Stone of the Heart
The Tail
A few hours later, Fiona and her companions were in position. The merchandise arrived on schedule in Howth Harbour. A fishing boat pulled up to the dock where the IRA contingent waited. The crew had various affiliations with the group but all were committed to the cause and the chance of additional cash the taxman couldn't reach. The Celtic Tiger may be rising but it had not yet trickled down to the docks.
They exchanged pleasantries with the boat owner and took delivery of their 'catch'. Fiona made a brief inspection of the containers confirming all that was as it should be. She told her nearest associate to make the necessary call: merchandise received, cash to be paid. The captain was also on his mobile speaking to his wife confirming the payment had been made. As the financial arrangements were completed satisfactorily, the crew, likely armed should things go awry, prepared to shift ownership of the crates.
The cargo consisting of several large containers was then loaded on the truck without delay and they parted company. Fiona watched the fishing boat quickly depart the marina surmising that another delivery was likely the cause. Business generally picked up around the waterfront at this time of year.
Fiona checked her watch, pleased that everything remained on schedule. The team boarded the truck and made their way to the rendezvous point to await Hannon's arrival.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Michael had better vantage points in his career as he readied to tail a target, but he also had far worse. The area was heavily residential, but a few businesses and even a parking lot provided some cover. He spent much of the time parked in the lot under the cover of a stand of trees just beginning to bud. He planned to move into a more accessible spot, one easier to leave surreptitiously once Hannon was spotted, after he confirmed the gun dealer was en route. He would have to pass this corner to meet with Fiona. The spy slumped in his seat, binoculars in hand, surveying the occupants of every truck that passed his way.
Surveillance was a necessary evil in the life of a spy. The American had spent countless hours sitting in a car or on a desert rooftop gathering Intel that may or may not prove useful to a mission. It was boring and often difficult to keep focused but one momentary lapse and the target could be lost and those precious hours would be wasted.
In this case, Michael's time was well spent. The target appeared, Michael noting the tag, the make and model of the vehicle, and even a brief glimpse of the driver. He knew the vehicle Fiona intended to exchange for this one. Now, he could potentially keep tabs on both. He pulled out of the lot securing a position along the street facing the correct position and waited for Hannon to reappear.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Hannon and his entourage arrived right on time. Both he and Fiona stepped out of the vehicles and walked toward each other as their support team looked on, alert for any signs of mischief. "Fiona, darlin', a pleasure as always." The gun dealer fawned slightly, enjoying the fact that she was ignorant of his recent duplicity, enjoying the fact that her haughtiness would soon be replaced by dismay once she discovered her current lover had her sold her out. Hannon hoped to worm himself into the good graces of the IRA leadership and eliminate her as a go-between and increase his profit margin considerably.
For her part, she pretended the gun dealer did not make her skin crawl, knowing Michael was counting on her continued business relationship with the man. It was the only reason she didn't shoot him on the spot when he made a point of adding traditional air kisses to their meeting. "Let's get on with it, shall we?" Fiona tried to be pleasant but did not intend to linger more than necessary.
Keys were exchanged as both squads exited the vehicles. Fiona and Hannon each made a visual inspection of the cargo, verifying the contents delivered as promised. The IRA operatives moved toward Hannon's van filled with much needed ammunition, the others soon taking over the truck carrying the weapons.
It was done. The transfer took only minutes to complete and both vehicles were about to depart. Hannon's team was quick to leave. Fiona wished that she had someway to contact Michael to let him know that the arms dealer was on his way. She just had to trust that Michael's surveillance skills were as exceptional as most of his other talents. She had done all that she was able. She waited another five minutes before beginning their own journey, hoping that gave Hannon the breathing room he would require to make his way safely back to his lair without fear of discovery. It was now up to Michael.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Michael kept on eye on his watch. He and Fiona had worked out a likely timeline for the exchange to occur. When the approximate time arrived, the spy kept his eyes peeled on the road. Right on schedule, the truck came into view. Apparently, all had gone smoothly - so far.
Michael slowly pulled away from the curb allowing several vehicles to come between his and the truck. He was able to easily keep Hannon in sight without be immediately behind him. The traffic moved steadily at this time of day. Hannon's car veered toward the right, toward Baldoyle. Michael followed, a bit surprised at the direction since he assumed the guns would be headed immediately toward the port.
Then, disaster struck. The barriers at the railway crossing up ahead began their descent and Hannon gunned his engine, passing the barriers in the nick of time. Michael was not so lucky. Two cars back, he was completely cut off, watching with despair as he lost the target, an opportunity for much needed Intel lost to a commuter train. Michael slammed the steering wheel, screaming in frustration.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Fiona had barely left the parking lot before she got Michael's call. She caught the annoyance in his voice. "Honey, I lost the address. Have no idea where I'm going." Michael realised she was in the middle of her own delivery and a cryptic message was the best he could do to update her on the status of the mission.
"That's unfortunate. No way ya can sort out the directions, then?" Fiona needed to know if the operation was salvageable.
"No." Michael left no room for optimism. If he had access to a satellite or had a fleet of assets in play along the possible routes, his chances of success would increase exponentially. But in this case, a lone spy tailing a target solo, his only asset setting the trap but unable to join in the chase, the odds had been stacked against them from the start.
The IRA operative sighed. "We'll just have to pay him a visit another time." She checked her watch. "I should be finished here in about an hour. Meet you at home, shall I?" Fiona could do little at the moment. Her associates surrounded her so she was unable to speak freely and her cargo still needed to be secured. A few mumbled words of agreement ended the call. Fiona closed her mobile and set it aside, hoping that was the only setback of the night.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Fiona's job finished without further issues. She arrived home earlier than she anticipated, surprising her partner. She found him in the kitchen; several empty cups littered the counter, as he poured another into a small pitcher. He gave her an uncomfortable smile as she entered, like a boy who had been caught with his hand in a cookie jar. "You're early!"
"Things went very smoothly." She walked toward him and peeked into the pitcher. Chunks of ice filled half of the container surrounded by recently brewed tea. She made no further comment but stared at the man, curious about his next move.
Michael had little choice but to continue. He poured the last two cups into the pitcher and stirred and then he was ready to pour some into a tumbler. "Would you like some?"
"Definitely not." Fiona grimaced at the thought. Michael took a sip of the semi-icy beverage, immediately raising his spirits.
"Well, at least one of us had a successful day." Michael brooded over the misadventure. "I was hoping we could do a little investigating tomorrow. Maybe see if we can discover anything about Clontarf Medical Supplies."
Fiona poured herself a glass of wine. "That's like searching for a needle in a haystack, Michael. Anyway, I got a call. I need to go back to Belfast in the morning."
"Problem?" His mind momentarily taken off his own failure.
She grew pensive, staring at the contents of her glass, and ruminated about the information she had just received. "They found the informant, the one that's been leaking info to the UVF." The spy remained silent as she continued. "Just a low level grunt that's been with us for a coupla years at least. He seemed like a decent sort. Apparently, he was a plant. Possibly dealing with the RUC, maybe even the Brits." She had a faraway look in her eyes. "Is there anything worse than a tout?"
The American realised the question was rhetorical. He would not have been able to answer truthfully if one had been required. He spent most of his career in the same vein. He was a spy; someone trained to covertly amass information, to report back to his superiors. Sometimes, he acted on his discoveries. Sometimes, he sold or traded it according to the dictates of the Agency. Sometimes, he did nothing letting events unfold naturally, occasionally with dire consequences for those involved.
Of course, Michael justified most of his actions over the years. They were wrapped in the flag. Michael's patriotism, his love of country, his quest to protect those who were unable to defend themselves, provided the backdrop for most of his actions. The world was often a dangerous place. There needed to be people like him, taking risks, willing to put everything on the line for the greater good, so that others, families, soldiers, and the like could sleep safely at night, blissfully unaware of the danger that lurked all about them.
"What will happen to him?" Michael wasn't sure if she would answer.
"Depends, I suppose, on exactly who he was working for." She took a large gulp. "If it turns out he was just feeding those wankers on the fringe, the ones that did the bombing, he'll just get a quick bullet to the head."
Michael scowled. "And if he was working for someone else?"
"Well, if he was workin' for the Crown, or someone associated with the government, things could get rather messy." There was no tolerance for working with the oppressors, those who inflicted harm upon the Irish people; those that shot teenage girls simply out for a day of shopping. Collaborators were the lowest forms of life deserving no mercy.
She saw that Michael wanted details but she had already revealed more than she should. She rolled her eyes. "At least he's not a woman. He'll be spared further indignities." Fiona said no more about the topic but Michael could readily fill in the blanks. He had been a soldier and he was well aware of the darker sides of war. "Anyway, It will be long over before I get back. I just need to be there for more of a strategy session. See where we go from here, see if there are others working against us. Find a way to root them out."
The mood in the bungalow had darkened considerably. Fiona noted her partner's odd expression believing he was sulking a bit after the episode with Hannon had not gone according to plan. She shrugged off what awaited her in Belfast and moved toward Michael. She set down her glass and slipped her arms around his waist. His face softened as she made her approach. "I think we both need a night out after the day's events. Perhaps a bite to eat, maybe a stop at the pub after?"
Michael Westen didn't want a night out. He wanted time to think, time to sort out the events of the day. Fiona's words about informants and their fates tugged at his soul. He willingly accepted danger but he had placed her in a precarious situation as well, a situation that she was unaware even existed, a situation that he created. His stomach clenched at the thought. Larry Sizemore's words popped into his head, "Some people live. Some people die, kid." He needed to erase that thought from his mind!
The Irishwoman watched his face fall. She recognised the need for solitude. She grabbed a strand of her hair and inhaled its scent. "I smell like gun oil." She placed the lock before his nose for confirmation but Michael just look confused. "Usually, a scent I rather like but not the best 'perfume' for town. Think I'm going to pop into the bath. Have a nice long soak." Her fingers ran up and down his arms as she spoke. The light in his eyes began to return. "Ya're welcome to join me after ya have your fill if that swill you're drinkin'." Her eyes shifted to his tumbler of cold tea.
Michael grinned. "I'll be there in a minute." He watched her as she began shedding various articles of clothing and headed toward the bath. Once alone, he struggled to find a way to complete the mission and keep them both alive. He wasn't sure it was possible to do both.
"Michael!" Her voice brought his thoughts to the present as she beckoned for him to join her. He put the spy side of him away for the night, the man now anxious for a bath and whatever else awaited him in the next room.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Dinner proved not to be as bad as he feared. Fiona dominated the conversation, keeping the topics light, suggesting possible venues for a weekend getaway, something she felt they both desperately needed. Michael stayed focused and made appropriate responses but mostly he just watched her. It was rare that she was this relaxed in public. It wasn't simply the wine but had more to do with the surroundings, with Dublin itself. Belfast was filled with so much sorrow for her and her family. He wondered why they all didn't move south; perhaps they would if the border restrictions were loosened as outlined in the Agreement.
Michael would have preferred returning home immediately after dinner but Fiona insisted a short stop at the pub was a necessary evil. She would make an appearance, pick up the local chatter, and pass along some messages. There was a promise of brevity. She was as eager as he to continue their evening alone.
The pub was bustling when they entered. It was nearly closing time so many popped in before heading home for the night. Fiona conducted her business swiftly and the couple once again concentrated on each other. He reached for her hand, stroking it tenderly with his thumb, his gaze intent and loving. The two were clearly a couple; there was no mistaking their affection and comfort with one another.
Johnny Behan was a Dubliner by birth. His parents emigrated to the United States when he was in primary school, so he had a foot in both worlds. After graduating from Princeton, he was swept up by the CIA and soon assigned to Ireland where he remained to this day. He was deeply ingrained in the community and the Dublin faction of the IRA which had become more political than activist during The Troubles. His information had proven invaluable over the years and he remained in deep cover willingly.
He was informed about the current CIA operation and its lead agent, Michael Westen. And there he was, in the flesh, romancing Glenanne, that Belfast bitch. He had very little regard for those up north who were always trying to stir up trouble. Behan knew all about the duplicitous nature of a covert op, how forging relationships came with the territory. But there was nothing false in that look Westen gave the woman. Trouble was brewing, he could feel it. Tomorrow, he would contact his handler. Perhaps, it was nothing. Perhaps, Michael Westen was one helluva actor. Let Langley sort it out. He finished his pint, a last glance at the pair, and he headed out the door.