Stone of the Heart
The Story
Michael watched her for quite some time before deciding to follow her. He didn't keep his presence hidden but simply trailed after her. Fiona realised that he was following but continued moving forward. She was headed home initially; a change of clothes was the first order of business. The spy was surprised by her lack of subterfuge. Surely, she was aware that she was being tailed but made no evasive manoeuvres.
It soon became evident where she was headed. Once Fiona entered the house, she left the door open, believing it pointless to pretend she did not notice his approach. The spy soon entered. "You know, you really should close the door. No telling who might be behind you." She rolled her eyes at his comment but made no retort. Michael realised conversation was pointless when she was in this frame of mind. An argument was the only outcome of any confrontation, regardless of intent. So, he remained silent as she went through her mental preparations.
Fiona proceeded to ready herself for the events ahead. Despite her skills, the PIRA was male dominated and the hierarchy was difficult to alter. She surmised her role tonight would likely be more lookout than hunter so she would dress accordingly. A woman dressed in battle fatigues may draw unnecessary notice on the streets of Belfast. Fiona would select an outfit to blend in. She glanced out the window, rain had begun to fall softly adding a slight chill to the April air then turned her attention toward the wardrobe, searching for the right look.
Michael slipped quietly into the bedroom, concern written all over his face, but no words of reproach passed his lips. The fire inside her subsided somewhat as she noted his unspoken support for whatever she intended. She knew that her fiery outbursts flummoxed the man. Although outwardly he appeared to enjoy the mayhem she thrived upon, she recognised that internally he preferred a more analytical method of problem solving. The only time he really let down his defences was when they were in bed. Unfortunately, she had to refrain from that particular activity at the moment or she could compromise the upcoming mission as time was of the essence.
He settled into the nearby armchair watching as she chose a black tank and slacks, slipping them on swiftly, his eyes barely catching a glimpse of her body. Her smile was coquettish allowing him to believe more would be revealed when she returned. Michael observed the change in her and felt it was now safe for him to draw near.
Fiona stood by the window, grabbing a Kevlar vest to complete her ensemble. She waved it toward Michael who seemed pleased that she was taking this precaution. The Irishwoman placed it over her head, Michael quickly moved behind her intending to assist her with the straps. She had her back to him as she lifted her tresses twisting them into a chignon giving him room to work. Her rage had subsided and now she was able to focus on him. "Why ya so quiet?" She broke the silence with her question.
"I don't like the idea of people shootin' at you." The spy was not overly concerned about his own safety but protecting those he cared about, those he loved, was deeply engrained in his psyche. He tightened her vest, placing his hope in its encasement of her heart.
She was touched by his concern and slightly amused as she had already demonstrated her talents and skills in the field. "Yer worried."
"You're not?" It was a normal emotion before entering the unknown. No matter how much training one had, there were always unexpected situations, the chance of collateral damage. He didn't dwell on these eventualities but the fact that they existed always gave him pause.
Fiona rested on the window seat watching the raindrops splatter against the panes. "One thing you'll learn about me, Michael McBride. I don't worry." She turned toward Michael as she continued. "Not since I was a little girl." The memories came unbidden as Michael slowly caressed her cheek. Michael wanted to ask her what she meant but he did not get the opportunity. "Now stop yer worryin'. I've got to go." She reached for her coat and the American helped her put it on, making sure the vest beneath was well hidden. As a parting gesture, he rechecked the small pistol she was to carry in her pocket. Once he was reassured, he placed it in her hands, holding them longer than necessary. The IRA guerrilla reached for his face, cradling it in her hand. She looked deeply into his eyes. He could see calmness there, not a shred of nervousness. Fiona placed a soft kiss on his lips.
"Is that a good-bye then?" Michael knew it was time for her to leave. He could draw out this parting no longer if she was to be prompt for her rendezvous.
"No." Her hand dropped to her side as she began to pull away. "It's more of a just in case." Sad smiles were exchanged before Fiona turned away, not even a glance backward as she quickly left the flat leaving Michael alone.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Michael Westen found himself in an unusual situation. He was the one left behind! He thought about following her, keeping to the shadows, provide backup if needed. But there was something about her demeanour this time, something he could not quite put his finger on, that told him this operation was different and his help would not be appreciated, in fact, might even result in more harm. So, he stayed behind and waited.
He knew he should make contact with the Agency, make a report as required. But he held off once again. He kept them abreast of developments regarding Hannon but he was reluctant to divulge too much as it related to the IRA, as it related to Fiona. Michael did not know what the woman was currently involved in but he intended to keep it from Langley if possible.
The passage of time was painstakingly slow. The clock barely moved. This is what he had put others through every time he left for a mission. It was one of the many reasons he stayed away from Miami and his family. His mother was a bit neurotic and this constant threat of danger would surely push her over the edge. Likely, she would phone him fifteen times an hour and those calls would eventually get him killed. It made operational sense to stay away and keep them in the dark about his daily activities. After spending the evening in this matter, waiting for news, waiting for her to return, he felt confident that he made the right decision in regards to his family.
Not knowing how an operation was unfolding was far worse than anything he experienced in the field. He checked his mobile again, making sure it was not on silent, making sure he would hear it if he was summoned. He stared at the device willing it to ring but silence was his only answer.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Fiona knew that she was playing with fire, knew that in the next few hours she would cross a line. Her inner conscience dictated her actions, overriding any rules she was sworn to abide. She had made her decision and would accept whatever consequences might come her way. A hint of regret tugged at her soul. Michael. Would he understand her duplicity? She banished these thoughts as she approached her accomplices. It was too late for second thoughts.
Only a few hours before, the culprits were identified and their whereabouts determined. Those damn surveillance cameras that were often the bane of their existence had finally provided some helpful Intel. Now, a nondescript black van carried the team through the nearly moonless night. The plan reviewed and finalised during the drive.
Six members comprised the extraction team, each with a specific function to perform, each with a need to put an end to these attacks, each believing that they were better equipped to end this vigilantism than the RUC. None accepted the irony that they too were acting outside the constraints of the law.
The van slowed to a crawl allowing its occupants to exit quickly and quietly. Fiona was the first to put her skills to use. She moved to the wall at the back of the house, instantly assessing the structure, and determining how much explosive to use. The Irishwoman began to apply the det cord, fastening it with duct tape, intending to make a new doorway where only flat wall existed. The others acted as sentries until their talents were required. Satisfied with her work, Fiona stepped back encouraging the others to do the same. With a press of a button, a nearly soundless explosion blasted the wall allowing easy access into the house.
Four men rapidly entered the makeshift doorway hoping their unexpected entrance would find their prey disoriented and unarmed. Fiona and her old pal, Ruairi, guarded the streets, their automatic weapons ready to be discharged should the need arise. Shouts of warning and a string of expletives could be heard from the inhabitants as they were unceremoniously ripped from their beds. But within moments, the cornered men were subdued, bashed on the skull and fitted with head bags.
The van, it lights doused, reappeared. Ruairi opened the back, the others dragging their captives and shoving the unconscious men inside, jumping in quickly beside them. Fiona was relegated to the passenger seat, her weapon aimed at the street while they made their escape. The van picked up speed as it left the area as rapidly as possible. All were alert for the possibility of discovery, the possibility of retaliation, but so far, it appeared they were getting away clean.
Once returned to The Falls, the van slowed once more, this time coming to a complete stop, allowing their female associate to alight. Fiona's job was done, the others preferring to handle the subsequent interrogation and likely execution without the presence of a woman. She usually battled against this type of bias, believing she was usually more ruthless than many of her male associates. But tonight, she accepted her role; glad to be divorced from the rest of the proceedings. The van zoomed away to an undisclosed location while Fiona headed for home.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
The key turned in the lock rousing Michael who had drifted off during his vigil. He jumped up just as Fiona entered. The spy made a brief inspection of his returned lover who seemed to be intact and unbloodied, a reassuring smile on her face. He resisted the urge to rush to her side, envelope her in his arms, and relish the warmth of her body, relieved that she was safe. Michael understood the need for space after a mission, time to decompress, and readjust to normalcy. So he simply watched as she removed her coat, undid her vest, tossing both on a nearby divan, and then sinking into the armchair that he recently vacated.
Michael silently moved toward the kitchen. Her eyes followed him. He returned with two bottles, holding one in each hand. Finally, the silence was broken. "Wine or whiskey?" Her choice would indicate the toll the operation had taken.
"I'll start with the whiskey."
"That bad?" Michael's brow was furrowed, hoping details would be forthcoming.
Fiona shook her head. "Everything went smoothly." She reached for the glass that Michael just poured and took a large sip. Her words indicated that all was well, but they belied what he observed. "I told ya before I don't worry, not since I was a wee one." She stared into space, not meeting his gaze, as she began to explain. "When I was younger my father wanted to protect his family, and our beliefs, no matter what. I watched him get beaten and shot at. But if he was afraid he never showed it. He always said, 'there's a difference between livin' and livin' free.' Of course, livin' with honour only put us in more danger."
She paused remembering the fear of those knocks on the door in the middle of the night as soldiers crowded into the parlour dragging her Da out for 'questioning', sometimes for days, sometimes for months. There were other times where the streets exploded with gunfire and smoke.
Her voice remained steady as she continued her story. "My father, he came up with a plan to warn us any trouble was brewin'. He'd say, 'Fiona. Time to be brave little angel.' I suppose it was a code of sorts. What it really meant was get down on the floor, close yer eyes, and start pray in' till it's over." Fiona took another swig of her whiskey. "If he was there, I felt safe. Bit foolish I suppose. He couldn't keep bullets away much as he'd like. But somehow it made a difference. He was a man of honour. A man who lived by principles of freedom and justice."
Michael saw that her glass was nearly empty and refilled it without a word. "This Agreement. It's not what he wanted. We aren't free of the Crown or her bloody soldiers. They want us to give up our guns but they'll still have them." Michael watched her face as she grappled with some internal struggle. "I've got no stomach for politics, government has always been an oppressive force here not a source of comfort. I don't give a damn what flag flies over all of us but I don't trust them – any of them. Even PIRA's got its own agenda now: power sharing, I think they call it." She swallowed the entire glass before she revealed what had her so bothered. "The leadership refused to go after those boys tonight. Peace at all costs, they said. But we went anyway. I couldn't let Jimmy's death go unavenged. I had to be sure those bastards wouldn't continue their strikes."
The American looked concerned, "Will they come after you?" The IRA had a chain of command. Directives were to be adhered to; dissension was met with consequences.
"Not likely. The leadership will want to deny any involvement. The UVF will probably be glad they are rid of those that broke ranks." Her gaze finally turned toward Michael. "PIRA's turning mainstream... Who would have thought? Of course, this happened before. Me Da was originally Official IRA; did I tell ya that before? Then, appeasement became too central to the organisation. The Provos broke away in '69 when all hell broke loose."
"What are you saying, Fi?" Michael drew closer.
Fiona looked pensive. "I need to decide where I stand should the Agreement be ratified. Stay with the Provos, disarm, let the new Police Service keep the people safe or join up with the Real IRA until we're all livin' free, until no outside power controls the people... or me for that matter. I don't like others tellin' me what to do."
"Really? I hadn't noticed." He reached her cheek stroking it with his thumb, his smile accompanying the sarcasm.
She stood up, placing the tumbler on the nearby table. "I think I'm ready for wine now." A weight had been lifted from her, at least temporarily. She could talk to Michael so easily. He listened without judgement. Voicing her concerns freed her from the worry descending upon her, the feeling she had long abandoned but seemed to be seeping back into her life.
Michael poured them both a glass. His thoughts now jumbled. It was bad enough that she was associated with the Provos, the saving grace there being the push toward peace and disarmament. Growing up in the heat of The Troubles in Belfast, it was easy to see how someone like Fiona would follow that path, especially after her younger sister was cut down by a British soldier. Perhaps even Tom Card would understand his association with a 'former' volunteer, but the RIRA seemed more erratic, more prone to random violence. Michael knew the CIA would never accept his relationship with a terrorist who shut the door on the possibility of peace and escalate a war that was winding down.
Things were getting more complicated each day. How could he convince her to stay the course without giving himself away? Maybe, it was time for truth. "Fi..." his voice nearly a whisper.
She turned, pressing her body against his, pulling at his clothes with urgency; the prior violence of the evening remembered, the need for physical release overwhelming. Michael was soon drawn in, his need as great as her own. Maybe now was not the time for full disclosure. He was meeting with Hannon tomorrow and he required the help of his asset. Truth could wait a little longer.