Stone of the Heart
The Contest
Once she was safely out of sight, Michael joined Denny outside the barn curious as to the woman's identity. "And that was...?"
Murphy shuddered. "Fiona Glenanne. Nasty piece of work. She'll shoot ya as sure as look at ya she will." He grew silent as he thought about his own encounters with her, as well as the stories he had heard about the woman.
"And her connection to you? I saw the guns. Is she a dealer? A collector? A PIRA volunteer?" Michael probed the man for information, becoming increasingly irritated by his silence. The man had talked practically nonstop since Michael arrived. Now that he actually had something worthwhile to speak about, he said nothing.
Denny was most reticent to divulge anything he knew about that one. She guarded her privacy well and those who crossed her often found themselves the target of her revenge. He swallowed hard as he tried to come up with a tale that would satisfy the American and keep his body intact.
Michael's patience was wearing thin by this point. "You do know how this works. Right? You give us information. We give you the chance to live somewhere with fewer bombs and bullets. That's what you wanted, or do I have that wrong?" Michael confronted his asset, demanding answers. Murphy sighed heavily, then nodded his head slightly. "Good. Now let's try this again. The woman - who is she? A volunteer?"
This time Denny answered without hesitation. "Volunteer? Hell, she's headed to being quartermaster, she is. Part of the Belfast Brigade. Started out as a bomber mostly but moved along in the command." Denny shook his head. "Bit of a wild card, that one. Never quite sure what may give offence. She has a short fuse like some of the gifts she gave the Brits up north." He chuckled over that last bit.
"Quartermaster? So she has access to the weapon supply?" Michael needed to know more.
"Access? She practically controls the whole bloody lot for West Belfast. Heard she has a wee side business set up for herself, as well. She doesn't go through me for her big deals, which suits me fine. The less I have to deal with the she-devil the better, right so."
Michael was intrigued, "Does she deal with Hannon?" A surge of excitement was felt as he thought he had found a more direct connection to his target.
"Dunno, McBride. She didn't give me a copy of her customer list. Maybe ya should head up to Belfast and ask her yerself." He turned as he prepared to get back to work. He now had four additional Barrett rifles to smuggle out of the country.
The American weighed his options. The current situation was delivering few results. Denny Murphy appeared to be a worthy asset on paper, but the reality was vastly different. The woman's appearance had opened up some new possibilities. If Denny was telling the truth, the woman had first hand knowledge of the IRA weapons stockpile and possibly a direct line to Hannon. It was a promising lead, one worth pursuing. Although he was supposed to remain here until he had concrete details, until Card gave him the order to move northward, he couldn't let this lead slip away. He had done more with less information than this. Michael smiled as he made his decision. He thought he just might follow Murphy's sage advice. It was time to head north to Belfast and see if he could become better acquainted with Fiona Glenanne.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Within a few days he found himself nursing a pint of Guinness in The Black Sand Pub, a dingy little place in the Lower Falls area of Belfast. It was a local frequented by more fervent Republican supporters so it was a good opportunity to introduce himself to the community. Luckily, he recognised a few men who had conducted business with Murphy recently so he was readily acknowledged, his presence met with few queries.
Michael McBride surveyed the crowd. The crowd was primarily male, the talk centred on football and women. The same sort of discussion was heard in bars throughout the world. The difference here, as in any war zone, is that a bomb could make a surprise entry at any moment. This was a risk the spy was willing to take. He thought this place might be his best chance of sighting Ms. Glenanne again.
He didn't have to wait long. A boisterous group burst through the door. They had a look of a team returning from an op, a sight he knew only too well. The five men and one woman, the woman he sought, were deep in debate. The barman poured shots of the pure for each before they even reached the counter.
"Suppose you could've been faster, do ya?" A beefy Irishman asked the question, a look of amusement on his face as his question was directed at the only female in the team.
"No doubt I do. If I hadn't been settin' the charge, I'd have done the deed far quicker. You're slow, Ruairi, and not just with a gun!" Her smile reflected both a bit of ribbing along with a heavy dose of truth. Her words met with laughter from those around them, the other patrons joining in.
A voice rang out, "She's got ya there, man!"
The focus of the jab turned scarlet as his skills and intellect appeared to be challenged. A flash of anger prompted him to throw down the gauntlet. "Slow am I? Care to put yer money where yer mouth is, Glenanne? Say, fifty quid?
"Can ya afford to lose it? I'd not want to be the cause of your wee ones goin' hungry?" The petite woman was not cowed and the stage was set for a showdown.
Ruairi just smiled as the table was prepared - a bottle of whiskey and two larger tumblers. The onlookers quickly placed their own bets while the combatants took their places, dismantling their weapons, and then setting them on the table before them. Michael watched intently as the scene played out before him.
The two sat across from one another. Each threw down three generous shots in succession 'to get the juices flowing' according to the enterprising bookie holding the impromptu wagers. The American looked on fearing the deck was stacked against the woman. The man had at least a foot of height and a hundred pounds on his opponent. Surely, the alcohol would affect both but the big man would likely tolerate it slightly better. The woman poured herself an additional shot, drinking it quickly, slamming the glass down. It was accompanied by a sigh of satisfaction loudly voiced. "Shall we get started afore ya lose your nerve?" One more taunt was hurled and the game was ready to begin.
The spy examined his target remembering all that he read in the file Tom Card was able to supply. Belfast born and bred. Father a known Republican dissident with a long affiliation with the IRA. Sister shot and killed by the British back in the 80's. Believed to be an active PIRA volunteer. Suspected involvement in several bombings on both sides of the border. The list continued. What he saw before him confirmed many of the details noted therein. She was a serious player, his smile brightened as he secretly rooted for her victory.
The betting ceased and the crowd hushed waiting for the signal to begin. "Go!" The smiles vanished as the shots of courage disappeared and both set to their task. The woman worked methodically, completely unrattled by the cheers and jeers of those surrounding the pair. Her nimble fingers putting each component in place with ease, her face showing no signs of pressure or worry. Then, it was done. Her weapon was now completely assembled, the chamber empty. She rose immediately, pushed back her chair, pulled the trigger, and proclaimed her victory. "You're a dead man." She revelled in her victory, a smile on her face. "Now pay up!"
The vanquished just laughed needing to restore some of his lost pride. "You want yer money, you'll have to take it from me."
Fiona was not one to ignore a challenge. "All right, I will." The petite winner did just that, contorting his massive frame with a few easy moves, pinning him to the table as he writhed in pain. He produced his cash, raising it toward her, and was then released. "Think ya dislocated me arm!"
"Just be glad it weren't your head." She counted her purse, stuffing the cash into the pocket of her jeans. The crowd roared with laughter and the side bets were soon settled.
It took a great deal to impress the American spy but she had done it. "Who's the girl?" He asked the barman a question that he already knew the answer to but it was a necessary tactical move. It had to appear that he was clueless as to her identity or it would compromise his eventual approach.
"Fiona Glenanne." The barman shook his head, saying her name disparagingly. "Trouble of the worst kind. Believe me lad you won't be wanting any of that." But of course, he did. Trouble was not something he feared. In fact, he often headed directly in its path. He caught himself staring and as she passed by, their eyes met, longer than either of them intended. He continued to watch her as she approached another at a table at the far corner of the room, a glass of wine waiting for her there.
The barman noticed the new man's interest was a wee too keen. Everyone knew that Fiona was involved with Cormac O'Brien, a man with a temper and good with a gun, an often dangerous combination. Poor man was likely to catch a bullet if he kept up this prolonged watch. "Besides, she's taken." He added that last tidbit before he walked away. Hopefully, that would put an end to it and he pulled several pints for awaiting customers.
As Fiona headed toward the back she felt the stranger's eyes following her every move. The Falls community was a tight, often insular group. Newcomers were often intimidated and prone to make their stay at the pub a short one. But here was a man that looked completely comfortable in this locale, daring to be noticed. And notice, she did!
Cormac barked into his phone as she sat down, a smile welcoming her. He wasn't a bad sort, just a bit dull; the first flames of passion were merely embers now. Fiona kept glancing at the man at the bar who kept his gaze focused in her direction. She was intrigued by the man. There was something in his eyes that spoke to her. Turning her attention back to her paramour she knew in her heart that this relationship had run its course. It was time to move on.
"Sorry, love. Needed to get a few things sorted. Did it go all right?" Before waiting for an answer, he switched topics. "You sorted Rauiri there right enough!" A hearty laugh followed as he raised his glass in salute to her.
"It was a good night all around, I suppose. I'm a few quid richer and that bank we hit tonight is significantly poorer." Their glasses clinked.
"That's my girl!" It was a simple enough statement but it prodded her into beginning a difficult conversation. My girl. Cormac had unknowingly said just the wrong thing.
Michael watched the couple as they talked. The man could pose a serious complication to his plan. It was difficult enough recruiting an asset, gaining trust. It was nearly impossible if the target in question was 'involved' unless he resorted to blackmail of some kind, which was not his preferred modus operandi. He wondered how serious the relationship was but was encouraged by her continued glances in his direction. Maybe there was an opening there after all?
The barman noting the empty glass in front of Michael asked, "Another then?" Receiving a nod of affirmation, he began to pour, the process of pulling a pint properly was a drawn out affair giving him an opportunity to school the man before he got his head blown off. "Good thing Cormac's got his back to ya with all the puppy dog eyes yer makin' at his bird. Take my advice, don't go there. He's likely to shoot ya. She's likely to blow you up. Not worth it, mate. Like I said, she's taken."
Just then, Fiona Glenanne leaned over to her now former lover, placing a light kiss on his cheek and giving the man at the bar one more glance before standing up. She turned away hurriedly walking out the door with conviction, comfortable with the decision made. Michael watched her every move. He broke into an even wider grin as she left the bar never looking backward. "Taken? You see that? That's the kiss you give when it's over." The barman followed his gaze seeing that Fiona Glenanne appeared to be newly single. Michael McBride would find away to win her over. Michael Westen was actually looking forward to the task.