A/N: There will be a new chapter of Reconnecting AU 201 posted this weekend and then the reposting of our Puppies AU's with their associated Reconnecting stories in their own storyline will commence. Thank you all as always for the reads and the reviews. Your continued support is still very much appreciated!
In the meantime, both Michael and Fiona are being forced to confront their past lovers… here we go!
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BE BRAVE LITTLE ANGEL
Chapter Forty Five
For a spy, compartmentalization is second nature. Information is given on a need to know basis. In your professional life, this approach keeps you safe. In your personal life, it can be dangerous…
Or downright disastrous...
"Fiona, this is Samantha Keyes. Samantha, I would like you to meet Fiona Glenanne, my former business associate and… well, we never actually got to the ceremony part either, did we? Though I think our relationship truly was much more than that, wouldn't you say, Fiona?"
In intelligence work, your most important tool, more important than any combat technique, any technical skill, is your ability to twist the facts of a situation to your own advantage. The worse the facts are, the more you've gotta sell it.
Of course, your ability to sell it depends directly on your ability to speak in coherent sentences...
He knew he hadn't been able to cover the full on, mouth gaping, eyes bugging, sweating imminent look of shock on his face at the sight of Samantha Keyes, the woman whom he had agreed to marry and had then subsequently abandoned in every real way that mattered for the flame haired, fiery tempered Irishwoman who was at the moment alternating between staring at him and at the tall brunette.
And he knew he'd taken a beat too long in formulating a plan to explain this situation. Both his lover and her former paramour, who had apparently somehow managed to instigate this impromptu reunion with his more than ex-asset, had noticed the pause and his capacity to salvage the situation was getting proportionally smaller the longer his stunned silence continued. Why the hell would Samantha be here?
Ms Keyes was a master thief with no connections in the arena of dealing high-end weaponry. His CIA work on the other hand... What had she told their host about their time together or who he was?
Like good poker players, spies know it's impossible to hide the tells that come with a bloodstream full of adrenaline. If showing fear or concern jeopardizes a mission, you replace it with an emotion that won't.
"Jesus, Samantha, they told me you were dead after that thing in Moscow!" the faux Italian exclaimed, leaving the Frenchman's query hanging in the air and hopefully covering his surprise with a plausible explanation that did not include any personal intimacy between them. "I never thought I'd see you again. What the hell happened? My God, I can't believe they lied to me about something like that."
In the field, circumstances can change as fast as the weather. Salvaging a mission depends on your ability to change tactics and communicate plan "B" to your own team… or to your former fiancée as needs be…
It was a gamble saying anything at all about his past; however, since he'd operated primarily out of St Petersburg and across the border in the Ukrainian city of Kiev instead of the Russian capital, it was one worth taking under the circumstances. During their previous relationship, both as professionals and on an intimate personal level, their custom upon reuniting had been one of making up entertaining and outrageous stories about what had happened to each of them while they had been apart.
Michael could only wait and pray that Samantha had caught the opening he'd handed her and was, more importantly, still willing to play along despite the awkwardness of the current circumstances. The woman he'd agreed to marry had never been vindictive. The talented thief had always been easy going and very accepting. He had to hope that whatever had brought her to this place it wasn't the need for revenge.
"I thought I was a dead woman too when they grabbed me outside the stage door after the final show. I got the black bag treatment and the next thing I knew I was on a plane headed for a holding cell…"
Ms Keyes always weaved a little truth into her tall tales and there was a possibility the brunette had indeed been kidnapped some time during the last two years. But if he'd had time to think about it properly, the ex-operative would have realized that his running away with his current asset would have given his superiors motive to arrange opportunities to question his other assets about his whereabouts.
"Hmm, working with you does seem to have some distinct disadvantages," Armand commented, giving Michael an arched eyebrow and cutting off Samantha's story. "I understand there was some trouble with the delivery to Alek as well, although Fiona managed to handle it with her usual flair nonetheless."
All eyes turned towards the slender redhead who had not spoken a word up until this point, who in fact did not even seem to be breathing. Suddenly, her gaze slid past Michael and Samantha and locked onto a servant who was walking behind the pair carrying an ornate silver ice bucket, the top of a bottle of Dom Pérignon visible within the white cloth wrap and then, just as abruptly, she was on the move.
Angling her stride to intercept the startled steward, Fiona stopped him and retrieved the expensive champagne with one hand. Turning her body back towards himself and Ms. Keyes, the one-time terrorist stared at the label for just a moment before looking him in the eye and then lowering her stare.
As soon as his beloved's fingers had closed around the long glass neck, there was only one thing on Michael's mind: that day not long after her birthday when she had discovered the terrible truth about who he really was. He could feel the same cold descending down his spine as he had when he'd returned from a meeting with his handler, who he'd just given the news of a suspected RIRA bombing that was due to take place that night, and been met with a highly suspicious and somewhat inebriated Irishwoman who had been hotly demanding answers.
Neither one of them had expected what had happened next. As she'd fired off her rapidly spoken accusations in Italia, Fiona had launched the beer bottle she'd been smacking against the door frame straight at the center of his chest. He'd managed to deflect it at the last second, only to have it catch the edge of the wardrobe door and bounce back, hitting him just to the right of his heart, the thick glass shattering into pieces, several of the shards buried into his skin.
Michael unconsciously shifted away from the brunette, awaiting an assault, the only question remaining was whether she was going to break that champagne bottle over his head or hurl it at his heart.
The fiery redhead walked past the ex-spy and back to her one-time lover's side, tucking the chilled bubbly into the crook of her arm and then reaching out to slide her hand around the Frenchman's elbow.
"I think I could use a bit o' thot pamperin' ya mentioned befer, Armand," she declared, her blue green eyes blazing with hurt and fury. "An' it seems as though Michael and Samantha har have a lot o' catchin' up ta do. Shall we?" she queried as her former man lifted his own arm and then laid a hand over hers.
"As you wish," the international arms merchant almost smirked as he nodded towards the other couple, leaving the rooftop arm in arm with the petite redhead at his side. Michael watched wordlessly and helplessly while his beloved exited down the stone staircase, the quartet of Armand's bodyguards along with her own personal security detail following in their wake and essentially barring his way.
Intelligence work is all about relationships. Like a romance, working with a source is more about the heart than the head. Of course, romantic relationships usually end if there's a betrayal, whereas spy relationships often begin with one.
The American operative was immobile, captured by conflicting impulses. He desperately wanted to follow Fiona, his protective instincts screaming at him not to let her out of his sight, and his certainly under developed sense of honesty was telling him that he owed her a thorough explanation of what had just happened. That same stunted sense of relational equity told him that he should to explain himself to someone else as well, but that someone also had potential answers he urgently needed to survive.
And all of those feelings were nearly subservient to the overwhelming sense of anger and frustration.
While he had to hope that this was part of Fiona's plan to get on their host's good side, the look on her face had made it pretty plain that she had been acting out of her wounded emotions and not sound strategic reasoning. The fact that she'd allowed them to get separated proved as much. Of course, they wouldn't be in the position of coping with her former lover if she hadn't insisted on seeing her family.
There was a part of him that was still convinced this was all a prearranged plan of Liam Glenanne's to get rid of him without getting his hands dirty and as such Fiona had just unwittingly played right into it.
But that ship had sailed as it were and if he were being honest, he was equally angry at himself. Michael didn't know what Samantha was doing here with Fiona's ex-boyfriend, but it wasn't good news whatever it was and it was his own fault that he hadn't dealt with the situation previously. Frankly, he didn't want to deal with it now, but he was left with little choice. She was still his best source of intel at the moment.
In the end, it was his training and decades of experience that won out. Figuring out what his current situation and his cover was under these given field conditions was more far important than his heart.
A quick scan of the roof showed roughly half of the wait staff had disappeared as well. Now that he was taking the time to observe more carefully, he saw that the clothing on the remaining half a dozen armed men left with them did not resemble the uniforms worn by virtually all the other French mercenaries, a fact that he'd noted previously but had not processed. So, potentially they were there with Sam…
"Well, that's a new look for her, isn't it?" Samantha said, causing the dark-haired man to refocus on his attention to the woman at his side.
"Sam, what are you—"
"Your girlfriend's definitely changed her look," she carried on, ignoring his partially formed question. "At least she has from the surveillance photographs I've seen."
"Surveillance photographs…?" Michael echoed. This situation was getting worse by the second…
Instead of answering, the brunette tilted her head towards the table she'd been sitting at previously and then started walking towards it without another word. Returning to her seat with the view of the sea, her one-time spy fiancé took the chair next to hers, opting for the one which had the other building in its sightline. On the wrought-iron flat surface were several folders being held in place by a hand-painted porcelain plate, white with bucolic scenes of the French countryside in blue, next to the fine silver.
The burglar by trade slipped one of the folders out of the middle of the small stack and handed it to him.
Michael was dumbfounded. The former American agent knew he would be watched, especially once he and Fiona were working together in earnest, and not just by his own side. But the number of images contained within the cardboard sleeve surprised him and two in particular really upset him. The fact that Ms Keyes had them at all just added another layer of furious to the frustration he already felt.
"Where did you get these, Sam?"
One was a grainy shot of him sleeping, which by the background appeared to be him unconscious on the couch of the Gulfstream aircraft. How Ping had been able to take his picture with Fiona on watch, he couldn't imagine. But the fact she had taken it at all didn't bode well for anything. But his concerns for such were immediately forgotten when he came to the photograph of himself and Fiona in a café.
"I got that one from a mutual friend. Was there something you wanted to tell me about you and her?"
It wasn't the setting that stunned him speechless for the second time in less than ten minutes. He was sitting with one of his hands over her two on the tabletop, the other cupping her cheek as he stared into her eyes, the expression of love on his face clearly visible despite the poor quality of the imagery. How had he been so tactically unaware that he would have let his guard down like that in a public place?
And then he remembered that day and the feelings, which had ultimately overcome years of tradecraft, field experience and common sense, for the woman who had stolen his heart almost against his will…
"Well, I guess that answers my first question," Samantha said, interrupting his reverie before the flashback to the best and the worst day of his life in Ireland that seemed ages ago could truly get going.
And when he looked at the woman he had once been engaged to, there are tears in her brown eyes.
"Were you ever planning on telling me at some point? Or were you just going to leave me waiting for you until what? Hell froze over?"
"It wasn't like that. I never lied to you about-" Michael defended, quickly schooling his features into a more neutral expression, allowing some of the remorse he felt to show through while covering the rest.
"Yeah, I know, you warned me. You warned me it could be a long wait on a deep cover mission. You didn't have to tell me that you might be sleeping with other women, that was understood. You forgot to mention the part where you were going to fall in love with someone else and leave me hanging."
He sent her a look of warning, once again eying the guards. "Are those men with you?"
"Yes," Ms Keyes replied. "There's more of them in the house too. I'm quite well protected now."
"That's good to know." Whatever her business here, if it didn't include some retribution for the sorry way he had treated her in the past, it would be good to potentially have a small cadre of soldiers on his side in case things got uglier than they already had… Though somehow he doubted that a firefight was going to be the worst of his worries in this situation, it was good to know. "Do they follow your orders?"
Samantha shrugged. "They have so far, though I haven't given very many. You don't have to worry, Michael, nobody is listening in... I believe you were about to tell me why you couldn't be bothered to let me know that you had moved on."
Michael swallowed thickly and had the decency to look embarrassed. "It wasn't something I planned."
The truth was he wasn't so much ashamed of the way he had treated Samantha as he was of the massive breach of protocol he'd committed by falling in love with Fiona Glenanne at all and yet he ultimately couldn't make himself regret that choice, even now in the mess it had gotten him into.
"I get that you couldn't just call. We did work together for over a year, I do understand how the game is played," Samantha continued, her perpetual easy-going nature clearly at war with the deep hurt his actions had caused her. "But he told me that you never tried to get our marriage cleared and yet you somehow found the time to ask the CIA to clear bringing your asset out of the field with you."
That very true accusation hit home hard. He had spent a lot of time trying to figure out how to keep Fiona by his side, especially during the last desperate days of their time together in Ireland before Tom Card had arrived to whisk him away to the States, in chains if necessary. But he had never once given a thought to attempt to contact his former fiancée to let her know just that… that she was the former woman in his life, her place usurped by a volatile redhead with a penchant for violence and destruction.
When he thought of the brunette at all, it was to quickly dismiss that idea as something to be dealt with later… preferably much later. So, yes, that part of this tactical nightmare was completely on him.
"You couldn't have just dropped a coded message? Operation Wedding Bells has been terminated with extreme prejudice or something. Hell, you could have had Dan call me, you know? I was his asset before I was yours, remember?"
Except that Agent Westen had already been having trouble convincing the higher-ups at Langley that his reasoning for wanting to continue to work with the PIRA operative was tactical not personal. Having his handler tell Samantha that she was now his ex-fiancée would not have helped his cause in any capacity.
"You must have had to contact Dan about bringing her with you, didn't you? It's not like I wasn't in touch with him too, despite how much the CIA never got around to keeping me in the loop. Why—"
"Wait, what? Dan told you about that?"
"Oh, did I forgot to mention the really funny part of this whole thing? How I found out that you had run off with your asset and abandoned your post? It was because I literally was kidnapped off the street in Moscow and interrogated by the CIA in London by your former training officer. Can you believe that?"
He should have seen that coming and yet somehow Michael was just as shocked as he had been over everything else that had happened thus far. If Fiona having to sell weapons for her former lover to the client that had caused her to leave that life behind years ago had been her crucible, then his trial by fire was apparently just beginning in earnest. Of course, Card would have done that once he'd disappeared.
"Tom Card had you in an interrogation cell on London?" he verified, already knowing the answer.
"Yeah, great times that. I suppose I should thank him for letting me know I was wasting my time."
"What did Card say?" He ignored her comment, desperate for information on the CIA pursuit.
"He thought I would know something about where you were." Samantha laughed, but the sound was brittle and without humor. "So much for intelligence in the Central Intelligence Agency."
"What did you tell him?"
Her laugh was now bitter. "What could I tell him? Obviously, I had no idea what you were doing."
"How long ago did he pick you up? What else did he say? Did he have any leads?"
"That's three more questions. How about you answer one of mine?"
"Samantha…" he said in that tone he always used when he expected her to stick to the business at hand.
"About a week and half ago, probably right after you disappeared I guess. He was sure I knew something that was going to help him round you up and bring you back where you belonged before you could ruin your life, he said. He also said you were like a son to him and you'd almost been killed in an explosion in St Petersburg and you'd had a head injury that caused you to lose your mind and that's why you did it."
Michael's mind was now reeling from trying to process all the implications of what she was telling him.
Images assaulted him in a merry mix of recollections of recent chaos in his life: being held in a basement safehouse in Dublin, Tom Card convincing him the best way to protect Fiona was to drug and abandon her, the stunning moment she'd blurted out the words that had turned his entire world upside down…
Then earlier incidents before Ireland came back: the moment the room around him had exploded, lying in the rubble clinging to consciousness as he remembered being buried alive decades earlier with Gerald Wilson, awakening in a hospital room with the oddly relieved face of Rayna Kopec hanging over him…
"What happened in St Petersburg? Did it have something to do with that job you were working on the last time I saw you? The last time we were—"
Samantha drifted off and he knew what she'd meant. The last time they'd seen each other they'd spent that very brief time naked and in bed. Not wishing to continue that line of thought and since the mission he'd been on for the CIA which had ended in Larry's death was something he was at least marginally willing to talk about as compared to every on the topic on the table, Michael answered that question.
"You remember the job we did at Lukoil? It had to do with that and another agent I had been working with earlier." He hesitated. He'd never given Samantha any mission details before and she'd never pushed, happy to have him make up elaborate tales about what he'd actually been doing and at the time he'd loved her for it… or he thought he had. Truth was he never known true love until now.
But he knew he was going to have to give Samantha some level of honesty in order to keep her answering his questions. What he owed Fiona for his abuse of her trust was another matter entirely.
In the distance, he could see her walking up the steps of the larger building on the compound, no longer arm in arm with Armand, and followed by their respective security details. As much as he desired to do something about that situation immediately, the former CIA agent knew he needed to concentrate on the conversation at hand, finish gathering his intel and get the brunette on his side if at all possible.
"Long story short, I think he was trying to frame me and he ended up blowing himself up instead along with an entire oil refinery… which I happened to be in at the time."
"Oh my god," she whispered. "Card said you were almost killed."
"It was a very long recovery," he conceded, wanting to get on with asking his questions again.
"I remember when they called to tell me you'd been injured. The merchandise is damaged and we don't know if we'll be able to return it," Ms. Keyes did a credible imitation of a government drone. "You sounded horrible when I finally got to talk to you. How badly were you hurt?"
He shrugged. "The usual damage when someone drops a building on you. What about-"
"Jesus, Michael…"
He wasn't sure if her comment was due to what he was referring to or the snarky way he said it.
"I was in ICU for weeks following the surgeries, then months of physical therapy… you know, the usual."
"Your training officer thought you had brain damage and that's why you ran off with, uh, Fiona, is it?"
"Yes, Fiona… "
"Well, is it?
"Is it what?"
"Is that the reason you ran off with her? I mean, the photo says it all, but it's more than that, isn't it?"
"Sam, I – I mean, I didn't- I never meant to hurt you. I did warn you that-" And it was the truth. He had warned her up front that he might never come back one day and he had never intended to hurt her.
"Just stop," she interrupted, holding a hand up. "You're still really bad at apologizing… you always were. Good thing you never had to do it often. At least some things haven't changed."
"I'm sorry, Sam. I—I don't know what to say."
"Guess it's a lot harder telling the truth than spinning a fancy lie," the brunette agreed, but since she had said it with self-deprecating sarcasm and not outright venom, Michael relaxed just a little.
"I'm sorry, Samantha," he repeated, staring at the table top in front of him. "But I need to know—"
"I have one last question," she cut him off quickly. "I've always trusted you, even when I shouldn't have, and there's really only one way this whole thing makes sense to me. Will you be honest enough with me to tell me if I'm right? I think you owe me that much, Michael, under the circumstances."
"Mind if I ask you some questions?"
"Do I get to answer as evasively as you do?"
"Touché," the dark-haired man agreed. "What do you want to know?"
The Russian master thief reached over to flip through the file of surveillance photographs until she found one of Fiona walking through the streets, her hands shoved into the pockets of her open leather jacket, looking simultaneously lost in thought and striding purposefully. Reaching out with a finger, she tapped a maroon painted nail over the redhead's heart in the picture before laying the tip over the image of her stomach. When she met Michael's trouble blue eyes, her own brown ones were misty as she bit her bottom lip, a gesture he was convinced she had picked up from him all those years ago.
"That's why, isn't it?" she said, her voice trembling with an unnamed emotion.
And it was Michael's turn to swallow back the feelings that temporarily threatened to overwhelm him.
()()()()()()
Armand Andreani was many things… the head of a vast criminal enterprise, an international arms dealer, a lover of fine things and multiple women, but primarily he was two things: an alchemist at heart, both in practice and philosophy, and a survivor. His ancestors had been some of the few Templars to survive the 1307 purge of King Phillip the IV and he had been one of the few to survive the blood feud between the Guérini clan, the ruling dynasty of the Corsican Mafia at the time, and Marcel Francisci in his youth.
Retaining the smuggling connections and a seemingly supernatural youthfulness as well as predatory ruthlessness that frequently caused his rivals to fatally underestimate him, the son of Jean-Baptiste Andreani was always working the long game according to the principles of equivalent exchange.
"Shall I have Andre send something over to your room?"
"No, tis fine fer nar…"
As they approached the spiral staircase that would take them back down through the guest house, which was currently home to Samantha Keyes and her multitude of heavily armed men who had escorted her from Moscow, Armand was forced to drop his hand from her arm, but slid it around to linger lightly on the small of her back and then her fur-covered shoulder as she proceeded him down.
The Frenchman had been saddened when Fiona Glenanne had departed his company, but confident that she would find her way back to him again. No doubt the spectacle of Bosnia freedom fighters had reminded her of the ongoing fight in her homeland and he was certain that she once she had excised her conscience by contributing to her family's continued Republican struggle that she would return to him.
"Perhaps when you've finished with Seamus' errand in Stockholm you'll come back to Nice? I've just purchased two more villas on the Chemin du Sémaphore. I'd love it if you'd consider redecorating."
"I'll have ta see how tha project goes. Tis a new client, someone he's nae dealt wit' directly. Ya know whot Shay is like about dealin' wit' strangers. I'll have ta let ya know once I've had me first meeting."
A student of how energy and matter realign themselves in the universe, Armand did not consider it a coincidence that a Kazakhstani black marketer was seeking information on his former consort at the exact same time that a Serbian warlord and her least favorite customer was looking for a large shipment of arms and explosives. Nor did the opportunity to enlist Seamus Glenanne's assistance in retrieving five Stinger missiles in exchange for providing his little sister transportation out of Ireland. It was all part of taking advantage of the flow of the cosmos that was fortuitously coming together in his favor yet again.
"You might have noticed I've changed the landscaping since you were here last. Jean Luc thought a fountain in the middle of peninsula was too much, but I rather liked the juxtaposition of the elements," he remarked as they left the goldenrod-colored plaster-façade building behind them and went outside.
It didn't particularly matter that she had arrived with some baggage in tow. He would have hardly expected the voracious woman he had known to remain celibate. He certainly had not. Armand desired Fiona's company for far more than mere sexual gratification and he was equally assured that given time and a few reminders that she would also come to crave that which she'd once had once more.
"It's modeled on the Fontaine des Quatre-Saisons, which is from a later period admittedly, but I always found Voltaire's complaints about it amusing, so c'est la vie. Aimez-vous?" and his hand was on her the small of her back again, lingering just below the fur jacket and just above the tight leather waistband.
"Tis lovely, Armand. Is thot tha same company ya used fer tha house in Burgundy?"
"Un dans le même, ma chère…"
He might have even considered finding employment for Signore Gallo if that pleased her. After all, the man must have had some level of skills in order to remain in her company any length of time. The woman he remembered did not suffer fools gladly. But what he'd discovered following the arrival of the brunette envoy from Abishuly Nazarbayev had him seriously rethinking that particular inclination.
"I'm upgrading the Ducatis. They come with a 996cc displacement now. The 996's aren't on the market yet, but they called me as soon as they were done tooling them. Carl's lent me a couple to test for him. When do you have to be in Stockholm exactly? Perhaps you'd like to try one of them out tomorrow?"
"I really need ta be goin' soon. Thot little side trip wit' Alek has eaten inta all o' me free time."
"Odd that you would need a covert ride out of Ireland and yet somehow Seamus expects you to conduct urgent business for him out of the country."
"Twas sommit he wa' only able ta line up if I hadda ride outta town in a hurry. Ya know how he can be…"
As soon as he'd learned there were people asking questions about Fiona and her current boyfriend, he'd conducted his own inquiry. He hadn't kept tabs on his lover once she'd gone home to her family per se, but he was generally aware that she'd confined herself to moving between Dublin and Belfast on whole. However, since others were investigating already, he did not see the problem with doing his own asking.
As they walked across the lavish courtyard to the main house, a replica of a seventeenth century French country home he had built on the property when his flame haired lover had mentioned liking the style of Chateau de Sannes, he kept up a steady stream of commentary about the renovations to the interior.
"Yes, I sold the Chagall. Do you like the Delacroix? Oh, yes, the Renoirs are still upstairs."
Fiona was mostly quiet once they entered through the fancy arch of the main residence, a brown river rock, ivy-covered edifice with the tall narrow rectangular windows outlined in white stone, which pleased Armand enormously. That the woman at his side had a fiery temper was a well-known fact in his organization. What was less well established was that when Fiona Glenanne was silent in the face of an insult, challenge or threat, she was at her most deadly, coldly calculating how best to serve up revenge.
And that meant he would more likely be picking out a shallow grave in the garden for Signore Gallo or Michael McBride, whichever name he was buried under being completely irrelevant to the Frenchman.
"Would you prefer a different vintage? Perhaps that bottle has gotten a little warm on the walk over?"
The redhead seemed slightly startled that she was still carrying the champagne, handing it off to him automatically as he opened the door to her old suite and then stood aside for her to enter in first.
"I believe you'll find everything as you left it," Armand said as the petite former paramilitary began to walk around the room, lightly skimming her fingertips over the furnishings and art work within the huge space filled with sunlight from the large French doors set into the far wall that opened onto a balcony.
"I've missed you, Fiona," he declared quietly, unsure if the Irishwoman had heard him or not.
Looking into the history of her lover de jour had led him from Kilkenny back to Milan, where the man had allegedly been returned to his mother's people at age ten and eventually had become a low-level member in one of the families, a car thief, a driver, a burglar and sometimes, but not often, the muscle.
This coincided with the report he'd received from Marcel following their flight back from the delivery in Trieste, during which he'd failed to follow her orders on the pretext of having been involved in some unpleasantries with Petrovic whilst doing business for the family. Armand hadn't verified that yet, since his client was off creating havoc with the supplies he'd purchased. But in truth, that hardly mattered. Monsieur Andreani had all the information he needed, whatever the man's alias was, from his guest.
As the lithe woman opened the closet doors and peered inside, the international arms dealers took it upon himself to step out into the corridor and order two champagne glasses from the nearest servant.
Based on what he had learned, a very different picture of the man known as McBride in Ireland had emerged. Samantha had brought with her a shipment of KSVKs, a heavy anti-material rifle designed for specialized Russian Army forces intended for disabling light military vehicles and penetrating fortified strongholds. But as enticing as the hardware was, the information she'd provided was more valuable.
"You may tell Charlie I would be most pleased to continue to do business with him, though I am quite curious. It seems that you might have overpaid for the merchandise. Why the sudden interest in Fiona?"
"Actually, we were more interested in who she's working with at the moment. Michael and I did some jobs together back in Russia and we have some unfinished business that's important to me… to us."
The brunette had tried her best to be coy and circumspect, but it hadn't taken much for the man who sold to some very diverse clientele to intuit that her unfinished business with Mr McBride was personal as well as professional and that the man was not just a foot soldier in one of the families as he claimed.
The ex-PIRA operative startled ever so slightly when Armand popped the cork on the Dom and seemed torn when he offered her a glass. Pursing his lips, the Frenchman wondered if he should have sent for another bottle as he emptied some of the contents into another fine crystal flute. Not cold enough…?
"To old friends…" he offered a toast and then hesitated as she held back. "Something wrong, Fiona?"
"Ya war right, Armand. I shoulda had ya send sommit over. I've been up all night an' had nary a bite ta eat since I left Newcastle. I'll be sleeping tha afternoon away if I drink on an empty stomach."
"Hmm, what has Dublin done to you?" the dark-haired man smiled as he said it. "You do seem to have been, shall we say, well fed by your mother's marvelous cooking. Not that I'm complaining. It suits you."
Her answering smile was almost nervous. "Takes quite a bit o' work ta keep up wit' all those proper Irish breakfasts she insisted on feedin' me every time I come home, which tis often thanks ta Liam."
"Ah, oui, ton frère... I've missed hearing that you know, your native accent… un tel son…. But you did say you were hungry, didn't you? Shall I have Andre make you a fresh Spanish omelet, egg whites only?"
"Un peu de pain au fromage et des fruits pour l'instant," she replied. "Je veux d'abord prendre un bain."
"Of course, a light snack to go with the Dom, bonne idée." Armand went to the handset on the nightstand and ordered up assorted fruits and cheeses with some baguettes. "It should be here soon."
She nodded her thanks and returned to her perusal of the contents of the closet. "I might decide to take you up on that offer after all once I've had a soak," Fiona said, sorting through the shoe rack and utilizing that cut-glass upper-class English accent she'd mastered working for him. "Been ages since I've ridden."
Monsieur Andreani couldn't help the smile that blossomed across his face while she had her back turned to him. However, he had a more serious expression as the redhead turned around to face him.
"Tell me something, Fiona, are you happy?" Seeing her quizzical expression, he pressed on. "Was it worth it going back to make peace in your homeland a reality? Being back with your family again, treated like the youngest sister in a man's world? You were meant for much greater things, ma chère."
"Perhaps this is a conversation best left until I return from Stockholm… don't you agree?"
"Perhaps so... although I think you should know that your, ah… associate is not who he claims to be."
"Oh, why do you say that?" and Armand could see it there in those blue-green eyes, the look that told him something of the sort had already occurred to her.
"For one, he's far more fond of aliases than you know and he's far too well connected to be a mere foot soldier. From what my guest inadvertently told me, he's smuggling for the families on a rather large scale or he's running goods behind their backs. Either way, I don't think you want to be involved in this. I suspect he might be using you for your connections the same way he apparently used her for hers."
Her expression of cold fury was exactly what he'd been hoping for. "After all, what kind of man does that? Perhaps you would like Jean-Luc and Rene to accompany on your business in Stockholm?"
"That's very kind of you, Armand."
"You know me, always a friend to those in need."
"But I think I'll be having a little chat with Michael first before we decide the seating arrangements."
"As you wish," he agreed, still satisfied that things were going largely as he desired. Turning to the door at the subtle knock on the heavy wood, he opened it to let the servant carrying a tray into the room.
The Irishwoman nodded absently and waved towards the large dressing table in the corner before turning back towards the racks of clothing, flipping through the various trousers on velvet hangars.
"I'll leave you to your preparations," Armand called as he followed the younger blonde back out.
Alone in the corridor, the French war merchant walked quickly away from the door and pulled his mobile from his suit pocket. Pressing his thumb over speed dial 1, the man on the other end answered within two trills. "Ah, yes, Jean Luc, see to it that Signore Gallo doesn't leave the roof until I get back."
()()()()()()()()
When she heard the soft click of the door closing behind her former lover, it took all Fiona Glenanne had in her to resist the urge to sink onto the floor of the massive walk-in closet, a combination of exhaustion, relief and regret almost overcoming her. Forcing herself on shaky legs to return to the main room, she bypassed the bed regardless of how much she wanted to sit down right then. Taa many memories thar…
And despite her determination not to do so, she still found herself recalling involuntarily the myriad of ways and times she and the Frenchman who had just departed had made love on that mattress…
The room bespoke of his presence and her place in that old life that included him even though he was no longer there. Moving as if in a daze towards the large dresser, all polished cherry wood and gold hardware, she was surprised to find that all her undergarments were still there as she had left them.
Realizing somewhat ruefully that the only things that were going to fit her were barely-there thongs, Fiona dug further into the drawers until she found what she was searching for: a sports bra that had been stretched a little too large that she had put aside rather than discard. It should fit perfectly now.
I cannae believe he's left these things har after all these years… but it was precisely the fact of the French arms dealers apparent devotion to her that made proverbial shrine so very disturbing. She found off the shiver was that centered in her spine and threatening to spread to the rest of her limbs again.
Whot tha hell wa' I thinkin' back thar… and the painfully obvious answer was that she hadn't been thinking, she'd been reacting. The last thing she had wanted from the moment she'd realized that her family had sold her out was alone time with the man Fiona had once thought of as the love of her life.
And yet somehow she'd managed to find herself in the private company of Armand Andreani again.
"Ma dulcinée,I would like you to meet Mr McBride's former business partner… or was it asset? Though from what she's told me, I would have gathered that she might actually have been his wife as well."
After having spent virtually the entire plane ride back from Trieste fighting off the feelings of hurt and betrayal towards the man she'd given up everything to run away with, particularly in light of that intensely disturbing dream that she'd had inflight, the image of an apparently unknown other woman in Michael Westen's life had been too much for her to bear in her depleted state. Hungry, hormonal and sleep deprived had been a recipe of utter disaster when confronted with his perceived unfaithfulness.
Reflecting upon it now, she was truly amazed at the level of control she had shown… Once she'd set eyes on that champagne bottle, there was only one thing on her mind: where to hit him with it. But as she'd laid hold of the cold glass and seen the incredibly expensive year on the label, an odd part of her that she hadn't encountered in at least five years decided not to waste that money on the likes of him.
From there it had become virtually an out of body experience... Suddenly, she couldn't get from Michael Westen fast enough… which had led her to where she was standing right now... and she had left him behind before she could give in to the almost overwhelming urges to commit grievous bodily harm. Whether she had intended her dismissal of him to hurt Michael or just give herself space, sadly the result had been the same. They were separated and he had been left alone with a woman from his past.
Moving on auto-pilot, Fiona had fallen easily back into her old routine with Armand, chatting amiably while they had crossed the compound towards the main house, although simultaneously attempting to keep Frenchman at a distance as some small rational part of her was desperately trying to think clearly.
Seeing that her suite at the villa hadn't changed an iota in the four years since she'd been gone had jolted the Irishwoman out of the nostalgic haze that had been keeping her fury in check and Fiona finally began to fully appreciate what she'd just done. That Armand Andreani wanted her back she knew… just how much the powerful international arms merchant desired her company and was willing to do for it,that was another matter entirely. She'd always assumed it was merely an open invitation, a parting on good terms for which she'd been grateful. But when he'd uncorked an exceptionally expensive vintage to celebrate their reunion, the full extent of her former lover's continued interest finally dawned on her.
And the irascible redhead was as angry at herself as she had been at the father of child when she found herself in the position of having to figure out how to decline a drink again to protect her baby. Whatever Michael's past sins were, she had been the one who had walked off arm in arm with her old paramour, who had been offering her a very fine slip of champagne that she didn't dare imbibe. Furthermore, it wouldn't have ended with one drink and promise of more to come, that much Fiona had been certain of.
Blowing out an exasperated breath and full coming to her senses again, the famished mother to be suddenly remembered the tray of treats and set upon the food with ravenous intent. Realizing there wasn't anything other than alcohol to drink after she'd torn through her third piece of bread and brie, Fiona cursed under her breath as she poured out the bubbly and filled her glass from the tap in bath; however, the water filtration system was as good as she remembered and that was good enough.
Taking a large handful of juicy grapes with her, the not so slender woman returned to the closet to assemble the rest of her new outfit. Her one-time business partner would be expecting her to indulge in a long hot soak and part of her longed to lounge in a whirlpool filled with fresh lavender. But she knew she needed to get cleaned up and changed into some more practical clothing as quickly as possible.
Fortunately, Armand had given her the excuse to dress less dramatically by offering to let her test out his new collection of high-end Italian motorcycles and possibly an opening for their potential escape, if she could convince the Frenchman that she wanted to take Michael McBride out for a long ride in the countryside alone in order to bury him out there.
"We never actually got to the ceremony part…" she had said, implying a long-term intimate relationship.
Having very much backed herself into a corner, Fiona knew she would have to be careful about how she approached things going forward. She was far from over being furious with the man she'd run off with, but she needed Michael in one piece if he was going to answer to her for what he'd done. She'd seen the way he'd looked at the leggy brunette, standing there in her fancy silk dress and fur collar coat.
"Jesus, Samantha, they told me you were dead after that thing in Moscow!"
Even if that were true and he'd thought the woman he'd allegedly been married to except for the formalities had died, the least he could have done was told her so… what else had he been hiding from her? Were there other women, possibly even other children of his out there in the world somewhere?
With an angry snort, Fiona stopped that line of thought cold. She was playing right into Armand's hands again. She might not know what to believe about ex-CIA Agent Michael Westen, but she now knew exactly where she stood with Monsieur Andreani and what was going to happen if she wasn't smarter. She had no intention of being a part of Armand's life again regardless of how things went with Michael.
Eschewing her riding leathers for a pair of comfortable cargo pants and a lightweight turtleneck, Fiona headed back into the bedroom and laid the clothing on the thick comforter before thinking better of it.
It would be a far more vulnerable position she'd find herself in should her ex-lover return before she'd finished washing and dressing and the Irishwoman was fairly certain she'd need a lot of shampoo and elbow grease to remove all the mousse from her hair. Yes, she definitely needed to be smarter about it.
Taking first her outfit and then the tray of food into the en-suite, finishing off a delectable pear in the process, Fiona left the fur and transparent tunic on the bed before loosening the tight trousers to be able to unlace her boots. Thankfully, the footwear was easier to remove than get into. Tossing the last of the clothing she'd worn to Italy aside, the redhead retreated to the bath to finish eating and clean off.
Even in her determination to hurry, the luxury of a long hot shower with plenty of water pressure kept her there scrubbing at her skin and letting the spray pound on her abused muscles. Feeling fully clean in a way she hadn't since they'd broken into those holiday homes what seemed like a lifetime ago, the PIRA operative couldn't help but remember what else she and Michael had done in those borrowed bathrooms. But she quickly dismissed those thoughts, as they were cooling her wrath towards the man she intended to question in the presence of his faux wife, which would hopefully get her more answers.
Finishing her food while she dried her hair, Fiona reduced the contents of the tray to pits, cores and crumbs before regretfully pouring about half the bottle of Dom down the gold embossed porcelain sink. Now clean and well fed, she completed her preparations by adding a wide hair band to her ensemble, taking her leather riding jacket as well and putting on minimal makeup to continue the charade of potentially wanting to go tearing through the countryside on one of the high-performance motorcycles.
Tucking her Walther into her waistband, the fiery redhead searched the slicks hidden throughout her suite for other weapons. If he'd left her undergarments and her cosmetics undisturbed, then it was a reasonable proposition that her other necessities would also be where she'd left them behind.
Feeling much happier with her H&K USP compact with the silver slide, two throwing knives, a dagger and two tiny blocks of C-4 also secreted about her person, Fiona marched out into the hallway, ready to confront her duplicitous lover and his alleged spouse. A quick survey of the landing and staircase told her that she had managed to avoid her former paramour as intended. If her luck held, she would get back to the guesthouse before she encountered anyone who would question her movements.
First, she needed to make a tactical assessment of their situation and formulate a plan for their leaving the Andreani estate in one piece and then she would decide what body parts Michael got to keep. She had been betrayed by everyone and she was going to answers or someone was going to get hurt now…
And heaven help whosoever got in the way of that former guerrilla fighter on a mission.
()()()()()()()()
"That's why, isn't it?" Samantha said, her voice trembling as she laid her finger on the photograph of the petite paramilitary.
Michael's swallowed back the feelings that temporarily threatened to overwhelm him. He could lie to the brunette, but she seemed to have already discerned the truth about Fiona's condition. Ms Keyes seemed resigned and sad, very much unlike Fiona, but then again she always had been. Although confirming her suspicions was an extremely dangerous play, the benefits of getting Samantha and her soldiers on his side outweighed the risk.
Appreciating she'd had the operational awareness not to ask openly, he nodded to the affirmative.
"Okay," she whispered, closing the folder. "I suppose I should be relieved... or something…"
While the spy part was now eager to dive into the remainder of the folders sitting there, the practical part of his brain reminded him that he needed to take in some nourishment while it was available and apparently safe to consume and it would really serve two purposes, since the ex-agent felt like he still needed to make some amends to ensure he could still count on the support of his former fiancée.
"Do you mind if I join you?" It was a deliberately chosen sentence. Their personal relationship had been highly scripted, relying on catchphrases and rituals that obscured any real need for deep intimacy. At the time, being able to function through a mutually agreed upon set of codes and signals had been exactly what Michael Westen, ace operative, had been looking for in long-term partnerships, both in the field and between the sheets. But Fiona had seen a part of him that Samantha never had been shown.
She hesitated for a few painfully long seconds before answering, "By all means…" code for all is forgiven.
He laid his hand over hers for a moment, giving it a squeeze, before he picked up one of other folders.
Samantha shrugged as she so often had in the past. "It's pretty dry reading. Be quicker if you just ask."
"Okay, what are you doing here?" the dark-haired man asked, skimming through the contents anyway.
"And thereby hangs a tale. It won't be as inventive as the yarns I used to spin for you since it's the truth, but I think you'll find it full of excitement and intrigue."
She pushed the plate she had been picking at in his direction, an uneaten meal of chicken breast pieces covered in a white cream sauce accompanied by peas and a beet salad, the buttered baguette and the small cup of fresh fruit seeming to be the only thing she'd managed to take a few bites of.
"The food here is quite good… and it's safe too…" she added, seeing his look. "I just haven't had much of an appetite today for some reason… So, you should probably refuel while you're reloading."
It was another coded reference to the way the former American operative tended to multi-task virtually every activity he did while they were together, with one notable exception, reviewing mission plans over meals being the most common of those activities. Now that she had apparently absolved him, the brunette seemed to fall quickly back into their previous routine. The little part of him that felt guilty about what he'd done was relieved, but the larger part of him was happy to have an ally in this scenario.
Taking the hint, he speared a nugget of chicken swimming in sauce and discovered she was correct about the quality of the food while he continued to flip through the information someone had gathered on Michael McBride. He was relieved to see that it reinforced his cover as an Irishman from Kilkenny by way of Milan, although extremely displeased that Ms. Keyes had been given access to said documents.
"Where did you get these?" he asked, exchanging the one cardboard sleeve for the other while he finished eating her lunch. "And why do you have a dossier on Fiona?" Michael continued as he opened the next folder, not liking any of the potential answers he was coming up with.
"Armand gave me those along with the rest of the photographs. You already know who gave the one—"
That Fiona's former flame would check up on what she'd been up to since they'd been apart, as well as any of her current business associates outside of the family, made sense. What made no sense is why the international arms merchant would give that information to a Russian master thief… unless….
"And how do you know Armand Andreani? Why are you here, Samantha? I need to know now."
"I didn't know him until yesterday. I'm here as a representative for Abishuly Nazarbayev, making a delivery same as Fiona used to do for Armand's organization, according to what I've heard."
Based on what Marcel had told him, Andreani's business interests extended well beyond weapons. But his former asset had always been part of acquisitions, leaving the distributing to other people. It was far too much of a coincidence that Samantha suddenly worked for somebody who just happened to want to do business with his lover's former paramour… There were plenty of other arms dealers in the world….
"Abishuly Nazarbayev," Michael repeated. The name was familiar… Where had he seen that before…?
When you work with people, you wanna know everything about them: their history, their associates, who's contacting them. Although, sometimes there are details you'd rather not know.
He had made it very clear to Ms Keyes that he didn't want to know anything about what she did when they were not working together for the CIA, but that didn't mean that the Agency did not keep tabs on her and all her known associates and business activities. File Code: CK-S, reclassified GT-SKA afterwards.
She'd gotten her hands on it once… Sometimes there were drawbacks to working with a talented thief. But Samantha had laughed about all the codes and acronyms the Agency utilized she couldn't decipher.
"The Kazakhstani black marketer you also worked for?" His tone was puzzled, not seeing the connection. "Where does he fit into this and why would he want intelligence on an Irish terrorist?"
"Because I asked him," she admitted softly. "He did it as a favor to me because I needed to know." The brunette bit down hard on her lower lip before she spoke again. "Michael, I think I might have outed you, but not to Armand. I used your Irish cover ID with him, the one Card gave me… but with Charlie…"
File Code: CK-S, Charlie-Kilo-Sierra… After narrowly missing having his cover blown by Aleksander Petrovic, now someone who knew him as Victor Roshenko, a Russian mobster who employed a certain cat burglar, had seen pictures of Michael McBride and Signore Gallo... and they were all the same man.