Stone of the Heart
The Procession
It was an uneasy night as they prepared for the unexpected. Brother and sister carefully monitored their new recruit, watching his every move as he cleaned and prepared the weapons. Neither could find fault with his work. Michael found it amusing that his proficiency was questioned. He hadn't had this much overseeing since his early days at Camp Rhino.
Fiona stole glances at her lover hoping that she had not misplaced her good sense. She took him at his word, trusting that he had the skills he claimed. So far, he had. He knew how to handle the guns, dismantling and reassembling them with ease. She gave him several types, testing him in a way. She had vouched for him, relying not on experience of the man's abilities but simply on faith.
Michael easily saw through her ruse but happily complied. After all, a skilled operative needed to be cautious when bringing in a newcomer to ensure he or she possessed the skills needed to complete the mission. If anything, the spy was reassured by her thoroughness, her attention to detail.
When all was ready, they settled down for a brief respite. The others would be arriving in a few hours and then the stage would be set. Each player would be assigned a position, each duty would be outlined, but for now, sleep was required. Michael took a space against the wall. Sean settled himself across the room but where he had a clear vantage point to keep track of the new man.
Fiona saw their unspoken enmity wondering if she was the cause. It was not always easy growing up with five older brothers. Besides the bathroom issues, the heavily male centred conversations around the table, and the constant references to her weak female state, they tended to hover about her more than necessary. Perhaps, it was losing Claire that caused them to be so protective. Sweet Claire! A stab of pain and remorse always accompanied her memory.
Her baby sister was the one that everyone loved. She was beautiful in body and in spirit. She was tall and slender with long blonde hair and blue eyes that lit up a room. More importantly, she had the personality to match her angelic exterior. Claire had a kind word for whomever she met. If ever there was a 'Belle of Belfast City', Claire could have been her personified. That all ended one day with a bullet.
The brothers were left with her now, more fairy than princess. All bore the guilt of not watching over their littlest angel, the one who deserved the name. Instead they tried to guard the bean-sidhe of the family, quick to anger, screeching her rage at the world. It was an unpleasant task at best as she often did exactly what she pleased despite the risks.
She took one last look at her brother before moving toward Michael. He welcomed her with his arms and she settled herself between his outstretched legs, placing her lacerated back upon his chest, a slight wince of pain accompanied the movement. The American noted her reaction and wanted to suggest that she bow out of tomorrow's event. The gash in her shoulder would likely affect her reflexes, possibly making the difference between survival and death should it come to that. But he knew her well enough at this point that the suggestion would not only be unheeded but would likely propel her to some desperate measure to prove her competence, so he remained silent. He would act as her second, with or without her knowledge or consent.
Michael wrapped his arms around her. In the field, her presence seemed considerably larger and here in his arms, he marvelled about how tiny she actually was. They both watched as Sean turned away burying his face in his jacket, an expletive bursting from his lips. His actions did not go unnoticed. Michael whispered in her ear. "I think he hates me."
"What do ya expect, McBride? You're shagging his wee sister." Fiona smirked, her comment loud enough for her brother to hear.
"Shite, Fiona, ya'll be the death of me, ya will!" Sean buried his face deeper into the jacket. "And McBride, the only sounds I better hear comin' from yer side of the room, better be snorin' or we'll be one gun less on the rooftops tomorrow." Then, he bolted upright, staring at his sister and pointing a finger in her direction. "And you, little sister, don't be takin' that as a challenge." He curled into a ball while the couple opposite suppressed their quiet laughter.
Fiona turned slightly and made a suggestive overture to her partner despite, or possibly due to her sibling's warning. The American spy stared at her incredulously. He might have difficulty keeping his hands off her under most circumstances, but in this situation he intended to refrain from their usual exploits. Fiona received the unspoken message and settled back into his arms. It was time to sleep. Dawn was inching ever closer.
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The sound of footsteps roused the trio from slumber, instantly springing to full alertness in seconds.
Men with blackened faces carrying weapons and balaclavas filled the room. Michael was pleased to see that Sean was merely the recruiter for the operation, the planning directed by Donnelly, the man who spoke last night about the need for action. A map of the route was spread out as Donnelly pointed out where each volunteer was to be positioned. He emphasised the importance of restraint. Theirs was to be a defensive campaign ensuring the safety of the cortège, the respect due to Old Jimmy on his final trip through the Falls. A warning was issued that spontaneous gunfire from their side would be met with an immediate court-martial - or worse. Michael was impressed with Donnelly's assessment and strategy.
"Sinn Fein's already up our arse wantin' the RUC to 'monitor' the proceedings, to keep the boys from either side in line. Told 'em Ol' Jimmy would be hauntin' us fer eternity if I let the bastards at his funeral." Uncomfortable laughter followed the comment. "We'll take care of our own, we will, just as we always do." Donnelly spoke with authority and experience having spent nearly thirty years in the movement.
The snipers were to be in place before daybreak, before any informants in the area would be aware of their presence. Divis Tower was a behemoth of a structure at the start of The Falls, with a view encompassing much of the area. It was often suspected that several 'residents' of the housing estate cooperated with the Brits or the affiliated groups to watch for any clandestine activity on the part of the IRA. Darkness helped disguise their movements, give them a hint of invisibility, at least for a short time.
Donnelly took Fiona aside murmuring further instructions. Michael assumed that she was to pass along some information to the other members of the Honour Guard. They would be armed and have a part to play should violence erupt. It was imperative they knew where the 'RA hidden snipers would be stationed to lessen the chances of friendly fire casualties. The American watched as she assimilated the tactical plan, sealing it to memory. A last look toward Michael and a soft smile was the only inkling of a goodbye. Sentimentality had little place in war.
Then, the florid faced Irishman headed his way. "Ready, McBride?"
Michael was confused. He had already been given his positioning orders, then it dawned on him. "Are you my chaperone then?" Michael Westen, regarded somewhat as a Boy Wonder in the Agency, found himself in an unfamiliar position.
"Partner, I'd call it. Yer new here. Wantin' to be sure ya stick to our ways." The man put his hand forward indicating they should head out. "Me eyes ain't what they used ta be. Never fully recovered after the hunger strike."
"You were part of that?" Michael recalled the incident. He was in his first year of high school when the halls were abuzz with the story. Those ten men starved themselves to death gaining worldwide attention of their plight, their need to be considered political prisoners rather than criminals. Until recently, it was the only thing he really knew about Ireland.
"Not the successful one, or I wouldn't be here to tell the tale, would I now? The one before." Michael pretended to know what he was referring to. "I was in the Cages for a few years back then. Most of us spent some time there, at one time or other. Some of us more than others. That's how I met Fiona's da. We were interned together." This was news to Michael, he didn't remember reading it in her file. "Her da's favourite, she was. I know a man's not supposed to favour one child over another but sometimes ya can't help it. After all those boys, she come along. Wantin' to be like her brothers. Full of spitfire that one. Gave her ma a run, she did, especially after Claire." The man grew silent thinking about the day they lost the teenager, the rioting and mayhem that followed her death. He hoped to never see another week like that one.
They arrived at the building, which was to be their perch. Donnelly grabbed Michael's arm before making the climb. "Fiona vouched for ya, McBride. Her word is good enough for me but if it looks like her trust was misplaced, I won't hesitate to put a bullet through yer head. Are we clear?" The Irishman's usually jovial expression was replaced by the icy cold stare of a killer.
Luckily, as a spy Michael had learned to sublimate his fear as he peered into his 'partner's' eyes. "Crystal." They slowly scaled the building. Once on the roof, both lay prone. Michael set up his rifle ready for whatever may come his way. Donnelly held his 9mm intending to keep his charge honest. And both waited for the day to begin.
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The bells began to peal and the mourners trickled out of the church now that the Mass had concluded. Slowly, the cortège began to take shape. The casket draped with the tricolour would lead the way making the trip from St. Paul's Church to Milltown Cemetery. Hundreds had filled the church and more lined the route to pay homage to one of their own, another martyr of the cause. The Honour Guard flanked the coffin, black masked and fully outfitted, lending no doubt to their affiliation. The family and all others gathered followed behind. Slowly, the procession moved out as Jimmy took his final trip down The Falls. The mood was solemn, heads were bowed, prayers said, as the cortège passed through the street. There were others planted in the crowd keeping alert for any potential disturbances to the event, prepared to spring into action to keep the crowd safe.
Fiona began her march, keeping her focus forward, trying to use her peripheral vision to scan her surroundings. She knew where the snipers were positioned, feeling more at ease whenever she passed by one of their posts. The Irishwoman could almost sense the intense observation from informants peering out from Divis Tower, reporting back to whomever they worked for, whether it be for ideology or cash. She hoped no trouble would find them this day but this was Belfast, a city that knew more than its share of sorrow. A steady cadence propelled the procession, each step a victory of sorts. Fiona concentrated on the road ahead.
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Four men slipped through the gates at Lanark Way, using the derelict buildings along the interface for cover until the time was right. "No unauthorised action" had been the final word from the UVF leadership. They would see about that! The whispers regarding the talks in Stormont seemed a wee bit too 'Green' for their tastes. The bombing and the assault on the Fenian pubs were intended to spur the Provos to action, show they weren't as hell bent on peace as Sinn Fein proposed. No one except those in the government was fooled by the retaliatory strike - the explosion of the brigadier's personal vehicle. It was time to take the war back to their streets, make them run with blood as they had done in the past.
Funeral processions were the perfect target! Crowds of people packed together, most lost in grief, letting their guard down and assuming others would respect the solemn occasion. Of course, they had hoped for four caskets making the trip. The tip had come in about the meeting at The Black Sand. They rallied quickly but a 90-year-old man had been their only victim. As he was regarded somewhat as a legend, it was not a complete failure as his demise had flung a volley at the enemy. Now, they would launch a full-scale attack. Nothing got the bloody Fenians as riled up as a few civilian deaths. Bullets would fly once again and peace would be forgotten until the taigs were gone.
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Michael wished for a better position for his perch. They settled on the west side of a roof top gable, out of view of any spying eyes from Divis but height was a problem for any building in the area. He longed for a nice Miami skyscraper or at least a beach hotel. Here, his view was somewhat limited but years in the desert had told him what was important in guerrilla warfare.
It wasn't long before he noticed some suspicious movement. The corner of his eye caught the recognisable stride of a covert operation in play - the feigned nonchalance, the hurried movements, the constant surveillance of the area. Michael slowly trained his scope on two pairs of men winding their way down to the main thoroughfare, taking the scenic route through alleys and smaller lanes.
His finger now touched the trigger lightly, his senses on alert. Donnelly noticed the reaction and grabbing his binoculars followed his partner's gaze. "Ya got somethin', McBride?"
"Two men. Two o'clock heading southwest. Another two stationary." Michael kept his rifle trained on the pair.
"Could be nothin'. Coupla boyos out to see Ol' Jimmy off, eh?" Donnelly had difficulty ascertaining the subtleties that Michael observed. "Keep 'em in yer sights, just in case."
Michael watched as the men reached within a block of The Falls, pressing their bodies to the wall. Two of the men held paper bag covered bottles appearing to be hiding their drink at this time of day, an all too common sight in an area of high poverty and frequent unemployment. The cortège drawing closer to where they were positioned.
Fiona smiled slightly as she neared the spot where Michael was to be perched. She hoped Donnelly wasn't being too onerous on her new lover. He had a reputation for being a demanding taskmaster with newer recruits. Michael may regret volunteering for the assignment but she would find a way to make it up to him. The thought filled her with pleasure. She felt a wee bit tawdry, especially during a funeral procession, as lascivious thoughts wormed into her mind, but the man drove her to distraction.
He spotted her immediately taking his eyes off his targets for a fraction of a second. She was easy to find. Only one member of the Honour Guard was short of stature, a slight swing of the hips to her stride. Michael refocused on his prey, his finger never leaving the trigger, but something had changed - masks had appeared where only flesh was moments before. Then, he saw the unmistakable signs of terror as a grenade and an AK-47 appeared without warning; the paper covered bottles about to become Molotov Cocktails, hurled into the crowd causing death and destruction. The American's eyes narrowed as he prepared to strike.