Stone of the Heart
The Proposition
Michael sat at the bar as promised, watching the minutes tick by, hoping that she would appear. The hour was late and time was slipping away. He had mishandled the approach and likely lost a potentially valuable asset. Worse than that, he might never see her again. He told himself that his interest was purely related to the mission at hand; that she might provide the most direct route to Hannon. But his thoughts kept returning to the scent of her hair, the feel of her hand in his, the way she had looked into his eyes. He called for another pint as last orders were taken. She wasn't going to show. He had lost his chance.
The door of the pub swung open and Fiona Glenanne breezed through it. Her hair was up, soft tendrils framing her face, her red dress, short and tight. Michael's breath nearly stopped at the sight of her, drinking her in as she strode over to where he was perched. She took the seat beside him barely glancing his way. A drink appeared before her, the barman familiar with her usual. No words were said but Michael's smile spoke volumes.
"You look beautiful, Fiona." The compliment flowed easily from Michael McBride's lips.
Fiona reddened slightly at the compliment. "Don't be thinkin' this was for you, McBride," indicating her state of dress. "I had a date." It was an invitation she had accepted weeks ago. She had been looking forward to it but during dinner she found her mind wandering, remembering his eyes and the way she felt in his arms. She made her excuses and ended the evening early. As she hurriedly made her away from the city centre, she wondered how long he would wait. It was nearly closing time. She thought that she might have lost her chance to see him again. But, there he sat. Fiona was struck by two conflicting emotions as she entered the pub: relief that he was there and annoyance with herself that she cared.
"I wasn't sure you'd come." Michael turned toward her, his voice barely a whisper. She shrugged her shoulders and took a sip of her wine, slightly uncomfortable under his intense gaze.
"Well, I'm here." Her gaze continued forward. "Besides, you have my shoes. I'll be wantin' them back." A quick glance darted in his direction.
Michael flashed a wide smile. "I'll see what I can do." Just then the barman passed by, a smirk on his face as he made note of her last comment. Fiona understood that by tomorrow the whole neighbourhood would be thinking they had done the deed. The man would get credit for the conquest while she had none of the pleasure. That thought solidified her plan.
She threw off her unease and faced Michael, a coquettish smile appearing on her face. "Be a dear, will ya, and grab my compact in my purse there." A handbag was nestled on the floor beside her.
"Your compact?" Michael was unfamiliar with female beauty products.
"To powder my nose. It's a wee thing. Should be sittin' right on top but I dare not bend over so far in this dress." Fiona drew attention to her legs recalling his interest in them the night before. She held his gaze as he bent over rifling through the purse while keeping his eyes on her face, her smile drawing him in. His hand reached in and grabbed the object described. A smile accompanied this small victory. As he returned to an upright position, he glanced at the object that he held. Then, he closed his eyes momentarily cursing his stupidity.
Fiona held a mobile in her hand that he hadn't noticed before, so enthralled was he by her appearance. Her voice turned sultry and she leaned in closer. "That's a wee block of C-4 you're holdin' in your hand there, McBride. This," indicating the mobile, "is a detonator. I'll hear ya out, but if I don't like your answers..." She didn't need to finish her sentence. Michael understood the situation completely. She then turned to the proprietor. "We won't be keepin' ya past yer time tonight, Joe. Ready, Michael?" She slipped her arm in his, keeping her thumb in touch with the trigger should things go awry. She might have been caught off guard yesterday, but Fiona Glenanne made a habit of being prepared.
"Well played!" He whispered into her ear, a tip of her head acknowledged the comment. The couple exited quickly, their arms linked, and headed down the road. "You know, if you press that trigger, you're likely to get a bit of blowback yourself." He could have disengaged himself from the situation at any time. A quick hurl of the explosive, another move to disarm her, and he could be safely away in seconds. But then he wouldn't be walking arm and arm with her, a feeling he was enjoying immensely despite the threat of implosion.
"It's a wee piece. Probably just take off your hand." She looked up at him, grinned, and then pushed him hard into a nearby brick wall. She leaned in appearing about to kiss him but then pushed herself back and held the detonator menacingly, her mood no longer playful. "How do you know about Hannon and his business? And why do you care? You a tout?"
"I'm no informer. I worked with a man named Kovalenko, gun dealer out of the Ukraine." Michael began his prepared explanation, much of it based on fact gleaned from a classified CIA file. Fiona recognised the name instantly. "He had a great many transactions with Hannon. The bulk of the weapons that he sold to Hannon wound up in places like Somalia and Afghanistan, often supplying children's militias. They got traced back to the Ukrainians, bad PR for the movement, and for Kovalenko. He's facing fifty years." Michael paused and noted Fiona's stance had relaxed somewhat. "I don't want the same thing to happen here. If the peace deal goes through, and the Provos start dumping weapons, I don't want them to wind up in the hands of someone like Hannon. Do you?"
She stared at him for several seconds as she assessed the story and the man who told it. She knew of Kovalenko and his sad tale. As for Hannon, she suspected that he was not the most scrupulous of dealers. She would hear McBride out since for some odd reason she trusted him. Despite his deception to procure her assistance, his heart seemed true. If her perception changed, well, she would shoot him and be done with it. A decision reached, she made a show of closing her cell phone, the threat of detonation eliminated - at least for now. She turned to walk away. She took a few steps, then glanced backward. "Are ya comin', McBride?" He swiftly moved beside her, offering his arm, which she gladly accepted.
"Do you want this back?" He offered her the block of C-4 that she had used as leverage.
"Keep it. A reminder of sorts to keep you honest." She leaned against him as they began to walk.
He slipped the small explosive into his pocket, fascinated by the small woman beside him. Her moods seemed to change rapidly. She may even be slightly unstable, he thought. Yet, he had never been so attracted to anyone so much in his life. "Where are we headed?"
"Someplace private. Someplace that we can talk. That's what ya wanted last night, McBride. Have ya changed your mind then?" Her expression challenged him to disagree. His smile was her answer and they rambled along the quiet streets, sirens and muffled gunfire could be heard in the distance. Eventually, they stopped at a small terraced house on a corner. Fiona opening the door a crack as she released the tripwire that would activate a rather loud and deadly welcoming surprise for the uninvited. Michael noted the security measure and was glad he hadn't stopped by unannounced as part of his surveillance.
She headed straight for the kitchen. "Tea? Or perhaps something stronger?"
"Whatever you're having is fine with me."
She poured two glasses of red, handing him one as she passed by. "I'm feeling a tad overdressed here. Be right back." She disappeared and Michael had time to take stock of his surroundings. It was simply furnished, a comfortable and functional room, not much here reflecting its occupant's personality. She emerged from the back putting an end to his inspection. Her hair was loose, a bit tousled now that it was freed from the updo. She wore a plain white tank and a pair of grey sweatpants that were tight in all the right places. Michael thought she looked even more beautiful in this state. "You live here?" Michael posed the question upon her return, still looking around, trying to avoid staring at her body.
The man made no move toward her. She had hoped that once alone his thoughts might focus on pleasure but he appeared to want to get down to business. She sighed heavily before answering.
"Part of the time. My main place is in Dublin these days. When things get too heated here, I make my way south." She tried to keep the dialogue casual, not divulging the frequent visits from the Royal Ulster Constabulary looking for evidence linking her to bombings throughout the city and beyond. They would find none in this place. This was her known address, not where she actually lived. "So, ready to tell me your plan, McBride?" She took a sip of her wine as she settled herself on the couch.
Michael launched into an overview of his plan, Fiona asking questions as needed. She watched him as he spoke, his tone sincere. She barely knew him yet found herself trusting the man.
"The first step is to identify the location of his stockpile. That way we can keep tabs on when he has the inventory to make a major delivery." Michael was used to breaking the overall mission into smaller components.
"Stockpiles, I'm afraid. He doesn't just have one site. It's a bit of insurance against losing your whole inventory in one sweep if the Brits, the RUC, or even Dublin get wind of your supply." Michael immediately saw the sense in the arrangement. Fiona continued, "But I made it a point of keeping tabs on his operation in case he would ever try to make a move against me." She moved toward the entry where a portrait of James II was displayed. She removed the painting from the wall and brought it over to the kitchen table.
Michael looked confused, "James II?" He thought it an odd part of the decor: an English king prominently featured in the home of a Provo volunteer.
As she pried the backing off the frame she explained, "He lost the Battle of the Boyne and mucked up Ireland ever since. His portrait reminds me of what happens to all of us... if we lose." She removed a topographical map hidden in the recesses of the frame and then spread it out before them. The map was filled with notes, several weapons depot locations labelled. "The ones marked in purple there are the ones of Hannon's that I know about." Michael was impressed by the attention to detail. He doubted that most of his CIA contemporaries could do much better.
They both began to examine the map. The print was tiny so it required closer scrutiny. Both operatives moved in for a closer look. Their heads drawn together, their hearts beating in unison. Michael could no longer focus on the map. Her hair brushed against his face as the closeness to her became nearly intolerable. She sensed the change in him as he moved nearer, so near that she could barely breathe. Their faces turned slightly toward one another as Michael's lips soon sought hers, pulled together as if by some unknown force. Once begun, events escalated at a rapid pace. Two operatives usually so circumspect in every area of their lives threw caution to the wind as clothes were rapidly discarded, their need overriding all other concerns. They lost themselves in one another, thoughts of alliances and duty tossed aside along with their inhibitions.
Contentment surged through them both as weeks of longing had been satiated, neither regretting nor disappointed in the outcome. She laid her head against his chest afraid to speak lest she break the spell. Michael stroked her hair and finally broke the silence, his voice soft. "Do you want me to stay?" He hoped that she would say yes. That this was less an impetuous act and as welcomed as he found it.
Fiona thought for a moment before answering. She did, of course, want him to stay. She wanted to stay within his arms that felt like home but she daren't appear too needy. "Depends, I suppose. Do ya cook?"
"Cook?" This was not the question he expected.
She turned onto her stomach so she could face him. "Was it a tough question for you, McBride? Yes, cook."
He grinned as he pushed back a strand of her hair. "I make a fierce omelet."
"Well, I suppose I should sample your 'other' talents." She ran her fingers softly over his torso. "But I only eat egg whites."
"Egg white only. Duly noted." She settled down laying her head on his chest again and soon drifted off to sleep. But Michael stayed awake long into the night ruminating about his current situation. It was not the first time he had slept with an asset. Sometimes, it was a necessary strategic move, to gain trust, to elicit cooperation, to infiltrate an organisation. In this particular case, however, none of those applied, he had already sold her on the task. Truth be told, he slept with her because he wanted to, without ulterior motives. This was unchartered territory for the spy that was used to keeping his emotions at bay, a skill necessary for his survival at times, but she had dredged up feelings he didn't know he possessed, so long had his heart been made of stone.
He watched her sleep as he wondered how long he could play this part. He was no longer in a hurry to leave Ireland. In fact, it was the first place he had ever felt truly at home. He watched her sleep, her eyelids fluttered slightly, and his heart longed to stay here forever.