Who We Once Were.
A/N: First of all I'd like to thank you for all the lovely reviews for this story, I appreciate each one. Also special thanks to the wonderful Jedi Skysinger and the amazing Amanda Hawthorn who have read though this chapter for me and extra thanks to Jedi Skysinger for her BETA skills.
Now please don't be annoyed with me, but I have made the decision to turn this story into a three part adventure. This second part had become a mammoth thirteen thousand word monster and still wasn't finished so I thought it would be easier to read if I split into two. The final part is nearly complete, and should be ready to post by tomorrow.
x
Belfast November 98
part two. Questions and Answers.
Michael leaned forward, bracing himself with his hands against the white tiled wall of Jeannie Donahue's bathroom while hot water from the shower head rained down over his naked body, washing away a layer of sweat along with little bits of box conifer which had got trapped in his hair and inside his clothes. Breathing out a long heartfelt sigh, he silently prayed for an escape from the hell he found himself in.
It turned out that Jeannie Donahue had a lot more in common with his own mother than bottle blond hair and a love of cheap cigarettes. He didn't know if it was Fiona's perverse sense of humor or Jeannie, just like Madeline Westen, having a natural affinity for manipulation. But whatever it was, within an hour of stepping over the threshold of the over heated house, he was stepping back outside into the cold armed with a set of wooden stepladders and hedging shears.
"Thank ya so much, Fiona." The damn woman even had the nerve to thank Fiona for sending him out to bring order to the overgrown hedge marking the boundary to her front garden. "I swear Liam promised ta send somebody round ta do it fer me, but ya know how busy he is, tha poor man."
He had wanted to drop their bags off with Fiona's relative and get out on the streets to start the search for the six men he had on his list of suspects. He knew how critical this mission was and there was so little time; he had to find a bomb maker who might not even be one of the men on his list and neutralize him, his gang and any explosives he found, and he had to accomplish it all within a week.
Instead he had been stuck as if in a time warp doing household chores for a needy blonde. When he'd finally finished manicuring the out of control bushes, Fiona had joined him outside and helped him put away the ladders and shears. Seemingly overjoyed at his anger at the delay in starting the assignment, her fingers had worked loose the buttons on his jacket so her hands had free rein to drift over his body
"Ya need ta get cleaned up. We're goin' ta help Jeannie with har collections t'night," she had told him while grinning like a Cheshire cat.
Filled with indignation and frustration at all the delays she had put in his path, he'd opened his mouth to demand an explanation to what game was she playing, when she'd stopped his words with a soft kiss.
"Shhh!" she'd whispered, before leaning in closer and standing on her tiptoes so she could nip his earlobe. "Aunty Jeannie collects all tha protection money fram tha pubs along tha Falls."
Stepping back, she'd looked up at him expectantly and was rewarded when his scowl turned into a broad smile. He'd actually felt a little bit guilty for doubting her. She had just given them the perfect cover to visit all the pubs in one of the areas they had to search. It would also get his face seen amongst the locals as a trusted employee of one of the Cause's major fund raisers.
With his hair squeaky clean and free of greenery and the sweat washed off his body, Michael reached out and switched off the shower before stepping out of the bath. Grabbing a towel, he quickly dried himself off and, after a shave, he headed back to the room Jeannie had designated as his bedroom. It was the small room next to her main bedroom at the front of the house. Inside there was just enough room for a single bed and an ancient wardrobe with a full length mirror on one of the doors.
Fifteen minutes later, he was almost ready for a night out touring the bars of Belfast as the bodyguard to an official PIRA fund raiser. Staring critically at his reflection in the wardrobe mirror, he double checked his appearance. For a night out on the Falls Road, he wore black laced boots, black heavy cotton chino pants, his belt buckle decorated with an image of the Irish flag accompanied by a blue pinstriped shirt which hung untucked with an open collar. Around his neck hung a heavy gold rope chain and on his right hand a gold Saint Christopher signet ring. His dark hair was brushed straight back, giving him a severe look.
Satisfied with his appearance, he reached for his Sig Sauer P228 handgun, which was laying on the bed, when he heard the front door slam shut followed immediately by the sound of rapid footsteps on the stairs. He barely had time to straightened up when his bedroom door was flung open.
"So d'ya wan' ta thank me now," Fiona grinned at him as she stepped through the door. "Or d'ya wan' ta leave it 'til later when we're back home an ya can do a proper job o' it?" She kicked the door shut behind her.
"Fiona?" Michael warily watched her predatory stalk in his direction. "Wha' about -"
She cut him off with a hard demanding kiss, her mouth sealing over his as her momentum forced him back against the wardrobe. As the kiss finished, he cupped her shoulders and eased her back so he could see her face.
"Your aunt said we -" He tried to remind her of Jeannie Donahue's very strict rules on their sleeping arrangements. The last thing he needed now was to lose the good faith of his ticket to acceptance in the local republican community.
"She's run outta cigarettes, so she's off down tha corner shop ta buy some more." She knocked his hands away and reached for his belt. "She'll be gone fer at least a quarter of an hour." Her eyes sparkled. "Wha's the matter, Michael? I thought ya liked taking risks?" The belt and his pants were undone.
"Think about t'night. War gonna find tha men yer lookin' fer." Her tongue flickered out to wet her luscious lips, while her hand reached inside his pants to rub across his growing erection. "An' then we can track em back t' whar thar stayin'."
He groaned wordlessly as his pants and boxers were pushed down and her warm soft hand wrapped around his flesh.
"An' we get tham alone an' force 'em ta tell us whar thar hiding all thar nasty lil' bombs." She was panting now, her eyes wide and full of temptation as she stared up at him. "Don't it just make ya hot thinkin' about all tha'? An' we have ten lil' minutes left ta cool down."
He smiled down at her his fingers tangling in her long mane of reddish brown hair. "Ten minutes?"
He pulled her closer before roughly spinning her around so her back was pressed up against the bedroom door, his leg pushing between hers, nudging them apart. As they kissed, his free hand worked it's way under the light filmy white silk top she was wearing to cup her breast through her bra.
"Ar' ya sure she'll be gone tha' long?" Michael queried, his voice rough with passion.
"Mebbe we shouldn't waste time talkin'" she answered, pushing his pants and boxers lower still as he set to work on her pants and thong.
Only going as far as taking one leg out of her trousers, his hand glided down her thigh and then raised the limb high up on to his hip. Stroking the curve of her buttock, he lifted her slightly as she guided him into her center.
It was fast and furious, the thrill of being caught sending both of them into a frenzy. Moaning in ecstasy as he slid into her warmth, feeling her tight muscles yield to form a sheath about him, Michael pushed deeper, slamming her back against the door. Her nails scraped through his hair and over his shoulders, her ragged breath on his neck urging him on as he took them both towards the heights of euphoria.
Just as he felt a wave of heat and her muscles pulse about him, she drew him into a fervent kiss, her strong fingers holding him to her as his legs shook and he followed over into bliss. They paused, locked together while their breathing slowed, clinging to each as if they would never let go.
"We should get cleaned up," Michael eventually found his voice.
Pressing a soft tender kiss to Fiona's bruised lips, he took a shaky step away from her just as they heard the sound of the wrought iron gate being pushed open below them.
They were still straightening up their clothes and hair when the front door opened and the clack of Jeannie's heels could be heard on the linoleum floor of the narrow hallway. With a pleased smirk gracing his features, Michael took a few seconds to run a comb through his hair before sliding out through his bedroom door and lightly running downstairs.
As he reached the bottom, Jeannie came out of the kitchen and stopped to look him up and down through what he now realized was the constant haze of smoke which followed her around.
"Whar's Fiona?" she asked suspiciously.
"Toilet," he answered ducking his head.
"Huh..." The look on Jeannie's face told him she knew exactly what they had been doing. "So, ya know wha yer doin' t'night? I've heard good things about ya off tha family... Sean especially, already thinks o' ya like a brother... But have ya done any o' this strong arm stuff befer? Thar don' look ta be enough o' ya."
"I can look after meself, Mi – Jeannie. Ya don' have a t'ing ta be worrying about."
"Tha's right, aunty." Fiona came down the stairs. "Michael is very good at wha' he does... Aren't ya, Michael?"
They left the house and, to Michael's surprise, they set off on foot along the street making their way onto the Falls Road and then straight into the first pub they came to. Staying in the background, Michael scanned the bars patrons, but didn't see any of the men he was looking for.
Fiona accompanied her aunt as the older woman talked to the owner, smiling sweetly and laughing in all the right places. Then after fifteen minutes, the owner handed her a thick, long rectangular envelope and they left. Similar versions of the same thing happened in the next nine pubs they visited. In each one, all Michael was required to do was stand back and look menacing. For him, it was the perfect cover. By the end of the night, everybody was going to have heard about Jeannie Donahue's new bodyguard.
By ten o'clock, Fiona was holding a case filled with close to twenty thousand pounds. They escorted Jeannie to hand off the money to one of the IRA's henchmen who pulled up in a limousine with blacked out windows. Passing the case through an open rear window, the car pulled away without a word having been spoken.
After the car drove away, Jeannie turned to smile at the younger couple. "Am goin' ta have a coupla drinks wid me friends in town. You two mind yar selves har?"
They walked through the streets with Fiona's arm linked through Michael's, ignoring the groups of teenagers hanging out on the street corners as she took him away from the Falls Road where Jeannie did all her 'fund raising' and over onto the Springfield housing estate where she knew at least some of the Real IRA supporters used to live.
It had been a hot, late summer's night that a large group of Provisional IRA supporters had got together and driven all members of the Real IRA out of the area. Their presence after the Omagh bombing had brought too much police and army attention to the area, which in turn had had a detrimental effect on all the criminal activities that help fill the PIRA coffers. But since the cease fire, some of those RIRA members had quietly returned home.
They went from pub to pub on the Springfield estate, but nobody had much to say to Liam Glenanne's little sister or her quiet brooding boyfriend. They saw a few of the low level foot soldiers of the RIRA, but none of them were on Michael's list and, according to Fiona, none of them would be trusted with details of a bombing campaign.
It was as they were entering the fifth bar that Fiona spotted Mickey Sullivan, a short wiry man in his thirties who had been trying to prove himself to the leadership of the RIRA. He had been part of a small group who had attempted to steal arms from one of her brother Seamus' weapons dumps shortly after the split between the groups. Sully, as he was known, was higher up than a mere soldier, but not one of the top men either. He was what Michael would call a middle manager.
As soon as she saw Sully, Fiona dragged Michael back out of sight, her eyes alight with mischief. "I think I can get us some answers. Go wait around by tha backdoor, I'll get tha little rat ta come ta ya."
Michael peered into the bar. It was busy and loud. The man they were after appeared to be on his own. Finally he turned to her, his expression deadly serious.
"Be careful." And then he was gone to wait by the back door.
With a smile curving her lips, she fixed her gaze on her target and walked swiftly towards him. As Mickey Sullivan caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye, he stiffened, looked again, realized she was coming straight at him and bolted towards the toilets and the back door.
Hitting the emergency exit bar, Sullivan shot through the doors and straight into the waiting arms of Michael McBride.
"Please, please, fer tha love o' God, Miss Glenanne, I wa' told I could come hame," the man wailed as Michael threw him hard up against a row of dumpsters and Fiona quietly pulled the door to the bar shut behind her.
"I'm not after ya, Sully, so stop yar wailin'," Fiona scolded. "I'm after some information... I noticed thar's a few o' yar Real IRA fellers sneaking back hame. I wan' ta know whose hidin' around har?"
"I can nae tell ya thot. They'll kill me."
"What do ya think I'll do ta ya?" Her hand gun seemed to come out of nowhere.
"Aw, sweet Jay-sus... I jus' wanted ta come hame."
Fiona cocked the gun and pointed it at the RIRA man's head. "Yer traitor scum, Sully. Ya tried ta steal fram me brudder's arms dump. Wha' d'ya think is goin' ta happen when he gets hold o' ya?"
"Shite! Please don't be tellin' ham I'm har. Fer tha love o' God, he'll murder me, so he will."
"So talk," Fiona answered bluntly, then looked over at where Michael stood to one side watching. "McBride, d'ya think ya could give Seamus a call an' tell -"
"Carberry!" Sullivan yelped. "Jack Carberry. He's stayin in tha Divis at his sister's, an' S-Sean Monaghan. I saw ham las' week o'er by tha Springfield Post Office. Tha's all I know."
"Well, yer not much use then, are ya?" she growled, getting ready to kill the man.
Michael stepped in and picked Sullivan up from where he was grovelling on the ground only to throw him against the brick wall of the pub.
"Sweetheart." He turned to Fiona. "I get cha want ta kill ham. I wan' tha same me self, but think about tha noise an' then we'd have ta dump tha body - - an' clear up all tha blood. Is he worth all tha trouble?"
Fiona pretended to think about it, but then went back to pointing the gun at Sully. "He'll talk."
"I won't, I swear I won't," Sullivan babbled, cowering back against the wall in fear. "Who would I tell? If they find out I spoke to ya, they'll kill me."
"So, wha' d'ya think?" Michael asked.
"Let ham go," Fiona ordered reluctantly.
Michael instantly grabbed the snivelling man by his collar and slammed him into the wall again, this time holding him there by pushing the end of his gun hard into Sullivan's temple. "Ya leave har now," he snarled. "Cos tha next time I see ya, I'll end ya."
Sullivan bolted as soon as he was let go.
"Ya think he'll warn them?" Michael asked as he watched the Irishman disappear around a corner.
"No, he's too scared... Carberry is on yar list. Setting up surveillance on tha Divis is gonna be near impossible."
Hearing the sound of footsteps coming their way and not wanting to explain what they were doing around the back of the pub, Michael suddenly grabbed hold of Fiona, enfolding her in his arms as he kissed her, his hands dropping to fondle and grope her buttocks.
She stiffened and he tensed, waiting to feel her fists or maybe her feet lay into him, when she realized what he's doing and her own arms grabbed him in a similar manner as she deepened the kiss even further.
"Get a room, why dontcha?" A drunken shout followed by other more graphic instructions on what he should do came from the group who passed by.
Grinning at each other, they stay pressed up against one another until the drunks were gone and then separated to head back the Jeannie's.
()
The following morning, Michael woke up alone in his single bed to the smell of a full Irish breakfast being cooked. It was something he still had trouble with even after nearly two years. Why did so many Irishmen love to eat a breakfast swimming in grease?
Quickly pulling on some clothes, he made a stop in the bathroom and then headed slowly downstairs. Dodging the Jeannie's yapping little dogs, which had at least stopped trying to nip at his ankles every time he moved.
"Ah, about time ya war up." Jeannie gently scolded from where she stood piling food onto a large plate. "Sit ya self down an' I'll bring yar brekkie through."
Even at seven in the morning, her make-up was in place and a cigarette was clenched between her lips. He wondered briefly how much cigarette ash had gone into the meal set before him.
"Thank ya, Mrs." He smiled up at her and then attacked his breakfast with gusto. However much he hated the heavy fat-filled food, he didn't show it on his face nor in his actions. Truth be told he had eaten far worse in the foothills of Bosnia.
Pushing away the now empty plate, Michael realized somebody was missing. "Whar's Fiona?"
"She's gone out ta have a look at sommit fer me... She'll be back soon... She tells me yer off sight seeing today... Ya wan' ta see whar she grew up?"
Michael nodded, curious about where Fiona was, but knowing better than to ask questions. "We wanted ta get away fer a few days."
"Seems like it's serious between tha two o' ya?" She picked up his plate and turned to go back into the kitchen. "Ya look after tha' girl."
Before he could answer, he was interrupted by the creak of the wrought iron gate and, when he got up to look out of the window, he saw Fiona pulling onto the drive in a bright red Lotus Esprit sports car.
"See I tol' ya she would nae be long," Jeannie said as she came to his side. "Now, why dontcha be a good boy and stick tha car in tha garage fer me while I talk ta Fi."
()
An hour later, after Fiona and Jeannie had finished being in conference in the kitchen, Fiona took Michael over to the Divis estate. Parking up across the opposite side of the main road, she gave him his first view of the tall tower block.
"Tha army has a look-out post on tha roof an' has control o' tha top two floors. They fly in an' out usin' a chopper; it's tha only safe way fer em ta bring in supplies an' troops. Fram up thar they can see tha whole area an' it means we pull off anything, thar's gonna be a chopper in tha air within minutes an' tha fellas on watch will be able ta direct tha ground troops straight at our position."
Michael nodded, he already knew this from the MI6 file.
"An' of course thar's another problem. Everybody knows everybody else round har. If word gets back ta Carberry thot somebody is askin' questions, he'll smell a rat an' we'll never see ham again."
Michael clenched his jaw and let his head fall back against the headrest. After a moment, he opened his eyes. "He won' be building his bombs har. If everybody knows everybody else's business, he wouldn't wan' ta risk an informer tellin' tha cops or those army boys. We have ta find out whar he goes an' if I can, I'd like ta get a bug on ham."
Fiona nodded and sighed. "Did I ever tell ya how much I hate surveillance?"
"Only every time we have to do some." He looked at his watch. "We don't know which flat is his, or when he's due to come out an' if we sit here too long, we'll be spotted... How about we come back later. Hang out in tha local bar an' see if we can spot ham or any of his friends."
Fiona thought about it for a few seconds and then turned to Michael. "Sully said Carberry is stayin' wid his sister. Mary works in a hairdressers off Lisburn Street. How about I go an have a few words wid har?"
"Wha' d'ya mean by a few words?" Michael asked warily.
Fiona fiddled with her hair, looking at the ends. "I'll call in fer a trim. Ya know wha' we girls are like... We love a wee bit o' gossip."
By the end of the morning, Fiona had discovered Jack Carberry had been arrested a week earlier. On his second night back in his home town, he had beaten his brother-in-law to a pulp after getting drunk. It had been Mary who had called the police on him and she didn't care what anybody thought of her informing on her sibling. She was glad to see the back of her little brother.
The joy of thinking they had found their bomber was crushed in that instant. Michael frowned and then pulled himself back together. This wasn't over. They still had days to complete the assignment. He just had to find another lead before he checked in with Richard Chambers. He looked over at Fiona. This assignment had to be a success.
This wasn't over. He looked up at her. "We have to find Monaghan. Where's the Springfield Post Office?"
"Not far, but if we go thar now, we'll just be driving around."
He nodded his agreement but then stopped and looked closer at her. There was something in her tone that was arousing his suspicions. "Fiona?"
She huffed and sighed before turning in her seat to face him. "One o' tha bars thot pay Jeannie fer protection wa' raided last night. I wa' lookin' in ta it this morning, an' I need ta go back this afternoon ta meet up wid tha local unit commander."
"No!" He shook his head, seeing all sorts of problems developing. "Fi, you can't be involved in this when -"
"It's tha man's livelihood, Michael! And he pays good money so things like this don' happen."
She was going to ruin everything. If she couldn't concentrate on one thing at a time, his own people would never accept her as an official asset. Some poor guy losing his business was bad, but what they were doing was far more important. Swallowing thickly, he stared into her eyes and saw the broad stubborn streak he was so fond of staring back at him.
"Fine," he gritted the word out, making sure she knew things were definitely not fine. "You go sort out your Aunt's problem, I'll go through everything we have on Monaghan. Maybe there's something that will help."
"You could come with me?" she asked in a quiet tone.
"If you need me, I'll come and help. But my job has to take -"
"Fine, Michael... Ya should watcha accent. ya keep lettin' it slip." She turned away to concentrate on driving, letting him know as far as she was concerned the matter was closed.
With Fiona and Jeannie off to speak to the local Provo commander, Michael had the house to himself. Making a cup of tea, he settled down in his bedroom with MI6 file. Pulling out the photograph of Sean Monaghan, he stared at the face glaring back at him. The man was in his fifties and had been a hard line member of the Provisional IRA and had changed his loyalties to the new organization without a hint of remorse.
Monaghan was suspected of being one of the engineers who built the home-made mortars the RIRA used in several attacks. Chewing on his lower lip, Michael searched through the rest of the documents trying to find any more information. But it seemed MI6 had decided to leave the bulk of intelligence gathering to him.
The only other thing he found was the address of Monaghan's aged parents, who were both in poor health. If the RIRA terrorist had come back to the area, it was probably to look after them. Turning to his street map, he noted that there was a pub within easy walking distance of the parent's house. That was where they would start the search.
()
The Red Bull Pub was a small place with a sticky linoleum floor which looked and felt like it hadn't been cleaned for weeks, if not months. The bar was old ornate dark wood with room for maybe four people to stand. There was seating along each side of the room, four tables and at each table three chairs with torn stained red velvet seats. The place was a complete and utter dive.
As they walked the few steps to the bar, they were both aware of the eyes of the six locals who were at present following their progress. Ignoring the looks, the couple strode confidently up to where the tired and world weary barman waited to serve them.
"A gin and tonic fer tha lady and a pint o' yar best fer me," Michael ordered the drinks.
An hour later, the place had begun to get very crowded and rowdy. They stayed in the corner, close to the bar where anybody wanting a drink had to come into their sights. The noise and the smoke from nearly every one of the thirty or forty people packed in to the small place smoking had Michael wishing he could give up.
Then Fiona tapped his arm and directed his gaze to two men who were pushing their way through the crowd.
"Monaghan," she hissed the name into his ear, "and look who he's with... Thar's John Kelly. He murdered two Brit soldiers wid a land mine jus' befer tha cease fire. Thar's a lotta people who would be very happy if he caught a bullet... Tha UDF retaliated by shootin' up a pub in Derry, killed eight men an' a woman who worked thar."
Leaning over as if giving her a kiss, he whispered in her ear. "It looks like we have a winner."
She smiled up at him, a shiver running up her spine as his breath tickled her ear. "I tol' ya, I'd find yar targets."
It wasn't long before Monaghan and Kelly were joined by two more men, neither who were on the MI6 list of suspects or known to Fiona. Remaining in the corner, they played the part of a couple just out for a night, while all the time keeping watch on the quartet. A couple of times people came over to talk to them, showing Fiona respect asking after her family. Each time she introduced him as her boyfriend Michael McBride and then gently made it clear they wanted to left alone.
The sound of the last orders bell ringing out and the sudden rush for the bar was the perfect chance for Fiona and Michael to leave the pub unnoticed. Outside they settled into the shadows of a dark shop doorway.
With his back against the reinforced shutters, Michael could keep an eye on everybody who came out of the bar, while Fiona did her best to test his tactical resolve as she set about enjoying herself. Grinding up against him she opened several buttons on his shirt, her fingers lightly skimming over the exposed skin of his chest and torso while her mouth lay feather-light kisses to his throat and chin.
"Why dontcha leave these boys ta the Provo? One phone call is it all it would take, an' d'ya know how many favors they'd owe us if we gave 'em Kelly?" She pinched his nipples and ran her tongue along his lips.
"Fi – Fiona I – I have to -" he swallowed and stopped talking as she carefully raised her leg between his to rub her knee against his balls.
"We're supposed ta be making out," she reminded him and nipped his shoulder.
Suddenly he kissed her back, cradling her head in between his hands as his tongue forced it's way between her lips to lay claim to her mouth. She sagged in his arms as he overpowered her, but then, just as sudden as the kiss began, it ended and she almost fell when he let go of her.
"C'mon, Fi." He stepped out from the door way. "Or we'll lose ham."
Staying well back, they followed Monaghan until he disappeared down a dark narrow alley way. Guessing that the terrorist was checking for a tail, they walked past wrapped in each others arms. Michael was happy enough that his target was heading in the direction of his elderly parents' home.
With nothing more to do, they strolled back to Jeannie's house, cuddling up against each other for warmth. All the way, Fiona talked with excitement about getting her hands on the man who caused so much grief with his hatred of the British. She hated them too, but to commit acts which would cause such a retaliation, she hated the Real IRA more.
"I think we'll go back ta tha pub tomorra, an' I'll get ears on 'em... Maybe plant a tracker, too. It should be easy enough. Tha place was crowded."
Fiona didn't reply, but he could feel her disapproval in the way she slightly drew away from him. Pursing his lips, he pulled her close, but after a moment she brought them both to a stop and stood in front of him.
Under the dim street lights, she looked up at him her expression pleading with him to see sense. "If ya plant any of yar fancy electronics on Monaghan or Kelly an they find tham, they'll be gone in less than thirty minutes... We should just shoot 'em an' be done wid it."
His shoulders slumped and he sighed. "If we shoot tham, tha bombs would still be out thar... Can we just do this my way?"
She shook her head. He obviously didn't get how especially dangerous John Kelly was. There was no way he would be taken alive. It would be in everybody's best interest for the evil sociopath to die a preferably painful death.
"We should call Pat O'Connor. He's the local unit commander." She tried one last time to make him see sense, her heart dropping when he shook his head. With a frustrated huff, she gave up. "Well, har's hoping tha bloodthirsty bastids are daft enough not ta check thar pockets."
Michael relaxed and a soft gentle smile changed his whole expression. "I've done this befer, Fi. I know wha' I'm doin'." He brushed a few strands of hair away from her face, tucking them behind her ear, his fingers continuing to trail down her neck until his hand stopped over her heart. "Trust me, darlin'?"
She nodded, knowing he would do things his way regardless of her advice. Slipping back next to him, she wrapped her arm around his waist. "I trust yer Michael, an' when John Kelly has a shotgun ta yar head, I'll be sure ta remind ya abou' dis conversation."
()
The following day, Michael was up early. He had a lot of things to do. One of the first was to get out and make a call to Richard Chambers. He needed to report in on his progress and request the bugging and tracking equipment he was going to need for tonight. After consuming another grease filled breakfast ,he informed Jeannie that he and Fiona were going to be out for the whole day.
"So, whar are ya off ta today?" Jeannie asked.
"Shopping," Fiona butted in with a big grin. "Michael is gonna spend tha whole day helpin' me shop."
"Oh aye?" Jeannie smirked. Turning her head slightly, she fixed Michael with a penetrating stare. "An' wha' have ya done ta deserve thot punishment, Boyo?"
"Nothin'..." He dropped his gaze to the floor.
"Nothin' we're talkin' about har," Fiona interrupted and pulled him towards the door.
()
After leaving Fiona to roam around the shops in Donegall Square, Michael went off to meet with his handler. He had already called Chambers on their way into the city center to inform him they had a real contender for the mystery bomb maker and the Englishman had agreed that even if Monaghan turned out not to be the man they were after, the fact he was working with another notorious killer was something that needed monitoring.
He found Chambers sitting casually sipping coffee inside a cafe on Arthur Street. Walking in, Michael looked around watching from the corner of his eye as Chambers stood up and walked briskly out leaving his newspaper on the table. Before any of the waiting staff could clean the table, Michael slipped into the vacated chair and picked up the abandoned copy of the Belfast Telegraph.
Ordering a coffee and a pastry, Michael carefully opened the paper and slipped the small anti-static bag containing four bugs and two trackers into his pocket. He also found a handwritten note amongst the pages.
The bugs have listening range of a mile, but stay close to the scene in case urgent action has to be taken. DO NOT give your Irish asset access to this equipment or the recordings. RC.
He drank half of the coffee and ate all of the pastry. Then while he waited for the bill to arrive, he tore the note into pieces before screwing it up into a ball and dropping it into the half full cup of cold coffee. Waiting until after the note turned to mush, he got up and paid the bill and made his way back to where Fiona was making her way through his latest paycheck.
As he walked along, pushing his way through the crowds of shoppers and tourists, he tried to work out the best way to let Fiona know she was out. He had decided the night before that he needed to distance her from the assignment. He was sure her hatred for John Kelly would eventually effect the mission. But how to tell her without getting his head blown off? That was going to be the tricky part.
He met up with her by the tall iron gates surrounding Belfast City Hall on the north side of Donegall Square, noting she already had five large plastic shopping bags hanging from her arms.
"Don't worry, Michael. I've bought ya sommit; it's not all fer me." She walked towards him, a big welcoming smile on her face. "An' I've bought Aunty Jean sommit nice fer letting us stay."
He grinned back, pulling her in for a kiss before taking the bags out of one of her hands and slipping his free arm over her shoulder. "We should get back. I wan' ta check out tha location. Getta feel fer tha area befer t'night."
Three hours later, Michael still hadn't told Fiona she was off the assignment and he knew he couldn't wait much longer. She had driven him around the area surrounding the Red Bull Pub and even helped him pick out the best spots where he could sit in a car and listen to the RIRA unit plot their upcoming bombing campaign. He knew the longer he left it, the worse it was going to be.
As they turned onto Jeannie's street, Michael gently laid his hand over the top of hers on the steering wheel. "Fiona, pull over... We need to talk."
Sitting there, he swallowed and took a courage boosting breath. "I've been ordered to go ahead alone." He paused, but she just stared at him through narrowed eyes, her body perfectly still. " And I agree with their analysis... You've been taking this way too personal." There he had said it. Now all he had to do was wait for the explosion.
"O' course I'm takin' this personally, Michael," she finally spoke. "Kelly and Monaghan are worse than animals." She glared at him, her expression both angry and hurt. "They need puttin' down."
"Fi – Fiona. They could have vital intel -"
She hit him, an open handed slap that rocked his head to the side and left a bright red imprint of a hand on his cheek. "I expect thot fram yer Brit friends," she spat the words out.
Rubbing his sore cheek, he blinked away the moisture building in his eyes from the blow. "Fi."
He tried to show her he was sorry, as he reached for her hand, but she would have none of it.
"Fine, Michael, ya go off an' play yer spy games."
She turned away from him to stare out the windshield and eased the car back onto the road.
"But don't ya be callin' me ter bail ya out when it all goes wrong."