Stone of the Heart
The Escape
Michael drove to a different part of the city scouring the neighbourhoods for a suitable vehicle for the task ahead. He needed something that would blend into the surroundings not drawing suspicion yet heavy enough to cart around a crate full of armaments. Then, he spotted something that just might fit the bill. A mid-sized delivery truck emblazoned with 'Dale Farm Creamery' along its side. Michael wondered if perhaps there would be yoghurt inside. It might help pass the time if he arrived early.
Soon he was safely ensconced within the driver's seat heading toward the designated location. The streets were fairly quiet at this time, more so as he left the city centre heading across the Lagan. Michael hated operations like this: walking into the unknown, alone. But he had done it more than once and still was alive. He hoped his luck held out once again.
He tucked the truck under an overpass and waited. This was often the most difficult part, the waiting. It was when your confidence began to wane, fear creeping in where it was unwanted. Michael passed the time by counting, first in Russian, then in Farsi as he tried to keep his mind engaged in some mental calisthenics. Lights approached in the distance and the spy was relieved that his idleness was about to come to an end.
Two men, sullen and darkly garbed, emerged. They opened the back of their truck ready to make the exchange. Michael did the same. Truck to truck. Neat and tidy. The job was quickly completed and the team was on their way. Michael started up the engine somewhat dismayed that the creamery truck was empty of any cargo other than a black market arms shipment. But, at least the exchange had gone smoothly.
Michael barely had traversed any ground before he noticed two pairs of headlights slip in behind him. He increased his speed slightly and they mirrored his movements. A question was raised in the spy's mind. Were these Hannon's men providing an escort or someone else intending to relieve him of the merchandise? Michael began driving erratically, speeding up, slowing down, making turns on side streets, basically driving like an idiot. It was a good way to verify that he had a tail, not just an active and slightly paranoid imagination. Despite his antics, the sedans followed his lead. Now he knew for certain there was deliberateness to their pursuit.
His memorisation of the city map was reaping a reward. He was able to navigate through the streets with ease. Still, they followed growing ever closer, ever more brazen. It was time to get a little back up of his own.
He dialled her number and the call was quickly answered. "Fi, I've got company."
"Jaysus, Michael. I told ya this was a bad idea." Fiona shouted into the phone. "Where are ya now?"
Michael peered into the darkness. "Somewhere near Harlan & Wolfe. I've got two black sedans tailing me. I keep trying to lose them but so far, no luck."
"Hannon's men?" Fiona asked.
"Can't be sure. They're playin' nice right now but I'm not sure how long that will last." Michael continued to check the rear view mirror. One of the cars began to make a move, trying to pass the slower, heavier Creamery truck. "Looks like they're trying to box me in." Michael swerved causing the sedan to retreat.
"What are ya drivin' so I don't wind up shootin' out the wrong tyres?" Fiona started up her engine.
"Dale Farm Creamery truck." Michael began driving in the centre of the road weaving left and right in an effort to stave the approaching vehicles.
"Seriously, Michael? Is this about your bizarre yoghurt obsession?" Fiona shook her head in disbelief thinking a more manoeuvrable and speedy vehicle was in order.
"Can we talk about this later?" His brogue disappeared as he concentrated on his driving rather than his cover. Michael swerved once again as another attempt was made to pass him.
"Fine. Give me 10, 15 minutes at most. Head toward Donegall Quay. Then make your way toward Northern past the Salt Works. Can ya do that? And whatever ya do, Michael, keep 'em behind ya." Fiona was already driving toward the area indicated as she formulated a plan of action.
Michael readily agreed as truck and car slightly collided. Both hands back on the wheel, he pushed the sedan slightly and speeded ahead. The brief contact did not deter his pursuers. Michael continued to swerve and dart about the road preventing the sedans from passing him. One false turn and he would be cornered. At least he had some tactical support ahead.
He assumed from her comment that Fiona planned to shoot out the tyres of those following behind. He intended to gun the engine as he neared the targeted spot so that he could give himself some breathing room. Once bullets hit the tyres, a careening car could still wind up disabling his vehicle. Michael would ensure that would not happen. He just had to stay alive long enough to reach her. So, he continued on a circuitous path through the streets of a Belfast giving her time to find a perch and save his ass.
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There were some advantages to travelling with a small arsenal in your boot, thought Fiona as she zipped along the streets of Central Belfast City. She was prepared for any type of assault. Fiona had a preliminary plan in mind when she set the rendezvous point with Michael but would work out specifics when she viewed the scene.
Two cars in pursuit were a challenge rather than a complete obstacle. She mulled several options over while navigating her way to the Salt Works. Her original plan was to cut through the perimeter fence, scale the wall to reach the roof of the building, and use it as a perch until Michael and his entourage appeared.
She was a gifted sniper, gifted enough to hit a target even going forty or more miles per hour. Shooting out the tyres could work but there were a few too many variables that could pose some serious problems. The cars might be bunched up together, putting Michael too close if the advancing car lost control. She had no doubt she could effectively disable one car with a blow to the tyres but that still left the second vehicle to eliminate. And Michael had hardly chosen the wisest of vehicles for a car chase. Next time, she would procure the transportation... and drive! She doubted those bastards would be able to keep up if she were behind the wheel. The thought made her smile.
As she neared the factory, a new plan was formulated on the fly. Several cars lined the streets. A burning barricade just might do, she thought. Not very subtle, but she often was not very subtle. She surveyed the road, selecting two cars parked along the route that could serve her purpose quite nicely. They were spaced far enough apart to create two distinct roadblocks. A flaming pair of cars, especially exploding ones, might be enough of a deterrent to stop even the most ardent pursuit. She had to hope that her lover would have sense enough to widen the gap with the sedans as much as possible once he reached the indicated point or he would be embroiled in the melee.
Fiona pulled alongside the first vehicle quickly planting a block of C-4 on its undercarriage. She repeated the action further ahead with the second. Then, she secured a vantage point a safe distance away and prepared to stagger her detonation of the pair once Michael was safely out of range. At least, that was the hope.
Now, she waited. "Come on, Michael." She voiced the words softly aloud, a hint of a prayer contained within.
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Michael had delayed all that he was able. He hoped he had given her enough time to get into place, plan her attack, and free him of these relentless pursuers. He headed toward Northern, a straight stretch of road near the waterfront where he could build as much speed as was possible given the constraints of the delivery truck.
He pressed the petrol giving him a burst of speed and headed down the straightaway. He spotted the Salt Works along the left, a small smile appeared on his face as he approached the spot she would likely be using as a perch. Temporary space between the sedans and himself accompanied his acceleration as he continued to depress the pedal. It was time to lose his tail!
He kept his focus forward, racing ahead, taking momentary glances behind him. A loud explosion diverted his attention. A parked car suddenly became airborne, raining flaming pieces of metal along the road, Michael narrowly passing by unscathed. The lead sedan was not so lucky, ploughing into the burning wreckage, forward movement no longer possible. Michael continued his forward progress, slightly unnerved by the unexpected explosions. Still, one sedan circumvented the crash more intent than ever on overcoming their prey.
Michael spotted another vehicle parked along the opposite side of the road. He wondered if perhaps another surprise was in store. After all, Fiona was more than a gifted sniper. She got her start blowing up cars all over Belfast. He should not be surprised that this was the tactical support she offered. He gunned the engine trying to get past this potential projectile. He had barely made it through before another 'boom' rocked the air. He could feel the heat of the blast through the closed windows. The sedan hot on his heels collided with the debris, sending it spiralling along the asphalt. Smoke and fire filled the area.
Fiona's car appeared from behind a low wall and drew alongside of Michael, a look of triumph on her face, a look of relief on his. Both zoomed off, anxious to vacate this scene of destruction as soon as possible. The bomber took off for home, a sense of exhilaration filling her as it always did when she inflicted damage of any sort. Michael headed off to deposit his cargo with Hannon, hoping he had not just annihilated an escort provided by his employer. Sirens could be heard approaching the conflagration. It was just a typical night in Belfast.
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It was some time before Michael returned. She had watched the clock move slowly, her unease mounting, shut out from the next portion of the operation. There could not be the slightest hint of Fiona's involvement or the future association with Hannon would disintegrate before it truly began.
So, she waited.
Finally, Fiona heard the key turn in the lock but remained stationary, recognising instantly the sound of his footsteps. She tensed slightly as she wondered what state she would find him in. The fact that he was alive was reassuring.
Michael entered the bedroom, removing his jacket and unbuttoning his cuffs. He found her sitting cross-legged on the bed, reading a magazine, and eating some yoghurt. He walked near, a questioning look on his face. "Yoghurt?"
"It's growin' on me." She flashed a smile as she took another bite. Michael reached for the container as he sat on the bed. He swallowed a mouthful and passed it back. "I assume the delivery went as planned. Ya don't seem to be bleedin' on my duvet." She made a brief visual inspection of her linens and the man. Then, she offered him another taste, which he readily accepted.
"No. I'd say that was the least dangerous part of my night." Michael shot her a disapproving glare.
"Ah, my roadblock. It worked, didn't it? Ya lost your tail." Fiona stared at him with wide-eyed innocence.
"Felt like I was in Beirut or Fallujah." He stopped. "You could have killed me."
She filled her spoon and placed it near Michael's lips. "I had faith in ya, Michael." He stared at her for several moments before accepting the offering. "Who knows? Maybe sometime in the future that wee trick will be useful to ya. Besides, anyone who decides to use a delivery truck as an escape vehicle..." She didn't finish the sentence, she didn't need to. Michael understood he had to accept some responsibility. "And your stalkers? Hannon's men?" She switched the topic back to the real villains in this drama.
"I don't think so. Hannon seemed surprised that I was followed." The American summarised the events at the delivery site, citing the gun dealer's pleasure that the crate in question was now in his possession, Michael oblivious to its contents. "Anyway, I seemed to have passed his test." Michael took the last bite of yoghurt and placed the now empty carton on the bedside table. "The subject of the Thompsons came up. He wants them. Wants to see if I can really procure them."
Michael Westen had done the math. He was a master at it, weighing the percentages of risk and benefit, trying to minimise the damage caused. Here, he was only putting one person at risk, with a great many benefitting from a successful outcome. Good odds. But looking into her green eyes, suddenly, the math did not seem to work out too well.
The spy squirmed under her cold stare as she assessed the situation. She had already agreed to the plan in theory, but now as it neared reality, she had reservations. What did she really know about the man before her? Could she risk her livelihood and reputation for the comfort he provided in her bed and in her heart?
Michael watched her, understanding that she was weighing the options, giving her time to reach her own decision in the matter. She regarded the man and the proposition before her. His demeanour rapidly changed before her eyes. He became more soulful, introspective. His eyes seemed full of apology as if it were a plea for forgiveness for some unknown transgression. This is when she felt the closest to him; this is when he truly touched her heart. "I'll need to be movin' them a bit before ya 'uncover' them, so to speak. I'll not want Hannon, or yourself for that matter, to have access to my other toys." Her gaze was firm and unyielding.
"Fair enough." Michael nodded, a weak smile followed.
She reached toward the bedside table grabbing a paper and pencil. She hastily scribbled the location and thrust it toward Michael before she could change her mind.
He took the slip reservedly, trying to shake off his malaise. He was a spy. This was his job. And he was damn good at it! "This is the site?"
"It will be by Tuesday night." Fiona had used the location before to stash contraband temporarily. It was not her preferred place, but it would do for this purpose. "It's a farm outside Newry. The Thompsons will be in a sealed oil drum in an outbuilding on the west side."
"Guarded?" Michael had switched gears fully embracing the mission.
Fiona sighed. "Not exactly. But it is, how shall I put it, a rather 'volatile' area. Ya'll need to take extra care." Michael's brow furrowed at her assessment. She explained, "Hannon would expect no less. Anything too easy and he would know it was a setup." Michael saw the sense in her argument but still looked concerned. "Cheer up, McBride. This thing with Hannon, it's child play compared to tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" Michael searched his memory.
She drew him into her arms. "Yes, Michael, tomorrow. Tea. With my family." Then, she stopped her romantic advance, fearing he was going to provide an excuse to bow out of the scheduled engagement.
"I don't suppose there will be ice. I've always fancied my tea cold." His smile allayed her worry. He could at least give her that, a moment of loyalty before an act of betrayal.
Fiona rolled her eyes, wondering if he was having her on or if he was serious. Sometimes, it was difficult to make the distinction from his expression. "I told ya, Michael, Tea doesn't mean..." She threw up her hands, then silently stormed off, not wishing to cover old ground.
Michael tilted his head watching her go, confused once more. Surely, there was tea at something called Tea. He needed some sort of manual, maybe Living in Ireland for Dummies. He thought running the errand for Hannon was the most difficult part of his evening, but now he was not certain.
The night's events were an alarming indicator that once an operation has begun, like a storm at sea, it takes on a life of its own. Someone followed him and Fiona's tactical support nearly killed him. They were all swept up in this operation now, its currents unpredictable. He would do his best to keep them both alive, but first, he had to survive tea!
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