Stone of the Heart
The Plan
This looked like an incredibly bad idea of hers, perhaps even worse than last night's impromptu fireworks display. He didn't fear explosions, an exploding car he could deal with easily. But this... this situation, it made him uneasy.
When she left in the morning to rendezvous with one of her black market associates, they set up a time to meet later that evening. The Black Sand Pub was likely to be out of commission for several weeks between the investigation of the firebombing and the repairs necessary to return to normal business. She suggested another place further down The Falls. It seemed like a sound suggestion, that is, until he walked in the place.
Thirty pairs of eyes greeted him as he walked through the door, nary a smile or a welcoming glance in sight. Their faces were filled with suspicion; the tension could be felt throughout the room as he entered the pub. Michael walked straight to the bar adopting an unconcerned air. He hardened his stare realising this crowd would likely pounce on weakness. He stood there several moments without being approached. The barman intentionally ignoring the stranger encouraging him to leave.
He took note of his surroundings, groaning inwardly at what he observed. The walls were filled with tricolours and GAA posters, leaving no doubt where the patrons' affinities lie. This looked like ground zero of some IRA fan club. He suspected many here were actual volunteers; men who fought the street wars and were suspicious by nature, attacks commonplace and frequent. Based on the looks he received, he surmised they were not the peace-seeking sort. The cold reception was intentional and designed to get the uninvited to leave. But this is where she was planning to meet him so stay here he would. He just had to stay alive long enough to demonstrate he had a specific reason to be present in this place.
Michael took a deep breath and signalled to the barman to draw near. A furtive conversation ensued between the barkeep and a few customers before he finally ambled over to where the American was perched. Michael was met with a cold stare, no words of greeting. "Pint of plain." Michael barked out his order and looked about the room, trying to look relaxed and unfazed by the chilly reception.
The barman gave no response but set himself about the task of pulling the pint. His glance flitted between the stranger at the bar and his regulars. He wanted no trouble this day. The area was skittish enough after last night's attack on The Black Sand. It looked like the stranger came in empty handed but who knew what might be hidden inside his jacket. A slight nod of his head prompted three locals to approach the unknown man.
Michael recognised the subtle signal and he braced himself for whatever was to follow. A trio of unfriendly faces approached. He was flanked by a pair of them while the third stood slightly behind. Michael was blocked in. The rest of the bar looked on, some backing away in case trouble erupted.
The shorter man turned toward Michael, staring openly, hoping to make the newcomer take the hint and turn tail.
Michael met his gaze, a hint of defiance in his expression. He remained silent, waiting for the man to speak.
"This here is a local pub, boyo. Best ya move on." It was meant as an order, not a request.
"Good thing I live just down the road then. Guess that makes me a local." Michael was well aware of the meaning of 'local' in this context. He might live in the area but he had neither grown up here nor was he involved in any capacity with the Army. "Besides, I'm meeting someone."
"Meet 'em somewhere else." The man moved his jacket slightly revealing a weapon, the threat delivered.
Michael looked at the gun, then at the man. "No need for that. Just plan on having a pint while I wait for my friend. Then, I'll be on my way." Michael watched for any sign of attack, prepared to disarm the welcoming committee, if needed.
"And who might yer friend be?" This sounded like a tale without any merit behind it.
The American's eyes narrowed. "That's no concern of yours."
"Yer wrong there. Everthin' in The Falls concerns me and mine." The atmosphere became increasingly heated. Michael refused to make the first move. If violence were to erupt in this place it would not be his doing. An altercation in a heavily republican pub like this would not go unnoticed. If he used his skills it would likely raise suspicions about his identity. If he allowed himself to be beaten up, he would be discounted and his mission jeopardised. He would need to walk the fine line of defending himself suitably without causing serious harm to his attackers. Why did she have to pick this pub? He thought as he steeled himself to receive the anticipated blows.
Just then, the door opened, distracting all momentarily. Fiona Glennane had arrived. She noted the odd tension about the room and wondered perhaps if some heated political discussion had taken place. Pressure seemed to be mounting with each passing day, the bombing at The Black Sand and Jimmy's murder fuelling the fire, no one agreeing on a strategy to go forward. The Provos, the Real, both jockeying for a say in the direction the country was headed, their volunteers split in their allegiances.
She spotted her lover easily and his companions, a smile formed on her face. She stepped lightly over to them, the men watching her approach with interest, the rest of the bar's patrons holding their breath. She stood between Michael and the other, looking at them both in turn. "Well, I see ya've met a few of my brothers."
Michael looked surprised. "Brothers?" He looked at the potential assailants surrounding him.
"Ya know this fella?" The youngest of the trio asked, not quite believing his sister.
"Quite well." The brothers looked at one another, slightly unsure what their next move should be. Fiona saw their confusion and decided to add more detail. "Biblically, in fact."
"Jaysus, Fiona! Ya could've spared us that!" Another brother groaned.
"Is it herself yer meetin' then?" The question posed directly to Michael who nodded slowly. All three men around the spy relaxed slightly.
"Shall I start the introductions then?" Fiona asked the men about her, speaking loudly enough for the crowd, pretending not to listen, could hear. "This is Michael McBride who looks a mite parched. A man in a pub without a proper pint in front of him? What's the world comin' to I wonder?" She glared at the barkeep who immediately brought the long overdue drink to him. "Michael, these are three of my brothers. Sean is the conversationalist. Seems like ya both were already havin' a wee chat. He talks a great deal whether he knows somethin' about the subject or not." She looked directly at her brother in an accusatory fashion. "Declan, the big one behind ya, must have been blocking the air comin' in the door. Afraid he would catch a chill, were ya?" She gave him a gentle slap upside the head. "And the quiet one beside ya is Bobby. He usually has more sense but when dragged along by the other two, even he can lapse into stupidity." Bobby's eyes fell to the floor, sufficiently chastised.
She turned toward the other patrons. "Show's over. Now go back to what youse do best: drinkin', avoidin' your wives, and plottin' to overthrow the bloody British government." Soft laughter broke out and the normal chatter of the pub resumed. "Now, which one of ya is going to buy me a drink?" She looked at all four men, her eyebrows raised in a questioning manner.
Michael smiled, then extended his hand, first toward Sean. "Michael McBride." Handshakes were exchanged; a few uncomfortable pleasantries exchanged, and then brothers slipped away leaving the couple to themselves. As he watched them walk away, he spoke to the woman at his side. "You know, you could have warned me about the place when you set the meet."
"I thought ya could handle it. Was I wrong, McBride?" She had a devilish grin on her face. "Of course, I had no idea those three would be here." She rolled her eyes thinking about the encounter.
"So, you mentioned that those were a 'few' of your brothers? Exactly how many more do you have?" There was still a great deal more he had to learn about this woman.
"Five brothers in all." She paused. "Apparently, my Ma and Da did like one another a bit." She winked as she reminded him of their past conversation on the subject. "Now, before any of them return with the idea of defendin' my sullied honour, shall we?" She stood up, prepared to leave. Michael reached for her hand and they began the trek toward home.
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A few hours later they were hammering out the details of the possible approaches to Hannon and his merchandise. Various options were discussed, many immediately discarded. There was no perfect solution. Each one was fraught with a set of difficulties but the longer they weighed the pros and cons of each, there was a way that Michael favoured despite its risks.
"The best way to take him down might be from the inside." Michael believed that this was likely their best option.
Fiona looked questioningly at him. "From the inside? Ya mean spy on him?"
Michael smiled, "Exactly."
"Could ya really do that? Pretend to be someone you're not?" Fiona looked skeptical. "I know we can all play the game for a few hours or more, but this, Michael, this could take weeks!"
"Trust me. I'll be fine." The words stung as they left his mouth. He asked her to trust him all the while living a life of deception. He no longer could meet her eyes so great was his discomfort. He stood up, walked over to the refrigerator, and grabbed a yoghurt. The familiar movement helped him refocus. Despite his growing feelings for the woman, he was still Michael Westen, an American spy with a job to do.
"While I appreciate your style, this could be a suicide mission, Michael. Hannon's not the trusting sort. He'll be watching ya for any missteps. If he gets an inkling ya are not who ya say ya are, he'll shoot you dead, he will." Her eyes widened as she explained the hazards of his proposal. "At least that's what I would do." In Fiona's mind there was only one way to deal with betrayal.
"Then, I'll be convincing." His smile was forced. How could he possibly explain that this type of mission came naturally to him? He put on another identity as easily as a shirt in the morning. He could manipulate others without remorse if it was for the greater good. He could walk through life unattached, using assets, leaving them behind when they had served their purpose. How could he tell her all these things about himself that were true - until now?
There was something disquieting in his expression, something she could not quite read. "How would ya do it? How would ya get close enough to spy on him?" Fiona wondered if he had thought of an actual strategy to implement his idea.
Michael now moved into familiar territory, focusing on the mission instead of himself. "We convince him that I can be useful."
"And how to ya propose to do that?" She looked askance. Persuading someone as cagey as Hannon sounded simple but would likely be highly complex, and assuredly dangerous.
"You've told me that there are few secrets in the Falls. That everyone in the pub knows, or suspects, that we're, uh,..." Michael let his words drift off.
"...sleeping together? That's a fair assumption. Especially as I announced as much at The Red Devil tonight." Fiona was amused by his awkwardness.
"We use that to our advantage." Fiona looked puzzled unsure of how that fact would gain him access to Hannon. "What if I had gotten close to you to gain some knowledge of your operation? Maybe I had ideas of setting up my own business here. Or, maybe I decided to throw in with Hannon, use what I know about you to get a piece of Hannon's action." He paused to be sure that she was following his train of thought. "I approach Hannon with a deal. I give him information about you in exchange for a percentage."
"I'm not sure I'm loving this plan, Michael." Fiona's unease increased. All this subterfuge was a bit out of her comfort zone. She was used to striking quickly without warning, then retreating to safety. All this cloak and dagger sounded like something out of the cinema rather than a real life operation.
"I'll only feed him what you want me to. There must be some stash of guns you could give up. If the plan works, you'll get everything back." Michael needed some merchandise as way of introduction.
"That's a big 'if'." This plan seemed a bit risky, but she was not one to steer clear of risk. "There are some old Thompsons I could part with. They have significant value with collectors, not much use in the field these days. Hannon might like that sort of thing."
Michael grinned, "Then that's our opening. I trade those Thompsons for access. Tell him there's a lot more to come if we work together."
"Won't he think it odd that I'm all right with ya working with him?" Michael remained silent, his expression slightly pained while Fiona worked out the details. "Oh, I see ya expect me to play the fool. Sleepin' with me at night while screwin' me during the day, is that it?" Michael prepared himself for the blow that she would likely deliver but her arms merely crossed indicating her displeasure with the idea. "I like your plan less and less, McBride." She pursed her lips, a pout of sorts forming there.
"It may be the only way to get Hannon. Put him away for a long time." Michael's tone was sincere. Fiona thought about the guns that passed through Hannon's hands. She had always known he had no scruples about where they landed as long as the money was good. Now, she had a chance to stop that stream, perhaps save some other family from the excruciating pain of losing a sister, a daughter, a friend,...
She watched her lover's face for any sign of doubt. There was none. He was confident that he could play the 'spy'. Men and their games! What the hell, she thought! She could spare losing the Thompsons if it came to that. The man, however, she was more reluctant to part with.
"Fine." She agreed. "But while I'm putting my inventory at risk, I expect compensation in other ways." Her expression turned suggestive, her body entwining itself around his.
"Gladly." Michael leaned in believing that this may possibly be the best deal he ever negotiated. He just had to hope he could pull it off or Hannon would be the least of his troubles.
The spy had no doubt that Fiona could prove to be an adversary far worse than the targeted arms dealer. He was putting her business and her heart at risk, a dangerous combination. This had to work! If not, she may wind up with a hole in her heart and he with a hole in his head. Michael Westen, the American spy, intended to use all of his training and skills to be sure neither happened.