot damn fecking alarm. It shoulda kept thot CIA bitch out an' if she'd got inside, tha internal sensors shoulda alerted one o' tha few men he'd left in tha north ta come and check it out. Jeannie should never have been allowed ta walk inta danger like thot...
He shot an ire-filled look back inside. Colin an' I ar' going ta have a long chat about thot bloody expensive waste o' fecking time an' money state o' art piece o' shite alarm system on tha way north.
Reaching the door, he stepped out onto the porch, his pale blue eyes narrowed as he caught the attention of his head of security, fresh back from standing guard on Gerry Coleraine's gold-colored Volvo. With a lift of his chin, he gestured for his friend to join him.
"Is everythin' ready?" he asked as Davy Doyle jogged over to join him on the steps.
"Aye, wa're jus' waitin' on ya an' Colin... Nobody is carryin' nar, I made sure. Jus' yarself an' me an' I have our permits in tha glove box in case we run inta a roadblock... I cannae say I like tha idea o' us out in tha open an' nae able ta protect ourselves properly."
"If tha CIA is bein' so bold as ta come at me head on, it has ta mean tha Brits are in on it taa an' Am nae givin' tham tha excuse they need ta throw tha lot o' us inside. So, nae guns except those we have permits fer an' if we do get stopped, ya all keep yar mouths shut, smile an' let me do tha talkin'."
"I'll be sure ta remind tham befer we set off..." Doyle bowed his head as he cupped his hands around the end of his cigarette in an effort to stop the light afternoon breeze from blowing out his light, using the time to gauge his friend and employer's mood before he broached his real concern.
"Ar' ya sure about leavin' this place wit' jus' a skeleton crew? Three men ain't gonna be enough if trouble comes callin' ya know…" The enforcer looked up as he drew in a lungful of nicotine.
Liam didn't answer straight away. Instead he looked across the group taking up most of the space on his mother's drive. Those ten were his most trusted men, each one loyal to him and his family first and the Cause second. He had brought them with him when he had been sure the danger was all in the south, leaving just a few of the less able or lower level help behind to watch over his home and his various businesses in and around Belfast.
Solly O'Hare was a prime example. A good man in his day, he had served his time in prison and been rewarded with a home, nothing lavish, a small flat fully furnished and an easy job to help pay the bills, in this case as a casual driver... Now because of his decision, Jeannie had been terrorized and until they got back, all she had for protection was a few old men... But was he now leaving his mother and the rest of his family at risk? He swallowed thickly before answering.
"Shay an' Sean will be back by tha mornin'... McGarry isnae gonna call hare wit'out lettin' me know first an' as fer anyone else, I've made sure Belle an' everyone else has tha lawyer's number on speed dial... Plus Colin's havin' a word with tha local Gardai, lettin' tham know how grateful we'd be if they let us know if anyone comes sniffin' around..." The head of the family's lips twitched into a half smile. "O' course if yer offerin' ta stay behind ta supervise, I can drive meself."
"Nae, nae yer right... I wa' just checkin' on ya, see if ya had thought things through. Thot wa' all."
"If yer sure…"
"Am sure. Yer right, tis one night an' yar aunt Claire will be hare. I'd bet on her against tha CIA any day o' tha week."
"Now, thar's an idea… Mabbe I should leave ya behind an' take Claire along instead." Liam grinned tightly. "Set her on tha next agent thot comes sneakin' around."
"She'll have enough trouble keepin' yar mam fram killin' yar sister an' thot boyfriend o' hars."
The other man's expression turned sour again at Mr. Doyle's declaration.
"Aye," he agreed. "Go an' tell Colin wa're leaving right nar an' if he's nae in tha car in tha next ten seconds Am gonna nae only gonna leave ham behind, Am gonna let yar oldest boy loose on his sacred bloody computers."
()()()()()()
Meanwhile, back at Father Conlon's residence, the discussion between mother and daughter was reaching an uneasy détente
"I know ya think Am bein' hard on ya."
At the sound of her Maeve's voice, Fiona raised her tear filled eyes to gaze into her mother's grief shattered features. She had done this to her, to her whole family... She wasn't gonna lose them.
I will nae let thot happen. I might be banished, nae ta return, but I cannae part wit' tham like this. I have ta make me mam understand. Am nae tha traitor tha rest o' tha world would call me...
Taking a deep fortifying breath, Maeve's daughter prepared to fight for both of her families.
"At tha cottage, whar Sean wa' shot... I donnae know how much they told ya, but ya need ta know it wa' Michael who saved Sean's life. He wa' tha one who stopped thot English bastid fram killing ham. He shot ham dead center in tha back. We all thought he wa' dead. We saw ham go down an' we knew thot Liam wa' thar ta take care o' Sean so we, er..." She lowered her voice. "We war scared o' Liam. I wa' certain he wa' gonna kill Michael so thot's why we ran."
"Ya? Ya war scared o' Liam?" Maeve shook her head and chuckled lowly at the thought. "Ya havenae been afraid o' anything or anyone since ya wa' six years old, Fiona Glenanne, an' as fer yar brother, ya will be pleased ta know he's healin' up just fine an' lappin' up all tha extra attention he's getting' fram Rosie."
For a moment mother and daughter gazed at each other before the older woman pursed her lips and looked away.
"How could ya do it, Fiona?" Mrs. Glenanne's voice was little more than a whisper. "After whot happened ta yar daddy, ta Pat and ta Claire, God bless tham all…" She made the sign of the cross over her chest. "How could ya lie wit' a man who wa' workin' wit' tha ones thot murdered yar own flesh an' blood?" Her mother shook her head, still in disbelief despite the obvious evidence to the contrary, as she focused on Fiona's visible baby bump.
"Liam told me how ya had admitted ta ham ya knew Michael wa' a spy long befer all this... I thought we'd brought ya up better than this... Ya shoulda left ham as soon as ya knew he wasnae who he said he wa'..." Her features hardened. "Ya shoulda put two in his head, but leavin' woulda been a good start. Yar da, God rest his soul, will be turnin' in his grave at whot ya have done."
The pale redhead drew her hands out of the older woman's light grip and scrubbed at her face before looking up into a pair of blue-green eyes so much like her own. She took a deep breath and when she exhaled, her whole body shook... She should have shot him, but instead she had hurled an empty beer bottle at him, slicing open his chest and then kicking him out onto the street with a warning to get out of the country or she would hunt him down and kill him.
"I did, Mammy. When I found out tha truth, I ended it. I told him I'd shoot ham if he dinnae get out o' me home an' Ireland taa. But he dinnae go. Thar wa' ta be a bombin' thot night. He coulda ran an' jus' called it in but thar wa' nae time. I followed ham thar ta see whot he wa' up ta. I wa' gonna shoot ham, but… It wa' ham thot stopped tha bombin' o' Lavery's nightclub along tha Green Mile an' he nearly died doin' it... Thot wa' why I dinnae kill ham thot night."
Fiona stared into her mother's stony expression, pleading for her understanding.
"If thot bomb had gone off when it wa' supposed ta, it coulda killed god only knows how many an' it woulda put an end ta tha talks befer they even got started... I did take ham fram behind Lavery's, he wa' right mess, but I threw ham out in tha city center an' told ham ta take his pick o' tha cars."
Seeing no change in Maeve's hard features, she pressed forward, determined to make her mam understand the reasoning behind what her family saw as her indefensible actions.
"He stayed away fram me after thot, but he wa' still hangin' around Belfast cuz he wa' –"
"Bah!" The elderly woman dismissed her daughter's words with a wave of her hand. "He stayed in Belfast because he had a job ta do an' it warn't finished. As ya hadnae killed ham when ya discovered his secret, why should he worry afterwards– "
"No, yer wrong, yer wrong…We worked together ta bring down tha Real IRA, it wa' us, tha pair o' us workin' together who brought tham ta thar knees, like the Council had asked me an' Sean ta do." The fiery temper which had been quelled by her mother's cruel words earlier flickered back to life in defense of her love. "Me and Michael, we coulda prevented thot bombin' in Omagh but we war nae workin' together at tha time. Twenty nine people dinnae have ta die but they did because we-"
"So, ya war a very valuable asset ta ham, so valuable he went ta tha trouble o' talkin' his way back inta yar bed ta please his Yank masters. Can ya nae see thot, me girl?"
"No, Mammy, it wa' nae like thot!" Fiona contradicted her sharply. "He proved ta me I wa' nae just an asset he would use an' put aside. He stopped MI6 fram pickin' me up when he coulda let tham take me wit' none tha wiser. He stopped tham tha time they had me pinned down in Belfast an' later he came after me when thot RUC payroll robbery Ryan set up went wrong. He risked his life an' his bloody job thot time makin' an openin' fer us all ta get away. He's shown me thot he loves me in so many different ways I cannae begin ta count."
She took a deep breath. Every fiber in her body was telling her not to say the words that were bubbling behind her lips, but in her anger common sense flew out of the window.
"An' we dinnae just work together hare," she announced, her whole expression lighting up with defiance. "He took me ta Amsterdam ta be his back up on another job… fer tha C..I.. A.. taa. We both knew he couldnae stay hare indefinitely, thot he would have ta leave, so he wa' lookin' fer ways fer us ta keep workin' together…ta stay together."
She watched her mother pale at her announcement, her small frame stiffening as her hands turned to fists on her lap. But then rage turned to sorrow just as quickly and all of a sudden, Maeve Glenanne truly looked old. "Why, Fiona, why do this ta yar family? Ya knew tha consequences fer all o' us…"
"We dinnae mean fer it ta hurt anyone," she admitted. "We just want ta be free, ta be together, but neither me family nor his people will let us be. Tis nae fair." She let her gaze drop back down as she placed the palm of one hand over her stomach. "Why should we nae have whot everybody else has?"
For over a minute, the only sound was the ticking of the clock over the mantle as both women sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally Maeve coughed and cleared her throat before she tentatively reached out so her own hand could join her daughter's protectively covering the growing child underneath.
"Yer becomin' more like yar daddy every day, God bless ham. When he saw an injustice, he railed against it... When tha Orange men an' those RUC bastids called fer tha dismissal o' every Catholic workin' in Belfast an' started burnin' down our own businesses, he wa' one o' tha first ta strike back at our oppressors... Jaysus, I loved thot man. I still do. Thar will never be another, nae fer me."
Mrs. Glenanne shook her graying head, the indulgent smile at the memory of long dead beloved slowly fading as she turned her sad eyes towards her daughter's face.
"But his love o' tha fight is whot did fer ham in tha end. Nae everything is black an' white, Fiona. Ya love yar man, I donnae doubt it. Ya say he loves ya an' who am I ta say different? But things ar' nae jus' black or white, right or wrong. Yar spy fiancé shoulda told ya thot."
"He did, several times," Fiona admitted softly. "He suggested he should leave an' thot I could join ham later on. But I–"
"But ya wanted everything nar... Oh Fiona, whot am I gonna do wit' ya?" Maeve drew her only living daughter into her arms, hugging her tightly. "Whot am I gonna do wit'out ya?"
"Am sorry…"
"No, yer nae, nae really... Donnae tell lies, me sweet girl.
It was a reconciliation of sorts… Fiona snuggled in her mammy's arms, resting her head on the older woman's shoulder. Letting her eyes slide closed, the petite redhead let go of all the tension which had been building over the previous two weeks, her small frame trembling as her mother gently combed her fingers through her hair.
Neither woman heard the door to the priest's living room swing open, nor did they stir when a gust of cold air blew in from the hallway. They only reluctantly drew apart when Claire Glenanne spoke.
"Well, thot's a nice sight, I must say. I wa' afeared one o' ya had murdered tha other when it all went quiet back har."
"Aunty Claire…" Fiona was on her feet in an instant, her warm smile of welcome fading a little as she remembered what she had done to bring the two of the elder stateswomen of the family to the home of Father Conlon. "I –"
"Aw, come hare, girl, give yar aunty a hug... Whot are ya waitin' fer?" Claire held her niece in her arms, rubbing one wrinkled and calloused hand over the younger woman's back all the while her pale blue eyes were locked on her sister in law, trying to read the younger woman's mood.
"Right then, me dear, let's take a look at ya." She drew back and held Fiona's arms out wide so she could take her first good long look at the state of her brother's remaining daughter.
While the pregnancy had already begun to endow her niece's thin, almost boyish frame with curves, the girl was deathly pale. Her sharp angular features, so like her mother's, were even more defined than usual and not helped by the god awful haircut she was sporting, which while making her look younger than her years had nothing else in its favor. Had she been in a fight with a lawn mower?
"Well, apart fram tha hair, which Am gonna do sommit about shortly, I say pregnancy suits ya... Whot do ya have ta say, Maeveen?"
"I say ya have a point, Claire, she does look good, does she nae?" Maeve answered, as she too took her first proper look at her daughter without the fog of anger clouding her vision. "T – tell me, Fiona, d'ya know how far along ya ar'?"
"Ten, nearly eleven weeks or so Am told."
"Thot early? My, ya ar' lookin' well considerin' all tha runnin' about ya have been doin'... Yer gonna be positively enormous by tha time tis ready ta be born." Claire guided her favorite girl back down onto the couch beside her mother while she took the chair by the fire. "Have ya seen anybody? D'ya know thot tha wee one is healthy?"
"I've seen a health visitor. She tol' me things are lookin' good though we should find a midwife as soon as wa're settled, especially… er, ah… tis because of Michael bein' so tall thot it could be a big babby." The mention of her lover's name caused the mother-to-be to glance towards the door, wondering why he hadn't joined them when her aunt had stepped into the room.
"I wouldnae be surprised." Maeve took hold of her daughter's hand again. "Maybe we can get someone ta – "
"Thar's nae time," Claire interrupted. "Liam called me a few minutes ago. Thot's whot's brought me in hare. Seamus has found someone ta help. Ya'll be on yar way in a few hours. As soon as it gets dark, Am ta take tha pair o' ya back ta tha spot whar ya left yar getaway car an' a van will be waitin' ta take ya over ta Newcastle Aerodrome."
"Did Shay say who it wa'? Or whar we'll be goin'?" Fiona asked, her heart jumping in her chest. As far as she was aware, the airfield at Newcastle was mostly used by private jets and a small air school, not by smugglers with undeclared loads.
"Nae, darlin', it wa' Liam I spoke ta an' ya know whot he's like," Claire answered and in the next breath changed the subject. "Nar, as we may only have a couple o' hours left together Am goin' ta get some scissors fram the kitchen an' let yar young man know he has nothin' ta worry about an' then, Fiona Glenanne, Am gonna sort out tha utter mess ya have made o' yar hair."
"Aunty Claire?" Fiona got to her feet as the elderly woman turned away. Years of running guns in some of the most violent and unstable places in the world had sharpened her already innate ability to read a situation and right now that ability was telling her something was wrong.
"I'll be back in two ticks, Fiona. Father Liam left a few minutes ago. I really shouldnae be leavin' yar friend all on his own. Maeve, maybe nar would be a good time ta go through wit' Fiona whot we talked about."
Following a curt nod from her sister in law, Claire made her escape.
()()()()()()()
Closing the door behind her only to immediately come to a stop and lean her weight back against the wall. Swallowing thickly, Fiona's aged relative wiped the back of her hand over her mouth.
"Damn ya, Liam Glenanne," she spoke the words under her breath but then immediately followed up the curse by offering a silent prayer of forgiveness for her words.
"It's all been arranged. They go tonight. Once tis dark, get tham in tha back o' yar car an' drive tham out along tha Bressingham Road ta tha spot whar they left thar getaway car. I'll have a van an' a driver waitin' fer tham. Fiona'll be able ta give ya directions if ya get lost." Her nephew had gotten straight down to business as was his way as soon as she had told him it was safe to talk.
"They'll wanta know whar thar goin'. Whot d'ya want me ta tell tham?"
"Tell tham Shay found a friend willin' ta help tham out. They'll be leavin' as part o' tha crew on a private jet flyin' out o' Newcastle tonight. Tha friend has promised us he has tha customs and immigration fellas in his pocket. So as long as they keep thar heads down an' do as they're told, they'll be fine." And there had been a strong hint of warning in his tone.
"Once they get ta whare thar goin', they'll be on thar own as far wa're concerned. Tis fer tha best, as tha sayin' goes. We can nae tell whot we donnae know an' thot's tha way it needs ta be when McGarty comes callin' round... Are we clear on thot?" It was another none too subtle caution that there would be no deviating from the plans that had been put in place this time.
She had known her Maeve's second born all his life. She had always been there for her brother's most studious child, whether it was helping him with his chemistry homework or in more recent years, amongst other things, supplying him with the calcium oxide to get rid of a body and as such she knew when he was holding something back. "Whot ar' ya nae tellin' me, Liam?"
"Nothin' fer ya ta be concerned about."
"Liam, lad, d'ya really want ta be spending tha next few months wonderin' whot I might or might nae have arranged ta slip inta one o' yar meals? Do I have ta remind ya how uncomfortable I can make things fer ya?"
She had no real need to remind him of her very special talent with the boxes of poisons and herbs she kept at home. Her nephew had availed himself from time to time of the things in her root cellar, some killed, some aided in curing a variety of ailments and some which could bring on highly inconvenient bouts of nausea, diarrhoea, stomach cramps or hallucinations.
"Ya wouldnae dare," he scoffed lightly, knowing full well that she would, if push came to shove. "Nae with all thot's goin' on."
"Try me, laddie, an' ya'll find out. I wanna know who's takin' our girl away fram us?" She had stood there waiting with bated breath as for nearly half a minute as the line had remained silent.
"Tha help is comin' fram Armand Andreani," the head of the family finally spoke. "I dinnae plan it thot way, but he's tha only one who can get tham out an' his help is nae free. So I donnae have time ta argue wit' ya over this or answer any more o' yar questions. Just see ta it they do as thar told."
Her nephew ended the discussion by ending the call and leaving her to decide exactly how much she was going to tell her niece and sister in law about how the fugitives were fleeing the country.
Armand Andreani… International arms merchant and Fiona's former flame… the man was beyond rich, incredibly powerful, with both governments and royalty from around the world in his pocket.
He was handsome, charming and totally devoid of morals. Maeve had seen him as someone who was capable of giving Fiona everything she could want or need, whereas she had looked past the gloss to the man underneath and hadn't liked what she had found there. The black sheep of an ancient aristocratic family truly danced to his own tune and based on what little she could get out of her niece following their break up, Claire was not sure just how sane the man's orchestra was.
One thing was certain in her mind though. While Fiona would be physically safe in Armand's company, the same could not be said for the father of her child and her aunt now had some hard decisions to make about exactly what information she would be passing along and to whom.
The trouble was if Claire was forced to make a choice, she would pick Michael Westen over Armand Andreani. There was no way that charming devil could be counted on to risk all he had for anyone other than his own self-interests, which had seemed to have included Fiona in the past. However, there was no guarantee that would continue to be a truth in the future. But it didn't change the fact that Michael Westen was spy for a foreign power and as such was considered untrustworthy.
With a heavy sigh, Claire straightened up and turned her attention to the door at the end of the hallway, which she noticed for the first time wasn't closed completely. Letting her gaze drop to the floor, she half smiled when she saw two dark spots in the light coming from beneath the door.
So tha spy just could nae help himself... Well, he wa' gonna need all tham skills when he got ta whar he wa' goin'...
Pursing her lips, the elderly woman began to walk slowly towards the door. If it wa' just about Fiona, she would warn har niece o' tha danger in a heartbeat. But it was nae, as Liam had made abundantly clear. Tha pair o' tham needed ta be on thot plane an' God help tham all fram thar...
()()()()()()
On the other side of the kitchen door, Michael Westen stood with his back against the hard surface, his head turned to the side, trying to listen for any clues as to what was happening in the room along the hallway.
Thanks to Father Conlon deciding to put off his appointment until after he had added his advice to that of his fiancée's relative, he had missed out on whatever Liam Glenanne had had to say to his aunt after she had left the room to take her nephew's phone call.. So now he was stuck on his own waiting for the Glenannes to decide his and Fiona's fate, while inside his head the elderly priest's words continued to nag at him.
"Fiona's in thar nar facing down whot she's done, tha choices she's made in har life. Ya need ta do tha same, fer har sake and yar babby's as well as yar own...Ya stare down yar past an' then ya let it go. Whot yer doin' now is nae whot ya would have chosen, but yer doin' a good thing, tha right thing, by thot young woman in tha other room."
The good father had wanted him to stare down his past and let it go, let go of what he had done in Visegard, Bajina Basta, Grozny, Vedeno... He had told himself in the past that the acts he had committed in those places had been necessary at the time, for the mission, for his own survival and in some instances his sanity… but those excuses hadn't made him feel any better.
Nor did it stop the screams of his victims haunting his nightmares… The thought of confronting that dark part of his soul was enough to chill him to the bone. If he was capable of letting those deaths go, as opposed to locking them away in the furthest recesses of his consciousness, he certainly would have done it years ago.
"Awww, Kid, it happened for a reason. You know, you can deny it all you want, but nothing is going to change the facts." The former spy blinked away the memory of another ghost which refused to die. Michael knew in his heart there was a very good reason not to let those things go… that predatory part of him that always seemed to speak with Larry's voice these days could so very easily get out of its cage if he let down his guard. With those things he had done sealed up tightly in their respective boxes, he was in control of them… and they served as a sharp reminder of what could happen when he wasn't the one in charge of his decisions… his emotions…
Pursing his lips, the rogue spy closed his eyes and took a breath. What did a priest know about spies?
The dark haired man took another lungful of air and then let it out with a sound that was almost a growl of frustration. He was sitting in the man's kitchen being lectured by him precisely because he hadn't controlled his passions, although this had been a different sort of desire altogether.
And that thought brought Tom Card's lectures of not all that long ago to the forefront of his mind…
"Look, I get it, I do, really. She's a nice looking girl. Passionate and – not what you're used to. But, away from here, it would never work. She would have to leave everything behind and never come back. Her family would disown her and it would all be for you. Are you ready for that level of commitment?"
And now it had happened exactly as he and his former training officer had predicted. Somehow the fact that they'd both been warned plainly of the consequences of their actions was cold comfort.
"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-"
"Tout...! Whore…! Traitor…!" Michael winced as he remembered Maeve Glenanne's bitter name calling. The words hadn't put a hole in his heart as surely as they would have for her daughter, but that it hadn't stopped them from punching him in the gut as well. But the incensed Irishwoman's declaration of her child's treachery had triggered something deeply repressed from his own past as well.
"Mom, why did you do that?"
And a flash, he was back there... remembering with an unwanted clarity the first time he had felt the bitter sting and shock of being blindsided, betrayed by his own mother. It had signaled the end of an era, though he hadn't known it at the time and as much as he didn't want to think about it, the rogue spy found himself reliving the decades old family trauma very much against his will.
People tend to think spies are motivated by the love of the game desire for adventure or patriotic fervor. The truth though is that you don't choose a life as a covert operative unless something deeper is going on beneath the surface... Something more personal, something harder to explain and something a lot more painful...
Frank Westen's decision to engage in long haul trucking as an occupation had led to one of the most peaceful and happy times in his young life, despite Nate's near constant howling from colic. It had kept his father out of the house for the most part, money coming in semi-regularly and had brought his best friend's mom into his life full time. Life had been good for the Westen-Watkins clan.
With his dad on the road and infant Ricky's father permanently removed from their household, his mother had watched Ricky and Nate while Marvella Watkins had worked and brought meals home from the diner in payment for the babysitting services. The food was much better, the company greatly improved and the house was even quiet once Miz W had discovered his mother was miscalculating the dosage of mylicon she had been giving her baby to settle his testy stomach.
Michael grimaced as he remembered resorting to pinching his little brother hard and often during his father's infrequent visits to ensure that Nate kept crying anytime Frank Westen parked his big rig alongside their house on NW North River Drive and his elder's time there stayed short. Just as his mother had overlooked most of his own cuts and bruises growing up, she never did work out where all the purple spots on her baby boy came from when the man of the house was at home.
But that had ended one day after nearly a year of relative calm as he had been sent home from a fight at school to find his sire sitting in his favorite recliner guzzling a beer and his mother gone. His nemesis Randy Overstreet had been hounding a disabled kid and Michael had been never one to tolerate bullies when he had the opportunity to do something about it. His dad had been initially annoyed, but soon was singing his praises when he'd found out the circumstances of the altercation.
"Hell, it's the damned school's fault anyhow, them putting a lil retard in the class with the resta ya little shits, but ya took care o' it. Ah'm proud of ya, boy. Can't stand that lil bastard's old man…" and Frank Westen had chuckled lowly with delighted malice, his glee more connected with who his son had punched out rather than why the fight had happened. "Gives me a good reason to bust him upside his head if he tries to come around heah and start somethin' later on…"
But his father's good mood had evaporated rapidly with the follow-up call from first the school nurse and then a social worker attached to the Miami Dade school district, who was requesting an immediate meeting with Michael's parents. After vowing to give the nosy bitch a piece of his mind, Mr Westen's ire had turned on his recently returned wife for failing to teach her children to keep their damned mouths shut and the raised voices around him had set Nate off, causing him to wail.
"Jesus woman, have you looked in a mirror lately? Ya look like death warmed over, at least put on a clean shirt when Ah git home. How in the hell are we supposed ta go anywhere with him carryin' on like that? That stupid sow was questionin' me about how Ah'm raisin' muh family? Now Ah gotta go down thar and straighten out your gawd damn mess on muh gawd damn day off?"
And when his father had raised his hand, Michael had tensed, unsure of whom the target would be.
"You best shut that brat up right now, woman, before Ah give him somethin' to really cry about. And you, who the hell told ya to run yer fookin' mouth at that fookin' school? Whud d'ya tell 'em, boy?"
"I'm sorry, Frank, I tried to tell them it was nothing." His mother had intervened before he could protest his innocence, but then the unthinkable had happened. "Michael, why were you talking to those people? How could you betray your father like that?"
He had been too shocked at the time to speak or to see the back hand coming that knocked him to the floor and left his head spinning. That had been the day he'd learned that he couldn't trust anyone in his family, especially after he had confronted his mom over her actions once the drama had ended and the dust had settled. Her excuses taking up for her husband at his expense had all been lame.
Pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, Michael shook his head to clear it. As loath as he was to admit it, what Father Conlon had been trying to tell him finally made some semblance of sense.
As a field operative some aspects of life aren't part of your daily experience. You may be familiar with the mountains of Afghanistan or know how to break down a 50-caliber machine gun but that expertise comes at the cost of certain normal activities people take for granted…
It wasn't the things he'd done in the field as an operative that he needed to stare down and deal with, though that was certainly something he was going to have to address at some point, but rather it was the things that had happened to him growing up in his little dysfunctional disaster of a family that were going to come back to haunt him whether he wanted them to or not every time his child cried.
One of the things you learn in training is to avoid situations that cut too close…
There was a reason he had chosen a career in Special Forces, one that would not only allow him to use his bottled rage productively, to become the one thing his father feared, but it was also a job choice that virtually guaranteed dealing with children and families would not be a part of his daily existence.
Becoming a spy had increased his exposure to people's relatives. But by that point, families had become part of the pressure one could apply to an asset, though he hadn't always managed that perfectly either. The terror of being left alone with a 18-month old infant as an eight year old when his father had decided he could babysit while his parents had a night on the town was buried deep, but his experiences over the past two weeks had taught him that those boxes were going to continue to refuse to stay closed as more family drama piled up on top of all the stress of being on the run.
The former operative blew out a long resigned sigh. He was going to have to come clean with Fiona at some point once they were safe and settled about a lot of things. Otherwise, she wasn't going to understand his behavior and between hormones, sleep deprivation, pain and exhaustion, it might prove very detrimental for their long term relationship if he didn't explain, not to mention the actual physical punishment that might come his way should her already uncertain fiery temper flare.
The click of a door opening and closing alerted him to at least one person was in the hallway and pulled him back into the present. Claire's whispered curse against her nephew reached his ears and instantly caused him to tense, his right hand reaching behind his back for the gun, which had recently been returned to his waistband once Father Conlon had left the kitchen.
Whatever had upset the usually unflappable Claire Glenanne enough for her to curse out her brother's child had also stopped the elderly woman from moving away from the living room door. Peering through the narrow gap between the door and frame next to the hinges, he could just make out the shape of the grey haired old woman leaning back against the wall.
Clearly something had happened, but what? Continuing to watch her through the crack, Michael debated his next move. However, his meditations became short lived as she was headed his way.
()()()()()()
When the former Mrs. Sullivan Fitzpatrick O'Donnell entered the kitchen, she did her best to hide a knowing smile as she gazed upon Michael Westen sitting right where she had left him: at the table with his hands resting on the hard surface, looking for all the world like he had been there all along.
Who did he think he wa' foolin' wit' thot butter wouldnae melt in his mouth expression on his face?
"Is everything alright?" were the first words out of his mouth. "Is Fiona-?"
"Everythin' is just fine nar tha fireworks are over..." she answered before he could complete his query. "They're busy catchin' up, so we'll give 'em a bit more time, heh laddie...? Ya will be pleased ta hear our Liam has found ya a way outta tha country... A friend o' his has offered ta get ya out as part o' tha crew on his fancy private jet. So, it looks like ya will be leavin' in style."
As she spoke, the elderly woman bustled about around the kitchen, opening and closing the drawers under the counter top and rummaging through the contents.
"A friend…? Anyone we know?"
"He didnae say… thot's Liam fer ya. He tells ya jus' whot he thinks ya need ta know. Tis like tryin' ta get blood outta a stone sometimes with thot boy." She kept her head down and continued to search the parish priest's kitchen all the while keeping up a steady stream of chatter, enough to limit the American's chance to ask questions. He wa' taa damn smart fer his own good this one...
"But I can tell ya thot once tha sun has gone down, Am ta take ya ta tha spot whar ya left yar getaway car... Yes, they've found it an' tis disabled nar fram whot I've been told. Ya will be getting a ride ta tha airfield in tha back o' a van so ya'll be outta sight."
"He must have said something more… If not who's flying us out, then where exactly are we going?" the spy continued to press for more information.
"South o' France or maybe Italy, tis hard ta say. Liam wa' in a rush an' me hearin' is nae so great..."
Even to her own ears, it sounded like she was avoiding the younger man's inquiries. Nevertheless she kept up the act of being a rather frail hard of hearing old lady.
"Ah, thar tis... I wa' sure tha Father would have some somewhar…" Claire held up a pair of scissors in triumph and grinned across at him before doing what she had wanted to do from the American's first question into the name of their benefactor; she changed the subject.
"I take it ya war tha one who made such a pig's ear outta Fiona's hair... Why ya had ta cut it all off I donnae know... Could she nae have hid it all under a hat or styled it different?"
"Um, I suggested she hide it under a hat but Fiona wanted to cut it... The south of France or Italy, you say, that's a pretty big area… Care to narrow it down a little?"
"Donnae really know," she answered with a shrug. "Though come ta think o' it, Liam mighta said sommit about Spain." She barred her teeth in a shark-like smile, her pale blue eyes twinkling with amusement at the younger man's sudden change of expression.
"Ya know if one o' me nephews wa' ta pout like thot, I'd threaten ta start usin' thar bottom lip as a book shelf... Nar, I cannae do much about yar hair. If I wa' take it any shorter, ya might risk being made bald. But I can do sommit about me niece's appearance."
The older woman came to a stop as Michael caught hold of her arm as she was passing by his chair. The former operative looked up at her, his deep blue eyes pleading. "Maybe it's about time I made my peace with Fiona's mother too. I am going to be the father of her grandchild after all."
"Ya – Ya wanta try an' make peace wit' Maeve?" Ms Glenanne almost choked at the thought.
"Well no, not exactly..." He paused, chewing on his lower lip as he thought about his next words. "I'm not – my own family –– Father Conlon said something about facing up to my past. I haven't seen my own family in years. We're not what you'd call close. But I know Fiona. I know this must be killing her." He paused again to sigh heavily. "I don't like the idea of her facing up to what we've done alone."
He sounded so sincere. The old lady couldn't bring herself to tell him that the response to him going into a room with Maeve Glenanne was likely to be the same as striking a match in a room full of kerosene. So instead she ruffled his short unruly hair and then patted him lightly on the shoulder.
"I tell ya whot, tis getting' late an' fram whot I understand, Father Conlon willnae be back until well after dark. So how about while I give Fiona a haircut, ya make yarself busy makin' us all some sandwiches an' a nice pot o' tea... Once yer done, ya bring it through an' join us... Maybe, if yer lucky, Maeve will accept tha peace offerin' an' nae break tha pot over yar head."
()()()()()()
"Tis okay, Charlie, I'll tell ham. It'll be fine, I promise ya," Colin Glenanne spoke soothingly into his phone while at the same time casting one eye to the clock on the wall as he dealt with the latest in a seemingly never ending series of urgent calls.
Having finally gotten off the phone with the information he needed as to what had happened to the men who were supposed to have been guarding the house he shared with his brother in Holywood, Maeve's middle child had promised Davy Doyle he was going to follow him straight out of the door when his brother's head of security had left again after delivering Liam's threat.
But before he'd had a chance to do so, his mobile phone had rung yet again. This time it was a pressing call from one of his sibling's missing henchmen, this one anxious to explain why he hadn't been where he was supposed to be when the shite had well and truly hit the fan.
"We understand thot… I jus' got off tha phone wit' tham… Aye, he'll understand thar wa' nothin' ya coulda done different... Nar, look, I've – I've gotta go... Wa're on our way home as soon as I finish talkin' ta ya so take yarself off home an' we'll get in touch wit' ya once wa're back."
He took the device from his ear and moved his thumb towards the END button; however, the man on the other end of the line was apparently not done apologizing yet.
"Honest ta god, Charlie, I donnae how many times I can tell ya, it'll be fine... We'll talk later, okay…? Bye nar." Terminating the call, Colin ran the fingers of his left hand through his bright red hair and sighed heavily as he wondered how much worse things could possibly get.
The news of the break-in had hit the whole family hard. Liam, who had been away at university during the worst of the bad old days, had taken it especially hard. The fact Jeannie had been the one to end up alone with the intruder had been an all too sharp reminder of the danger they were all facing and what worried him now was what his older brother was planning in way of retaliation.
Colin looked down at the papers clutched in his right hand. It had been very tempting to say he couldn't get the information needed, that with only his laptop to work with it had been impossible for him to breakthrough Department of Defense firewalls and the layers of encryption protecting the intelligence required, but his pride had got the better of him...He swore half the time the DoD would do better to hire a couple of high school kids to upgrade their security rather than the university educated eejits they claimed to use.
The roar of a high performance engine being revved to the limits chased away the thoughts of what he could or should have done. Davy Doyle's recently delivered threats of turning his sixteen year old son loose on his beloved computers back home if he didn't get a move on lent speed to his step.
Rushing from his mother's study, Colin nodded to his two sister-in-laws stood half way up the stairs and dashed outside and over to the waiting vehicle. As soon as his backside hit the fine leather, Davy sent the sleek black car wheel spinning off of the driveway closely followed by the two SUVs full of his brother's best men.
"Alright, tis arranged, boss," the head of security announced as he dropped the cellphone which had been jammed between his shoulder and ear onto the seat next to him, getting a firmer grip on the wheel while he rapidly maneuvered the large vehicle off the gravel and onto the road. "They've picked up the auld farmer's car ya disabled and taken it ta tha shop. Tis out o' sight and out o' mind."
"Good," his employer acknowledged, lowering his own mobile as well. "Ya can call Mrs Lovett later an' tell har Joey is healing up fine and should be ready ta come home soon… Ya took yar sweet time," Liam then growled at his younger brother next to him on the back seat of the Mercedes.
"Am sorry," Colin kept his head down as he placed his laptop and the stack of papers he had brought from the house next to him, his body swaying as the large car began to pick up speed now it was clear of the gates. "But getting whot ya asked fer warn't easy... I couldnae get me hands on tha actual blueprints, nae on tha timescale ya gave me, but after a bit o' research I found tha original diagrams o' tha interior held by tha Belfast historical society."
"So ya got it? An' I can do it t'night?"
"Aye…" He patted the paperwork. "An' Ryan has had a word wit' tha fella he uses fer takin' out tha alarm systems in tha banks he hits, so ya shouldnae be detected getting in... But tis gonna cost us though, whot wit' it being such short notice an' all. Plus Ry hasnae fergiven us fer all tha trouble he's bein' put through, havin' ta go on holiday in tha middle o' his-."
"Ya can tell Ry if all goes well tonight," Liam interrupted. "I can guarantee Mad Frankie Duggan will nae longer be botherin' him or anyone else ever again... Nar, whot about tha other stuff?"
"Tha other stuff…? Right…" It was tempting to begin with the last call he had received, but there was something else he wanted to get off his chest first. So ducking his head down, Colin took a deep breath and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket for his notebook.
"I know ya told me ta leave it, but I spoke ta Jack. He's fair mortified at whot happened an' is headin' straight around ta tha house nar ta take a look at tha software. He swears he thought – tha– "
His words trailed off as Liam's pale colored eyes narrowed. "I thought I told ya I dinnae want anyone messin' around with tha alarm or tha cameras 'til ya wa' thar ta supervise?" the head of the family ground out the words between clenched teeth.
"Aye, ya did, but if ya remember Jack is tha one who fitted tha system. He knows more about it than anyone else includin' me... And this way even if our uninvited guest managed ta get har hands on tha camera feeds, he has tha skills ta recover some or mabbe all of it. We need ta see whot she did, whar she stuck har nose..." Seeing his brother's still stern expression, the younger man pressed on.
"Me computers are safe, even if she got ta tham, tha hard drives are protected wit' a firewall tha NSA couldnae crack but thare is other things, personal things she coulda got taa... Besides did ya nae say thot ya would love ta get yar hands on a clear picture o' tha woman who took Ryan off tha street an' broke inta yar house?"
"Fine…" The older man reluctantly nodded his agreement to his sibling's decision and turned his gaze to watching the passing scenery. "Whot else is goin' on?"
"Solly has got his ol' lady ta come over an' keep Jeannie company…" Colin held a hand up at the scowl quickly forming on the eldest's face. "I know, I know, ya donnae want people tramplin' through tha house... But ya warn't thar when..."
He paused, all the pain and fear of the army raids on the family home back during the eighties threatening to overwhelm him even after all the intervening decades. Liam was angry about having his private domain invaded, whereas for Colin it had been the memory of his two little sisters hysterically screaming when jackbooted feet had kicked in their bedroom door.
Swallowing thickly, he continued. "Trust me, brother, Jeannie will be better fer havin' another woman thar ta talk ta, especially while yer busy."
"Yer tryin' me patience har, Colin." his older brother warned, but he could see it in the man's expression that he wasn't truly as angry as he was making out.
"Well, Am gonna be tryin' it somemore. Tha old bastid also called over whot's left o' his gang fer back up til we get thar... Tis a bit like closin' tha door after tha horse has bolted if ya ask me, but tis keepin' ham happy... D'ya remember Christie Bolan an' Butch Tabor…? I thought they war both dead an' gone. They must be in their seventies nar. I think Auntie Claire dated Butch fer awhile, until he got sent down."
He tried to make it sound more palatable than it was. Liam had wanted their home in Holywood to remain as separate as possible from the family business and now thanks to one CIA agent, they might as well announce they were holding an open house.
Liam closed his eyes and took a deep breath before finally speaking. "Just get tha rest o' it over an' done wit'... Tell me, ar' ya plannin' on invitin' tha local constabulary around fer tea an' biscuits? Or maybe a few o' tha UDF boys ta take pictures?"
"Nae, none o' thot… Oh, since ya said Joey wa' healin' up proper, I can let ya know tha papers fer thot girl, Robyn, have come through. A passport an' holiday visa in tha name o' Mary Murphy fram Ballymena ta get har stateside an' once she arrives in New York, thar gonna set har up wit' a whole new identity as a US citizen wit' a birth certificate, credit cards… tha whole deal. She can leave anytime ya say..."
The head of family nodded. "Finally, a bit o' good news… We can have Shay give Marcus Dwyer a shout an' tell ham ta expect har once Joey's ready ta come home…"
"Oh an' some more good news… I just got word thot Charlie Beattie and his boy have turned up. They war sat in a holdin' cell at Belfast Central. Apparently somebody reported a coupla suspicious lookin' fellas sat in vehicles watchin' tha house. Tha peelers dragged tham out o' thar cars an' had tham in handcuffs befer they hadda a chance ta do anything."
Colin paused, and pushed his glasses back into position from where they had slid down his nose. "Charlie's called, apologizing like mad an' hopin' yer nae gonna string tham up fer it."
"Who Am wantin' ta string up is nae Charlie Beattie…" Liam declared harshly. "Wa're payin' damned good money ta tha law fer tham ta keep thar noses out o' our business, so who Am wantin' ta get me hands on is tha wanker thot decided ta cozy up wit' tha CIA instead."
"D'ya want me ta look inta who she paid off?" his brother asked.
"No," the head of the family snapped back and then leaned forward to tap his henchman on the shoulder. "Davy, I want ya ta take care o' it. Find tha rat an' then we'll hand tha information over ta tha council. We'll let tha Taxman take care o' it fer us."
"Ya know, ya could let Dessie McGarry take care o' tha whole thing," the younger man broached the subject. "I mean, once we point ham in tha right direction thot is, with tha little I got off tha CIA mainframe befer we war discovered. Thot bit about Michael Westen bein' a code name instead o' a man… nar, thot tis gold fer us. Ya add thot ta this mystery woman snatchin' people off tha streets, payin' off tha police an' holdin' secret meetin's with Mad Frankie, then ya would nae need ta…."
Colin stopped talking, his words drying up at the back of his throat as Liam glared back at him.
"Twas me home they invaded, me woman they threatened an' ya think I should just stand aside an' let thot go? Nae, little brother... Tis up ta me ta personally send a message back."
There was quiet in the luxury saloon car, the roar of the engine and hum of the tires on the asphalt the only sounds for several minutes as each man fell into his own private thoughts momentarily, the gravity of the situation settling upon all of them.
"Ar' ya sure about this?" his younger sibling asked in a hushed tone.
"Aye…" Liam answered at length. "If they mean ta allow tha CIA ta run roughshod over us, then tis time ta remind our friends in Stormont and London tha price o' such a decision… Tis time ta remind them whot happens ta all o' them if Na Trioblóidí war ta start up again."