Stone of the Heart
The Tommyguns
"Newry, is it? Hannon's eyes were filled with suspicion as Michael informed him of the location of the Thompsons. The American wished he had heard back from his contact about the area and its current climate. Hackles seemed to be raised whenever the area was mentioned and Michael was unclear exactly why. Hannon continued to stare, his desire for the weapons overriding caution. "This sounds like it has the markings of a set up, McBride. You'll be joining us on this little trip to South Armagh, will you?"
"Wouldn't miss it." Michael exuded confidence even if it wasn't truly felt.
"And just how did you come by this location? Odd sort of pillow talk."
Michael had an answer ready. "Overheard her on her mobile trying to set up a sale. Ever since the Agreement, she's been in a bit of a bother wonderin' about her stores. Anxious to get rid of them before 'disarmament' becomes compulsory drivin' the prices down. Wants to be ahead of the curve, it seems."
"I have a deal with her myself in a few days." Hannon had hammered out the details in The Black Sand Pub on the night the couple had their first dance. Neither had been completely satisfied with the negotiations, but neither had backed away either. Michael was surprised she had not mentioned the upcoming transaction. He assumed these were PIRA stockpiles. Michael noticed that Fiona was very careful to keep her professional and personal arms deals quite separate. The sale to Hannon must be an official Provo sale. He hoped that this would not muddy his mission.
"You want to do this or not, Hannon." Michael used impatience as a bargaining chip. "Dunno how long she plans to keep them there. I'd not want to waste the knowledge. If you're not interested, I'll find another who is."
"Don't get your knickers in a twist, McBride." The arms dealer was apparently still willing to pursue to deal. "Give me twenty four hours to set things in motion. Then, we'll have to hope the boyos in South Armagh are feeling friendly, eh?" Hannon's laugh was strained but the deal was set. Michael needed a bit more Intel to know exactly what awaited him.
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Michael sat back in his chair assimilating all that he just gleaned from the Internet search. The area Fiona was planning to stash the Thompsons was a nationalist stronghold, the IRA having a death grip on the area. It was renown for smuggling and Michael guessed outsiders would be less than welcome. Did she want the sale to go through or was she trying to get Hannon and associates, including himself for this operation, killed?
The door opened. Fiona sauntered in carrying a large sack, moving toward him, puzzled by his strange expression. She peered over his shoulder to see what might be the cause of his malaise. "Ah, doin' a bit of research I see." Fiona began to put away the groceries she purchased, irritated with the man before her. "Honestly, Michael, I sometimes think ya've lived under a rock the past twenty years. How can ya live in Ireland and be so little interested in what's happenin' here, her history?"
"If you recall, Fiona, I've spent the better part of my adulthood moving about. Not much talk of The Troubles in Bosnia or Chechnya. They've enough troubles of their own." Fiona recognised the truth of that statement. Michael chided himself for his lack of preparation for this posting in Ireland. He was so sure it was a waste of his time that he did minimal research, a fact he was regretting more each day. Ordinarily, it may not have been a problem but as he was now in a 'relationship', his deficits in this area were noted.
Both were on guard, a tenseness between them that was not there before. Truth be told, he was more annoyed with himself than with her. This was a situation he created. She was just doing business as usual. He wiped his hand over his face, his frustration mounting. "Is there a way to get in and out clean?" Michael concentrated on the mission before him.
"They're not gonna shoot ya, Michael." Fiona visibly relaxed. "Hannon knows the deal. Without me there, or another familiar face, they'll demand a cut for crossing their territory if yer spotted. As long as ya are not some Brit or other, ya'll be fine."
Great, thought Michael, not the most reassuring of comments considering his status. She turned away and began rummaging through a secretary in the corner of the room. Once she located the object of her search, she scribbled something on the back, and then returned to where he was standing. "Here." She handed him a small photograph of herself.
Michael accepted the photo unsure exactly why he was being presented with this gift at this moment. "Thanks?" It's not that he didn't appreciate the gesture but the timing seemed somewhat inappropriate.
She shook her head. The man was infuriating! "Turn it over, eejit." He complied. He read the words silently, then aloud. "Micheal, lee gra go dee o. Fiona. You spelled my name wrong, by the way. What is this?"
"Jaysus, impossible, ya are. It's Irish, ya fool. It's yer get out of jail free card if ya get nicked by the Provos or the Real down in Newry." Her green eyes flashed anger.
Michael still looked confused. "What's it mean?" He hated to disclose his ignorance, his lack of knowledge of the language.
Fiona shrugged, "I suppose if it was in Russian or Farsi, ya could read it just fine." She snatched the picture away and read the words. "Mícheál, le grá go deo. Fiona." Then she translated for the man with the blank stare. "Michael. With love forever. Fiona." She handed him back the photo somewhat tentatively as the word 'love' permeated the air, making them both hesitant with one another. She brushed away the sentiment and became operational once more. "Any trouble, hand 'em that. They'll call to see if its real and I can save yer arse once again."
Michael nodded now seeing the totality of her plan. He deflected the conversion once again, moving further away from the 'word' finally spoken, "Hannon says you have a sale pending." The topic less personal, putting both more at ease.
"Somethin' I set up before we met. Headed to Dublin for a few days to sort it out. Ya can join me there if ya want. That's where he'll be takin' my Thompsons, I suppose. Get them ready to ship out." Michael looked unsure but Fiona pointed out, "Hannon knows we're together. He won't be surprised if ya say we're meetin'. Then, ya won't have to head back to Belfast on your own."
Michael assessed his options. Going to Dublin had merit. He could follow the Thompsons there, possibly learn more about how Hannon planned to transport them, and perhaps even glean information about their final destination and purchaser. He could also show Hannon he still had Fiona's trust. Essentially, he could do what he was trained for: being a spy. He could also send out a report to Card through the channels set up in Dublin. It seemed like a good plan.
Finally, he nodded his head in agreement. "Dublin it is. But before this thing goes any further, we need a distress signal in place. Something that alerts the other that things are falling apart." Fiona recognised the sense of that precaution. "How about 'honey'? If one of us calls the other 'honey' it'll be the signal to abort?"
"Honey?" Fiona looked at him questioningly, then began to chuckle. "Sounds like something out of an American film. Seriously, Michael I think yer gettin' caught up in this cloak and dagger business."
Michael scrambled to find a reasonable explanation for his choice, cursing himself for picking that particular endearment. It was the first one that popped into his head likely because his mother frequently used it. "That's what makes it perfect. It isn't something you would usually hear, is it?"
Fiona agreed. It was a relatively uncommon endearment here but not so strange as to attract unwarranted attention. "Well, 'honey', off ya go. Between spyin' on Hannon, avoidin' the Armagh boys, and dealin' with me if things go badly, ya just might get to use yer distress signal."
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An armed convoy rattled along the narrow roads of the Armagh countryside. Hannon's men accepted his presence begrudgingly but were not anxious to make friends. Michael himself was on edge although appeared nonplussed about the entire adventure. He had been stripped of his mobile. They allowed him to keep his gun in case trouble lie ahead but limited the clips he could carry. They had the location. They could procure the weapons on their own. Michael was their insurance but was easily dispensable, a fact not lost on the spy.
There was little traffic. They purposefully avoided major highways, the roads increasingly narrowed the further they moved away from Belfast. The closer they drew to the Newry region, the more heated the air grew within the confines of the vehicle. Guns were kept close; eyes scanned the surroundings with heightened vigilance.
Michael thought about the photo tucked in his wallet, his 'get out of jail free card' should the situation get out of hand. It had been years since he had carried something so personal. The life of a spy dictated remaining unattached, nothing to tie you to another. Spies lived in fear of a loved one being used as leverage, so many found it was simply easier not to love, eliminate that risk. This was the code he tended to live by, but now he carried a link to another, a link that supposedly would lead to salvation rather than cause harm should the need arise. There was something satisfying about its presence, being connected to another openly.
He remembered the sound of her voice as she read the Irish words, translating them for him, his ignorance once again noted. These little lapses were mounting up. Hopefully, she was not keeping a tally! "With love forever." Were those words simply a safety net or did she mean them? She could not meet his eyes, her voice was strained. It was obvious that Fiona used the word sparingly, her awkwardness nearly matching his own. Michael wracked his brain trying to remember if he had ever spoken the words to another human being. Nothing came to mind, not even in conjunction with his 'ex'-fiancée, Samantha.
Michael could no longer deny he was getting too attached to the woman. He revisited the idea of revealing his true identity, come clean about everything. A part of him believed that she would understand, that she would accept him despite the unusual circumstances. But another part, the consummate professional that he was, was certain that conversation would end with only one of them still alive.
He would complete the mission as outlined by Tom Card. Once it was done and Hannon was dead or in cuffs, perhaps he would tell her the truth. But for now, she was an asset, a foreign national associated with an organisation that he was charged with investigating. As much as a part of him wished he were really 'Michael McBride', that man did not exist, and eventually he would have to leave, return to his real life, his real identity. 'Love' had no role in their future, a pang of remorse accompanying the thought.
Hannon's voice broke his reverie. "Nearly there." They passed through the outskirts of Newry, heading southwest into the countryside. Michael checked his weapon once more, his attention drawn back to his surroundings. The roads were empty at this time, too early even for the local farmers. Fiona had described the potential threat. There would be a roadblock of some sort, armed men hidden nearby. Once stopped, they would be approached, ordered out, questioned briefly. Fiona was somewhat reassuring. The Armagh boys would be focused on eliminating opposition forces, not commercial enterprises.
She insisted that Hannon would likely be recognised. Either he would be given clear passage or subject to a 'voluntary toll' for passing through the area. The potential for trouble came from unfamiliarity. Michael would be an unknown entity. He had to hope Hannon would vouch for him if such a circumstance would arise. The photo was his trump card should the arms dealer decide to sell him out. She had one more trick up here sleeve. The location she originally gave was not completely accurate. Michael was the only one who now possessed that information. If Hannon eliminated his new 'partner', he would never retrieve the merchandise. It was nearly time for Michael to divulge that tidbit.
"Hannon. Once you reach the location, drive another 9.5 kilometres, and turn left onto the dirt road."
"What the hell are you talking about, McBride?" Hannon was in no mood for games.
"Glenanne changed it up at the last minute. Lucky for us, she thought I was still in the shower when she made the call." That was the truth of it. She had informed him of the change immediately before he left for this operation. It was exactly the type of move he would have made himself given the situation.
"And you're just getting around to telling me?" Annoyance was clear in his voice and expression.
"Didn't think it mattered since we were headed in the same direction?" Michael tried to shrug off the question.
"Anything else you forgot to mention?" Hannon did not like surprises.
"Just that there's a note I left for Fiona in case I would 'disappear'. Wanted her to know the circumstances that may have led to that eventuality." It wasn't much but it was a wee bit of insurance against betrayal.
"Don't trust me, eh?" The arms dealer narrowed his eyes and he scrutinised the newcomer.
"Over the years, I've learned the only person I trust is myself. Guess that's why I'm still breathing. Can't be too careful these days, can you?" Fiona was not the only operative in play that knew how to keep everyone honest.
"And once your wee secret is out, McBride, do you imagine Fiona will rush in to avenge you after screwing her?" The gunrunner scoffed at his companion's naïveté.
"Don't imagine so. But knowing you were ready to steal from her, well, I wouldn't want to be you, or for that matter anyone who knows you." Michael looked at the men around him making sure his message was delivered. Several looked uncomfortable. Fiona Glenanne had a reputation for revenge and ruthlessness. Each of the men had heard enough stories of those who crossed her; some tales were second hand as the offender was no longer breathing to tell his version of events. "Eliminating me - more trouble than it's worth. Trust me."
"No one's shooting you, McBride, unless, of course, you don't stop running your mouth. Just direct us to the bloody site so we can get the hell out of here before company arrives." Hannon wanted to focus on the task at hand, complete the job as efficiently as possible, and head toward Dublin and a relaxing pint.
Michael focused on the road ahead, directing the driver to the secondary location. All were now on alert. The turnoff was soon found. The four wheel drive vehicles easily traversing the slightly muddied road. The occupants, including the American, were all uneasy with this new arrangement. The one lane road was narrow, an escape route non-existent. Once they entered the path, they were committed to forward progress despite the risks. A sliver of moon was their only light illuminating small patches of the surrounding countryside. This was rolling grazing land, sheep more plentiful than trees. The only solace was an advancing squad would be detected long before an attack could commence.
Night goggles were passed around and provided a clear view despite the darkness. At least dealing with a successful arms dealer allowed the group to have the best toys: an armoured vehicle, multiple types of weapons, and a trained militia. Michael spotted the lane, which would take them further into the countryside, closer to the Thompsons. They made the turn, the road barely wide enough for the vehicle. There was no turning back. He was currently inside Hannon's operation. Either he would procure information that would lead to the gunrunner's downfall or wind up in an unmarked grave. He thought once more about the photo he carried. He had more to live for than ever before. He checked his weapon once more as the trucks moved deeper into the unknown.