A/N: Happy Sunday to all the #Burners out there and a very Happy Belated Birthday shout-out to one of our favorite reviewers DKougar! It was great getting to see you this weekend.
Thank you everyone for the enthusiasm and the reviews for our repostings of the Puppies/Reconnecting storylines. The alternate for Season Five should be posted today and a new chapter of Reconnecting for AU 201 is in the works as we speak. We will also be updating "True Believer" for the fourth anniversary of the blackest day in #Burner history, so look for that on or around September 12th.
This is a little shorter than our normal mega chapters, but it's been too long since we posted. So on with our story…
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BE BRAVE LITTLE ANGEL
Chapter Forty Six
Russian by birth and the daughter of privilege by way of a prima ballerina mother and a well-placed government apparatchik father, Zlata Galinevna Mezentseva was accustomed to things going her way, but pragmatic in the extreme when they did not. Becoming Samantha Keyes at the age of 22 when her parents had emigrated to the UK and later returning to her native land to ply her skills as a master thief had done nothing to alter her worldview. She operated on the fringes of powerful people, making herself useful to them and enjoying a very rewarding lifestyle as a result. She courted enough danger to keep things interesting and she loved reinventing herself as it suited the job or the long-time client.
That hadn't changed significantly when she first met the spy who would became her new CIA handler and then her partner in crime who she'd asked to become her partner in life as well. She worked for the Agency the same as she worked for the Russian mafia, Kazakhstani black marketers and local ministers.
Do the job, minimal contact, collect the fee and move on to the next. She'd acquired the greatest prize of her career, capturing the dark-haired man of her dreams and saw no reason that life would change.
Until she'd been forced into a van with a black bag over her head and diamonds worth a million rubles for her biggest client in her shoulder bag, wondering all the while who she had managed to piss off.
Seeing Michael Westen again had shaken Samantha far more than she'd expected and finally seeing the woman who'd stolen his heart in the flesh had only solidified what she'd already known in her own heart when she'd seen the photographs of the pair. Fiona Glenanne in person and in action was a completely different experience. Even what her host had said about his ex-lover didn't do the Irishwoman justice.
Besides looking dramatically different than her pictures, the energy and emotion emanating off the ostensibly former terrorist turned gun runner had been the proverbial stake through her heart. There had been little question in her mind then why she'd apparently been discarded, suddenly becoming nothing more than an inconvenient and distant memory. Michael had moved on while she'd been waiting patiently for his return and she was certain she'd been nothing more to him than a gullible asset.
"Jesus, Samantha, they told me you were dead after that thing in Moscow!"
Suddenly the former man in her life had thrown her an opening to lie for him, as he had done many times before. Uncertain but playing along, she'd been gob smacked when the petite redhead at the center of everyone's attention had grabbed a bottle of champagne and walked off with the Frenchman.
And Armand Andreani had been everything Charlie had warned her he would be, charming, genial and cunning in the extreme, but his reputation for fulfilling his word had thus far borne out. Surrounded by a dozen experienced and heavily armed men, she nonetheless knew she was out of her league dealing with the arms broker. But she had asked Charlie for this opportunity, albeit not directly, to have a private conversation with the man she was sitting across the table from now because she had needed answers.
The slender brunette had been on such an emotional roller coaster for the last twelve days that she could hardly blame herself for wanting to sit next to her former fiancé and pretend that the world was again what it once had been, even though she knew that it was all an illusion that was soon to end.
Afraid until she'd learned who'd taken her, angry when she'd fully realized why she'd been taken, anticipating but anxious as she'd given what she thought was her CIA tail the slip to make her way back to Moscow only to be terrified again when she returned to the city where she'd been taken to find her home had been ransacked, which had sent her running straight to the only man who could help her.
And obviously that had not been the man she had proposed to more than two years ago.
Alone at last with Michael, Ms. Keyes couldn't help but let some of the hurt out along with the stress.
When the Russian thief had finally gotten more of the truth out of the elite operative as she could have expected, afterwards she'd felt almost numb, relief and regret fighting one another before morphing into resignation. Whether he had really cared for her in any meaningful way wasn't the point anymore.
The ex-agent had squeezed her hand and given her a sincere smile of apology and she knew that it was time to finally let everything go, all the anger and the resentment, but especially any longing for him. The Michael Westen she had known was gone, consumed by a man in love with the mother of his child.
And it was now time for her to tell him the truth.
"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…"
The slim brunette placed a locked briefcase on the wrought iron surface and quickly spun the dials before reaching into the false bottom of the expensive leather case with practiced dexterity. Putting the final folder on the table, one she'd brought with her from her homeland, Ms Keyeslaid out the other photos that her new lover and benefactor had provided her that completed the picture, first stills from surveillance footage which showed her leaving the building where she had been held by Tom Card.
"As soon as I left Mr Card's hospitality, I knew I would be followed. So I made arrangements to lose them. He met me at the airport and then I switched clothes with my double in the bathroom at Heathrow. They left for Ireland and I took the next flight back to Russia, feeling very proud of myself for ditching the CIA."
Samantha pointed to the other grainy images, of a blond man following her at a distance, of that same man exiting the George Best Airport in Northern Ireland while trailing a taller man with a woman, one who bore a strong resemblance to Samantha. Michael was staring hard at the picture of the operative following the couple, running his finger over the edge of snapshot, so she asked, "Do you know him?"
"Our paths have crossed," he returned cryptically. "Who's the man he's following?"
"His name was Simon Temple. We'd done a lot of business over the years. You might even remember me mentioning once that I had a patron saint in London." The spy nodded thoughtfully, indicating that he was putting together pieces from her CIA-maintained dossier, as she tapped a finger on the man's image.
"Her name was Julie Cotton, she… she was an escort, but Simon and I had used her before, as a decoy, when I needed to be in two places at once. When the police found their bodies–" She swallowed thickly and instead of speaking moved that photo aside to reveal the next, this one from the crime scene. The man in it had obviously been brutally beaten and tortured before he had met his unfortunate end.
"Simon was more than a business associate. He had been a good friend," she whispered and then slid the next shot in front of the dark-haired former operative. This one was of that same brunette, her body crumpled on the floor, her neck slashed open to the bone.
"She wasn't even acquaintance, but I got her killed anyway."
Samantha looked up, her eyes brimming with tears and found herself staring into a pair of deep blue orbs filled with compassion. "I am sorry you lost your friend." He squeezed her hand again. "But I don't understand what this has to do with outing me to Charlie."
"I need you to understand why I was so desperate to find you. Charlie told me that this man was a British assassin in the pay of the UK government. He has contacts all over the world. I thought he was just some drone sent by Tom Card to keep an eye on me... But he was–"
"Insanely dangerous…"
She had been too wrapped up in the highs of working with dangerous and powerful people to truly appreciate the danger she was putting herself, and others, in at the time. The former Agency asset then spread out the rest of the pictures over the table top, surveillance photographs of actual CIA agents searching her apartments in St Petersburg and Volgograd before moving on to images of those same men ransacking her penthouse in Moscow.
"Do you understand— "Samantha started, desperate for him to realize this wasn't about petty jealousy.
"I understand why you went to Charlie," he interrupted, as all his attention was taken by the remaining pictures which documented much of his career in Eastern Europe, his look of sympathy morphing into that cold hard expression he usually wore when people disappointed him or a mission went bad.
Images of him as Victor Roshenko, making deals with both Russians and Ukrainians, and another of him as Oleg Markakin standing next to an older man during another business meeting in an anonymous empty warehouse. These were mixed with others of him early on in his assignment as Michael McBride.
"Charlie told me that the man with you was supposed to be your father, though he doubted it, since his contacts had informed him Michael McBride's father was deceased as was Victor Roshenko's."
Michael's jaw flexed, clearly having trouble reining his temper right at that moment and Samantha had a small piece of sympathy for him as she thought about something he had said once, just before they had blackmailed a former soviet double agent into helping them.
For anyone who works in covert ops, names have a special power. Knowing someone's real name, who they work for, you've got something on them. 'Out' a spy in the field, and you could get him killed.
"He never said anything to me outright," she hurried on. "But really, there was no need. You just have to look at the evidence and it all becomes clear, doesn't it?" She waited, watching carefully as the man she had once thought had loved her slowly gathered up the pictures and pushed them back into the folder.
When he finally met her gaze again, his face was devoid of emotion. She bit her lip and continued on.
"So now I guess it's my turn to make a bad apology. I'm sorry, I realize this isn't a game now. When we were together, it was all a grand adventure to me, playing at being a spy, stealing secrets, planting evidence. But I've had to make some hard choices recently because of what you've done and it's made me realize how serious this is. But because of the choices I had to make, I might have endangered you."
"I need you to promise me you will destroy all of this and never bring up any of it again." He was staring at her intently now, still obviously not placated by her regretful confession.
"Of course," Samantha replied dryly. Of the two of them, she could see where her former fiancé might feel that she had committed the bigger sin. But in the end, it was his fault for not letting her know what was going on. He had to have known what would happen once he'd abandoned his post with his asset.
However, none of that mattered now. It was what it was and she'd do her best to make up for her mistake. The statuesque brunette began to raise a hand and gestured for one of her new lover's men, instructing him to bring a metal trash bin from inside the palatial villa when her ex-lover stopped her.
"No, not here and not now. If Armand sees we've been burning documents, it'll raise suspicions. You know, Sam, If you're going to continue working as a go-between for arms dealers, you really should—"
"This is my first, last and only time running guns," she cut him off, taking the folder from his grasp. "I'd have hoped you'd have understood that my being here has nothing to do with the weapons. I was—"
"Just promise me when you leave, you'll get rid of them."
"There's a shredder on the jet, a really good one. I can run the whole folder through it and toss the bits out over the Alps on my way home. How does that sound?"
"It sounds good... Is Charlie going to be a problem?"
Before answering, she took her time returning the damning evidence to the hidden compartment in the leather briefcase. Only once she had the lid closed and secured did she put the former spy at ease.
"Charlie wants whatever I want. He actually seems to care whether or not I'm happy. However I choose to handle this will be fine with him as long as I come back home to him when I'm done. So, if I shoot you myself, have one of the men do it or let Armand handle the details, it doesn't matter to him."
Michael's expression froze, but his eyes were alight with a cross between anger and alarm.
"And if I want to tell you goodbye before giving you a backhand," the brunette continued. "Then he's perfectly okay with that too. I would assume you'd prefer I just slapped you to having you killed."
"I would prefer if you didn't do either, if you don't mind. Are you sure about Charlie?"
"As long as I'm with Charlie, you won't have anything to worry about with him and I won't have to worry about getting kidnapped by the CIA or chased by hired assassins ever again. So, I guess it's as good a win-win as we're going to get out of this situation. I can go back to what I was doing and you..."
The dark-haired ex-operative nodded, seemingly satisfied with her assurances thus far. "And me…?"
"Well, it can't have escaped your notice that you have more than me and Charlie to worry about," Samantha went on. "I got a very strong impression that Mr. Andreani is used to getting what he wants and I can assure you what he wants the most is your girlfriend back at his side."
"Trust me, nobody can make Fiona do anything she doesn't want to... And over the last few weeks believe me when I say a lot of people have tried…" Michael looked around the rooftop and then over at the ornate building across the courtyard. "She's been gone too long. We need to find her. Has Armand put any restrictions on where you can wander?"
"No, in fact he went to great pains to show me around both the guest house as he calls this place and the mini palace next door. If I was still working for myself, with what he has in just this one house, the art work alone would keep me in luxury for the next ten years."
"I hope you aren't about to ruin Charlie's first enterprise into Southern Europe all because you couldn't keep your sticky fingers to yourself," he remarked as he tilted his head in the direction of her handbag.
"Michael, did you miss the part where my friend was murdered and I had to run for my life?"
"Fair enough. Is your business completed here?"
"Yes, it was all done on the jet, or most of it. I have documents for Charlie and I left -"
"I don't need to know every detail, just that you're free to go," the former agent interrupted.
"As far as I know, I can ask for the limo to take me back to the plane anytime I wish. Though this is my first gun deal, so I'm not quite up on all the etiquette."
"I'm guessing you've already delivered the goods since you got the dossiers from Armand and I'm guessing the rest of your payment was meeting with me. So, I would say you were free to go. I hate to ask, but do you think there might be room for two more on your jet?"
"Ahhh, there's the Michael W-McBride I used to know. I wondered where he had been hiding... You actually expect me to take you and your new girlfriend away from here in my private plane?"
Samantha bit her lower lip again. Why was she surprised? Hadn't she already acknowledged that she'd been only just a little more than an asset to her former fiancé? She'd let him go, they'd both moved on...
So why the hell did it still hurt?
Unable to take sitting in one place any longer, the brunette got to her feet and walked over to the stone balustrade surrounding the rooftop to stare out over the stunning view before her of the inland sea.
"Please, Samantha..." Michael was instantly at her side, one hand gently brushing against her cheek as he moved several errant curls away from where the breeze had blown them across her face. "One last favor… I know I made mistakes and I'm sorry. But you know there's more than my life at stake here."
God help her, but she couldn't help but give in when he looked at her like that... Damn him…
"Fine." But if she was going to do him this one last favor, he was going to do something for her… well, for the woman that had won him over anyway… Michael Westen needed a lesson on how to treat people.
"You're sure you can convince Charlie not dig any further than he already has into the career of your previous – employer?"
"I said I would. Don't push it, Michael." He could be infuriating and at the same time almost irresistible when he wanted to be. Yes, he definitely needed to be taught a lesson… although Samantha was fairly certain based on what she had already seen of Fiona Glenanne that the redhead would not need help.
"Thank you, Sam."
"Well, don't thank me yet. Like I was trying to tell you before, from what I learned listening to Armand, I think he's planning on your demise... Though he seems confident that Fiona or I will be doing the actual killing." She smiled and changed her position yet again, turning back towards the French countryside and the view of the main house on the grounds of Monsieur Andreani's estate over on her righthand side.
"Well, hopefully you haven't changed your mind about terminating my existence in the last couple of minutes. I'll just have to hope Fi feels the same way," he muttered the last sentence.
"So, what we are going to tell your new lady love about us, assuming she doesn't shoot you on sight. From that performance earlier, I take it you never bothered to tell her that you were already engaged to someone before she agreed to run away with you."
Samantha watched as he leaned against the decorative stone barrier, dropping his chin to his chest as he folded his arms over his torso, not even bothering to deny her accusation.
"Michael, contrary to how you've lived up to now, you cannot base a whole relationship on a lie. Not if Fiona is someone you really love and, as strange as this is going to sound, I hope that she is. You can't keep treating her like she's just another asset to you like you did me."
"Sam, I'm sorry," he said, staring at her again with those pleading puppy dog eyes. "It wasn't like that with us… not at the time. I just—"
"Don't you dare apologize to me again, not like that. Whatever you're about to say, it's a lie and we both know it. Don't insult my intelligence or I will change my mind about helping you."
And her former fiancé dropped his gaze again, biting his own lower lip and nodding mutely. Ms Keyes blew out a long breath, exhaling her frustration. As bizarre as it sounded, standing up for Fiona, and Michael's unborn child even more so, felt like standing up for herself in a way Samantha had never done during her relationship with him and Mr. Westen was going to hear what was on her mind right now.
"What do you want me to say?" he asked quietly as the breeze ruffled his own hair then.
"I don't want you to talk… You're too good at it. I want you to just listen."
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"Ah, yes, Jean Luc, see to it that Signore Gallo doesn't leave the roof until I get back."
"Understood."
With the call ended, Jean Luc pressed two on his office phone which put him through to the barracks stationed next to the guesthouse.
"Claude, Monsieur Andreani requests his guests to stay on the roof until he is free; see that it happens."
"Yes sir," came the snapped response and with the call made, Jean Luc Renard returned to the task that had been interrupted the moment before. If Fiona Glenanne was to return, both his employer, and himself for that matter, would insist that she had an elite detail watching over her. The Basque native had acquired other duties in the organization since the redhead had departed for home and it would no longer be possible for him to watch over her personally.
The man ran his hand over his bald pate and sighed. He'd never admit it, it wasn't professional, but he had missed the vivacious redhead. Sending her into Bosnia had been a mistake. He'd tried to warn Armand against it. But his employer had been convinced a little adrenaline was what Fiona had needed.
Those blue-green eyes of hers had never lost that haunted look afterwards, right up until the day she'd practically begged for his understanding when she'd asked him to drive her to their hangar in Marseilles and again when she'd told him why the Irishwoman had felt obligated to go home to help her people.
He'd known then that she'd needed family more than her country had needed her.
But what about now? Was she going to be back, re-taking her abandoned place as consort to the head of the organization? Was she just testing the waters with Monsieur Andreani? Or had it all been a matter of desperation to get out of Ireland and Armand had been the only solution to her pressing problem?
Jean-Luc had to admit he'd been pleased to catch up with her; however, he needed to have a private conversation with his former mistress, out of earshot of others, particularly one Signore Gallo.
Getting to his feet, the hardened mercenary thought about what Marcel had told him about the Irishman by way of Italy. Renard wasn't entirely convinced by the man's story he'd heard second hand. He was equally unsure of what Fiona's true feelings were about that man and he needed to find out sooner rather than later, as Armand had more or less ordered him and their Russian guest detained.
Briefly reviewing the readiness of his weaponry, Jean-Luc headed out of the door and up the narrow staircase which would take him from the servants' quarters in the basement to the ground floor of the main residence. The head of security was half way up the first flight of stairs when he heard the soft pad of another set of feet descending down the marble stairs rapidly.
Looking up, he soon found himself face to face with just the woman he'd wanted to have a word with.
"Fiona, you look– annoyed… Something I can help you with?"
"No, not at the moment…" Her clipped response was a warning that the petite redhead was on the warpath and the way her eyes were focused on the doors which led outside, he could guess the identity of the target of her wrath.
"Did you decide to go for a ride after all?" he inquired, noting her attire as she pulled on the leather gloves she had always favored when tearing around the countryside on one of his employer's high- performance motorcycle. "I can call the garage and have—"
"Hold on to that thought. I'm not quite ready yet." She continued striding across the lobby and Monsieur Renard had to lengthen his own stride to keep pace with her brisk clip as Fiona made her way to the front doors. "Is Signore Gallo still with that woman on the roof of the guesthouse?"
"Yes, as far as I know. I just made a call to make sure they stay there until Armand can see them."
It was then the older man became fully aware of the armaments on her slender person. The Walther whose chequered metal grip was prominently displayed sticking out from her waistband to the not so obvious bone handle of a throwing knife peeking out from the sleeve of her leather jacket.
"Perfect…" Her footfalls thundered in the vast foyer as her boot heels impacted the stone flooring.
"What is going on with you?" Jean-Luc asked in his native tongue, hoping that the distraction would cause her to answer the question more honestly. "Is this just a visit or do I need to arrange a detail?"
He reached in front of her to open the door to try and slow her down a little. It wasn't the first time he'd seen Fiona Glenanne in such a mood and the volatile Irishwoman was especially dangerous in this mode.
"We'll see after I finish in Stockholm. Can you get the helicopter ready to take us back to the hangar?"
The petite paramilitary pushed her way past him and out the heavy wooden door with barely a pause.
"Us? So you're planning on leaving with Signore Gallo as well? Are you going to keep working with him?"
The older man kept beside her as the lithe woman passed through the ornate archway and onto the formal grounds that separated the main to buildings on the estate. "Fiona, I believe Armand wanted—"
"Where is Armand right now?"
"He was going to the guesthouse. But he had something to do first. Do you want me to call—"
"No need. Just let Armand know I have a few questions for his guest as well as Signore Gallo and he should hold off with whatever he has in mind until I get my answers."
Then before he could stop her, she pushed past Renard and broke into a jog as she headed onto the pavers, picking up speed on her way towards the fountain and the guesthouse beyond. Pulling his cell from his pocket, the head of security stayed hot on her heels while making a couple of quick phone calls.
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"If you ever had to rely on your ability to understand your own relationships, I swear you would be dead in a minute and you still may be if you don't pay attention."
The brunette shook her head and offered him a faint smile, similar to the ones she used to give him when she caught him with his fingers deep in her purse or pockets attempting to steal her keys.
"Doing what's expedient is what we do in our line of work, but you can't keep doing whatever makes it easier on you. It'll come back to bite you and everyone around you. It damn sure came back to bite me. You basically forgot about me because it was easier and left me to fend for myself when you must have known as soon as you went rogue every one of your contacts including me would come under scrutiny."
Michael stood with his back against the balustrade as his former fiancée paced before him under the watchful eyes of her own personal team of bodyguards, holding back what he wanted to say with rising difficulty. Despite what she thought, he had not been doing what was easy for him the past two weeks.
The last time he'd seen Samantha Keyes, she had been the same pliable, easy going woman who had shared his bed and who had been admittedly a bit more of a partner than an asset on various missions throughout Eastern Europe. Back then she'd understood that sometimes it was necessary to do bad things, at times immoral things, for good reasons, though maybe not necessarily as most people understood good reasons, but because doing that bad thing meant you achieved your goal.
All of which made listening to the dark-haired beauty's criticism albeit possibly justified hard to take.
"Samantha, I don't think now is the time." All he had asked was for a ride away from Mr. Andreani's villa and while he had been happy to discuss the cover story necessary to explain their past relationship to the mother of his child, Samantha now seemed just as determined to add stipulations for her assistance.
"Now is the perfect time, Michael," she purred as the statuesque woman came to a stop before him. "You want my help getting out of here, then you're going to have to take the rest of my help as well."
He wasn't sure if he liked this new side he was seeing of his ex-associate. He much preferred the more submissive version of the thief, where he laid out the mission and she backed him up with her unique skillset. "Fine… go ahead. I am all ears…" He surrendered to the inevitable in thinly disguised ill grace.
After all, in eighteen months of living with Fiona Glenanne, he had learned to choose his battles wisely. But her one-time handler hadn't ever expected Ms Keyes to push so strongly. Maybe if she had…?
The ex-spy crushed that thought instantly. The old Michael Westen would have never stood for an asset questioning his orders. That is, until a petite red head with a quick temper started doing precisely that.
"You need to tell her the truth… not right now," Samantha added hastily. "Promise me that you will tell her the truth about us, and about yourself, when you find somewhere safe to live... Of course, if you're not careful, you could end up living out your lives in a hut in Nicaragua." She reached out, her slender hand closing on his arm lightly, her brown eyes filled with more naked emotion than he had ever seen in the brunette before. "But wherever you end up, if you love her enough to give up everything you had, everything you were, then you have to come clean with her... Does she even know that you're a spy?"
He thought about lying to his former fiancée, but given their current subject of conversation changed his mind and nodded his affirmative answer. "Yes, but my status isn't widely known among her family and friends and I would dearly like to keep it that way."
"And your promise that whatever lie we come up with now, you'll tell her the truth about it all later?"
He straightened up and using the fingers of his right hand drew a cross over his heart. He didn't know why it was so important to Samantha, but if it got them out of here… "Satisfied?" he asked solemnly.
"Yes, now what are we going to tell Fiona so she agrees to leave with us?"
"I think we should stick as close to the truth as possible... We used to work together and then we became a couple. But long before I arrived in Ireland, I was told you had died in Moscow."
"How convenient for you," she spoke bitterly, but instantly looked stricken. "Sorry, that just slipped out."
He sighed and without conscious thought started to reach out with his hand, before dropping it back down to his side. Being with Samantha made it far too easy for him to slip back into old habits of getting his own way. But he couldn't treat her like a lover or an asset anymore. They had both moved on.
"You have nothing to be sorry for. But we need to find Fiona before this can get any more out of hand."
"And just so we're on the same page, why is Fiona going to want to get on a plane with your ex-lover when she apparently has any one of Armand's jets, limos or speed boats to go wherever she wants in?"
"We tell her, and Armand as well, that Charlie has some very profitable business we could all do together back in Moscow that's perfect for Fiona's and my unique skillsets and since you and I have worked everything out again, we're going to discuss it while you give us a lift to Sweden on your way home."
Samantha stared over his shoulder at the stunning view of the main house behind him. "Do you think Armand will let you both go that easily? He did seem very keen on keeping Fiona around and you gone."
"I'm hoping that not pissing off a new business contact is more important to him." Michael pushed himself away from the balustrade and straightened up, looking far more confident than he actually felt. "If Armand wants to do business with your new boyfriend, the last thing he'll want to do is upset you."
"And if he decides otherwise?"
"Like I said, not too many people can make Fiona do anything she doesn't want to. Besides, that's what those men of yours are here for, to make sure you're safe, right...? I don't think Armand will risk it."
Fervently hoping that his tactical assessment of the situation was accurate, Michael took her arm and guided her towards the stone staircase which would take them down to the third-floor landing, from where they could descend to the ground floor. It wasn't Armand Andreani who had the former spy worried; the bigger problem was going to be convincing his beloved of the lie they had decided upon.
"Tell your men you've become tired of waiting for Monsieur Andreani," he whispered instructions into her ear. "We're going over to the main house to speak with his other guest and then we'll be leaving."
"Nazer..." Samantha called to the nearest of the guards, who instantly snapped to attention, his olive skinned features a blank mask. Their mistress paused to retrieve the briefcase and her handbag from atop the fancy wrought iron table as she waited for her men to assemble around her.
Michael waited as he listened to international acquisitions specialist turned temporary emissary give her honor guard their orders, his eyes watching their every move as he evaluated their skills. What was clear was that Samantha's new benefactor valued her life enough to give her a crack team to watch her back.
As soon as the last word left her mouth, the six men began to move, four of them going on ahead of the pair they were to protect while the last two took up position behind, as the group began to make its way towards the stone staircase that led to the balcony below.
They were only on the second step when the men ahead of them came to a sudden stop. Fanning out across the terrace were a group of six heavily armed mercenaries, at least two of whom the faux Italian recognized as part of the group who had surrounded him on the way up to top of the guesthouse.
"What is this?" Samantha demanded, stepping forward before Michael had a chance to stop her.
She was no doubt thinking of the time in Volgograd, where in her role as the Duchess of Vaduz and a second cousin of the King of Liechtenstein, she had cleared the way for one of her lowly lackey's to first gain access to the Chinese embassy during an embassy ball and then later leave unharmed after he had been discovered returning from a private area.
That evening she had played the role of an imperious minor member of European royalty in front of a crowd full of mostly diplomats, dazzling both the men and women with her charm and grace, making it possible for him playing the part of her attaché, stealing away and stealing several documents from the head of security's office. Then, as the gala ball was drawing to an end, she had come to his rescue when he was caught in the hallway leading back to the public area of the embassy.
The stunningly beautiful Duchess of Vaduz had stepped forward to defend her servant, explaining that her man spoke no Chinese or Russian and had obviously gotten lost.
However, it seems her charms were having less effect on their host's security forces.
"I am sorry, Madame, but Monsieur Andreani requests that Monsieur Gallo there remains on the roof."
"But I require Signore Gallo to accompany me. We have important business." She gave the Frenchman her best regal smile, which in the past had disarmed many a man, but not this time.
"Madame, you and your men are free to leave, but my orders are that he is to remain on the roof," the man spoke politely; however, he punctuated his sentence by raising his SA80A2 assault rifle, the same model Armand's mercenaries had sported on their flight to Italy, slinging it up from his shoulder and bringing it to bear on the man in question, followed instantly by the rest of his men copying his actions.
And just like that, in a blink of an eye, things went from peaceful to one bad move away from all-out war.
In any kind of emergency situation, an operative's greatest enemy is panic. The spike of adrenaline, the increased blood pressure and the loss of any sense of time can make it impossible to think clearly at exactly the time you need a clear head the most. In those moments, it takes all your training, all your will power to pull yourself back from the brink.
"Sam, get back!" he hissed in her ear as the ex-operative reached out to pull his former lover out of any potential line of fire while bracing himself as the two men guarding their rear pushed by to join their comrades on the front line.
"Signorina Keyes, please, excusi." Michael smiled broadly and held out his free hand wide. "Signores, there is no need for this... It must be a misunderstanding, yes? Maybe we should go and see your boss and see what he has to say about you drawing weapons on such an important guest as Abishuly Navarbayev's special envoy." He kept to English, but used the same Italian accent he had used on the plane while talking with Marcel. He slowly pushed his way forward, forcing the guards to move down.
He watched as several of Andreani's men began to lower their weapons. "Let's discuss this in a civilized manner," he heard Samantha's attempt to regain control of the situation, although she was slightly breathless. "At least let us come down off the staircase and we can sort this out."
The former CIA agent was just beginning to think that there was still hope that with Samantha's help, they would get out of this clean. The French mercenaries had allowed them and the Kazakhstani's guards to descend onto the terrace, although they were still blocking the entrance back into the guesthouse.
But that hope was dashed in seconds when he saw Fiona and the bald older man who had greeted her at the airfield emerge onto the balcony and enter into the middle of the armed standoff.
The former guerilla almost skidded to a stop, her wide eyes taking in the scene before and then as her instincts took over, her hand going to the handle of the gun in her waistband. In at that moment, Michael's heart lurched in his chest, because as she brought her weapon to bare, he realized he wasn't the only one to have registered the newcomers.
Directly in front of him, one of the Samantha's men was turning his classic AK-74 onto what he now perceived to be a new enemy.
"Fiona!"
He forgot all about his cover, as he reacted without thinking, shoving the soldier before him off to the side and then while he had the man unbalanced, the dark-haired ex-spy grabbed the muzzle of the rifle, ensuring when the bullet left the barrel it went harmlessly into the ground rather than at his beloved.
The action caused the startled security guard, who was in no way expecting an assault from the man he was supposed to be guarding, to discharge a short burst of deadly fire, the noise, the heat and the flare drawing all the attention in their direction immediately.
It's always best to have arguments unarmed. When tempers are high and everyone's got a gun, you never know what's going to set someone off.
And just as one shot often instigates another, as the first bullets sent debris and shrapnel from the tiles to ricochet towards the Armand's men, other bullets, this time fired by one of the Frenchmen, flew true and found its target.
The man next to him became dead weight, pulling him backwards as he heard both Samantha and Fiona shouting… was one of them hurt or were they yelling at him…? Then a white-hot lance of pain set him afire, spreading from his arm into his chest and Michael suddenly realized he was the one who had been shot. It was as if everything had been slowed down for the ex-operative as he fell towards the hard surface, tangled in the limbs of one of Samantha's security detail, blood then spattering into his face.
As the unforgiving marble surface met the back of his skull and made him see stars before everything went black, there was one voice above all the others which were shouting out for the combatants to stand down, and that one voice was screaming out his name in an agony that matched the pain he felt.
And then he felt nothing at all.