Stone of the Heart
The Mission
Michael Westen was no stranger to entering a place covertly. He had been airdropped, crossed mountains on foot, four wheeled over deserts, and often travelled by boats, large and small. But this was the first time in his career that he travelled with someone with an Interpol file that seemed to grow daily. In ten years time, he would likely be sent back here to put her out of business if the trend continued.
The trip from Rosslare harbour to a small seaside town in northern France went smoothly enough. They caught a ride with another gunrunner associate of Fiona's who acted as a conduit for supplying weapons to Basque separatists near the Spanish border. It seemed that Fiona's connections extended beyond the confines of the Emerald Isle. Now, they were headed by land across the northern part of continental Europe. Twelve to thirteen hours of driving without stops would be required to reach their destination. Michael took the first shift. He glanced his passenger, attempting to get some sleep before her turn behind the wheel.
He was still trying to get used to her subtly different appearance. Fiona Glenanne hoped to avoid any unpleasantness with local authorities who might want to detain her for questioning. Her Interpol file was flagged alerting others that she had the potential to be "an imminent threat and danger to persons or property." There were limitations on how much she could alter herself physically, but she did what she could when leaving the country. Her hair was slightly darker, brown contacts changed her eye colour. 'Kelly Minch' may have a similar body type to the wanted Glenanne, but no extradition order applied to the alias. Still, Michael would not rest easy until Fiona was safely back on Irish soil.
Michael had passed the information regarding Hannon through channels outlining his plan for the next phase of the operation. He received an immediate confirmation from Tom Card who was glad to see the mission progressing; glad his protégé appeared to be getting back on track. The spy, however, neglected to mention that he was bringing his 'asset' along for backup.
Card was planning on meeting him once the younger man arrived in Germany. Michael was less than thrilled about that necessary step but realised there was little recourse if he wanted to open a dialogue about relocating his asset. He was unsure how to approach him about his travelling companion. He wondered briefly if he should keep Fiona's presence hidden from his mentor, but thought perhaps if he put the two together it would provide some pathway to maintain his connection to her in some capacity. Regardless, Michael could not dwell on that aspect. One problem at a time was his usual mantra.
The hours and the countryside passed by. Containers of yoghurt were consumed. Shots of espresso and adrenaline kept each driver alert as they drove through the night. Little conversation actually took place, the need for rest and focus taking precedence over mindless chatter. Fiona saw no hint of 'McBride' once they sailed from Rosslare Harbour. The American became even more serious, if that was possible. His eyes were constantly scanning his surroundings, his mind calculating each move, planning for possible scenarios, preparing himself as necessary.
His furtive glances toward her made Fiona realise her presence was adding to his distress, adding another unpredictable factor into the equation. She wanted to be by his side to lend support, as well as, additional weaponry should the need arise. She never calculated that her assistance would actually increase his anxiety. She had pictured this jaunt as more of a romantic getaway with a bit of work sprinkled between bistro meals and sexual antics. Now she fully understood that Michael Westen had other ideas. She would be lucky to get a drive through meal with a quick poke in the backseat of the car. Perhaps, if she understood the parameters of this trip she would have been less inclined to wish to participate. Too late for regrets as they made their way toward Hamburg.
A few kilometres outside the city Michael found a small hotel. The spy knew that a good night's sleep, a decent meal, and a hot shower would revive the pair after the journey. All three were needed and necessary to sweep away some of the internal disquiet both operatives felt yet tried to ignore.
Michael could not sleep, his mind in overdrive. He tried to keep still hoping Fiona could get some rest at least. The spy was not used to having a partner, not since the days with Larry. Working with Sizemore had released the darkness that always lay below the surface of his very being. It was a good thing the man died in a fiery explosion or Michael feared he might have lost his very soul. This situation was far different but no less dangerous in some ways. His new partner, the one sleeping beside him, brought up a different range of emotions, his primal need to protect those he cared about.
The spy had no idea how this mission would unfold, where the path may lead. He was not worried about his own safety but he had allowed a civilian, albeit with an unusual skill set, into a CIA operation on foreign soil. That responsibility was weighing heavily on him keeping sleep at bay. He knew he would do whatever was necessary to keep her safe.
Words were still difficult to come by as they lay beside one another, Fiona drawing comfort from the other's presence. She could sense Michael was troubled but hesitated to draw him into conversation.
After a time, Michael left the bed and settled himself at a small table in the corner of the room. Fiona propped herself on her elbow and watched the man. She noticed that he had written something, slipping it quietly into his wallet. Then, he walked toward her extending his hand, a slip of paper offered to her. She grasped it lightly, their fingers touching upon the transfer of the note. Michael cleared his throat, averting his eyes slightly from her questioning gaze. "That's my mother's phone number in Miami. I just made a change making you my primary emergency contact. I'll let Card and the Agency know in due course." Fiona cast her eyes downward staring at the paper and its implication. "If anything happens to me, I need you to call her, let her know. Can you do that for me?"
Fiona could barely get out the words. "I can. I will." Her hand trembled slightly as she stared at the number.
Michael gave her a weak smile, quickly changing the topic. "Just going to do a quick perimeter check. I'll be right back." The spy left the room eager for some space after taking so momentous step. Fiona let out a deep breath unaware she had forgotten to breathe momentarily. She held the number in her hands, a link to the real man, a link leading her to believe that despite all the difficulties in their relationship, Michael Westen wanted her in his future, not just as an asset. She tucked the number away, committing it to memory;a simple act that would entwine their lives for eternity.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
The meet with Card was set for noon, a large park providing easy access and little chance their conversation could be monitored. Michael set Fiona on a bench within view of his position. There was no point concealing her presence. Card would eventually be aware of her involvement so Michael would deal with the issue straight on. After all, he had valid operational reasons for including Fiona in the mission, or so he told himself.
Tom Card arrived right on time settling himself on the bench beside his protégé. "Top 'o the mornin' to you!"
"Very funny." Michael wasted no time in getting down to business. The less time out in the open like this, the better. "Did you bring the list?"
Card placed a folded newspaper on the open space between them. "You'll find the names of every possible contact here in Hamburg that might help you in this little escapade. Let us know who you'll approach and we'll make the necessary arrangements to lend our resources and support."
He scanned the area and stopped cold. "You gotta be kidding me." He spotted her immediately. Not even the new hair colour, sunglasses, or floppy hat she wore could disguise her true identity. "Have you completely lost your mind, Michael? Bringing her here?" Tom Card did not mince his words. "How the hell did you even get her in the country? She's on an Interpol watch list, for God's sake!"
Michael let his mentor vent before even attempting to explain. Then, he met Tom's indignation with some of his own. "I didn't have much choice, Card. We need her to finish the job with Hannon. She was ready to do something that would have jeopardised all the inroads we've made. We let Hannon slip through our fingers now, he'll just find another distributer." Michael paused giving Tom time to process the situation. "You're the one who insisted we needed to eliminate Hannon and then the whole house of cards would collapse."
Card was furious but Michael's words rang true. "How did you convince her to come here anyway?" Michael opened his mouth to speak struggling to find the best way to describe the current situation. The older man could read his protégé like few others were able. "You didn't? Tell me you didn't, Michael." The young spy could not meet his mentor's eyes telling Card all he needed to know. "You told her - who you are? Whom you work for?" The CIA officer grew red faced as his anger mounted. "I think you are using the wrong body part in making these decisions, buddy."
"If you could just talk with her, Card. She's working with us on this. She's providing tactical support. She..." Michael tried to apply logical reasoning but even he realised how ridiculous his arguments sounded when weighed against the liability she created by being present.
"Tactical support? Is that what they're calling it these days?" The CIA training officer thought he had heard all of the possible lame excuses for foolish moves, but that one may have topped them all, especially as it came from his own boy wonder. "Let me explain this to you, Michael." Tom Card stood up, his hands on his hips. His actions, breaking cover in this way, jarred the spy to the core. "That woman is under constant scrutiny by our biggest ally. They want her head on a pike in front of The Tower of London. Or at least in some dark, damp dungeon where they can dump her and then throw away the key. The Brits are just waiting for her to screw up so they have some concrete evidence to put her away once and for all." His face reddened as his exasperation grew. "She gets caught here in Germany... me, the Agency, we're not gonna go out on the skinny branches to save her ass or yours. Got that?"
Card did not mince words as he laid out the facts to the man before him. "She's a bomber, an arms dealer, and an active Provo guerrilla. Why that might sound like the girl of your dreams, Michael, let me tell you from the Agency perspective, it's not a match made in heaven. We put away people like her."
Michael had no rebuttal. He knew Card was right. It was not the first time he had been warned. Tom could see his words were finally registering. "How long do you need to wrap this thing up?"
The young spy made some mental calculations. "No more than a month."
"Get it done and get your ass home." He took a long look at Fiona. She raised her head, meeting his direct gaze before he faced Michael again. "By the way, how's that fiancée of yours? Did you fill Ms. Glennane on that little secret as well?" He gave his protégé his trademark toothy grin before buttoning his jacket and walking away. Michael peered across the park, focusing on his asset. Their time together was running out. He intended to make the most of it.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
They returned to the hotel separately. "I take it your handler was less than enthusiastic about me being here."
"He made his reservations known." Michael didn't want to talk about Card. He didn't want to dwell on the ultimatum that he was given. He couldn't worry about any of that now. There was a task to be performed, a mission to focus upon. In this venue he had answers, in his personal life he had only uncertainty. "On the plus side, I think I have a good lead on someone that can help with tracking the shipping container. I'm meeting him tonight."
"Do ya want some company?" Fiona hoped this new contact might be more receptive to her involvement.
Michael shook his head. "Let me feel him out first. See if he's game. If it's a go, we'll set up another meet for tomorrow." The spy needed some time apart, time to sort through his options. He also wasn't sure how his friend would react to working with someone with Fiona's resume. But there was only one way to find out. Luckily, his friend, Sam, liked beer. The spy hoped if he plied the man with enough of the substance that Sam would readily agree to work with devil himself, or in this case, herself. Michael planted a smile on his face and prepared to recruit a new team member.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Michael Westen had never seen enmity develop at such a rapid pace before. They had known each other less than an hour yet he could tell that Fiona hated his friend, hated his friend in a way that he did not believe was possible. This was Sam Axe. Everybody liked Sam; in fact most people loved Sam. But as he already knew in his heart, Fiona was not most people.
"I can't believe that yer considerin' this!" She confronted Michael.
The spy had listened to several options but was leaning toward the one Sam proposed. "It's the smart play here, Fi."
"Smart? Placin' a bloody tracker? We could have done that in Dublin." She pleaded her case. "Ya've got a U.S. SEAL team willin' to help ya. Between them and us we can see who picks up the can, surround them, and shove some guns down their throats till they take us to whoever's callin' the shots."
"Yeah, that sounds like a great plan... if you want to get us all killed." Sam Axe did not walk away from dangerous situations but her plan was suicide.
Michael tried to reason with the fiery operative. "Look, Fi, they're trained..."
She jumped right in. "Trained? Grand then. Throw them a fish and tell them what to do."
"Look, 'Molly Malone', see this uniform here." Sam pointed to his chest. "I'm a member of the United States Navy. I don't take my 'orders' from you or Mike."
"Ah, that's right, ya wear a bloody uniform. Can't think fer yerself then, can ya? Yer masters, yer keepers tell ya what to do. Where I come from, we have to rely on ourselves!"
Michael helplessly tried to play referee, attempting to silence each in turn as the argument intensified.
"Where you come from? That's a good one. Blowing up cars, shooting soldiers from your own country's army, trying to bring down your own government. We call that terrorism, sister!" Sam was red faced.
"Terrorism, is it?" Fiona leaned toward the man. "It's how your own bloody country started - except for the cars, that is. A bunch of like-minded rebels needin' freedom, fightin' off the yoke of the Crown. So, I suppose yer own George Washington was a bloody terrorist, as well!"
Sam pushed away his beer, a sure sign that the conflict was about to come to blows. "Don't be dissing the Founding Fathers..."
Michael stood up and shouted, his voice firm and commanding. "Guys! Guys!" This debate was pointless and wasting valuable time. "Sam, Fiona has expertise in tactical field work. Her skills could come in handy here if things go wrong." Fiona calmed down immediately. She jutted out her chin in defiance feeling that her lover was finally coming around to see the situation through her eyes. "Fiona, Sam has a Navy SEAL Team under his command. They can gain access to the ship when it's still on the water, reduce the chance of discovery." Now, it was Sam's turn to feel victory. He chuckled softly, picked up his beer, and took a sip.
Fiona gave her partner an icy glare. "Fine." She turned and stormed off toward the door. "I need some air." She quickly exited leaving the two men alone.
"Mikey, I know you have trouble meeting girls, but seriously?" Sam's eyes widened as he watched the woman storm out of the room. He had some major doubts about working with someone who seemed to be a loose canon. "My lady friend, Greta, she's got some pretty attractive friends, with a lot more substance, if you know what I mean." Sam made an imaginary drawing of a woman with an hourglass figure in the air.
"Yeah, thanks, Sam, but I'm already 'involved'." Michael had enough problems.
"So, you haven't had a girlfriend since what, high school, and when you finally find one, she's a complete psychopath? Good luck with that, brother." Sam shook his head wondering how a guy as smart as Mike could get sucked into a relationship with that head case.
Suddenly, Michael's eyes widened. He jumped up and rushed to the door. "Where's the fire?" Sam followed. Both men ran out to the parking lot. They spotted the woman immediately.
Fiona was walking back toward them, a satisfied smile on her face. Michael approached, a no nonsense expression easily seen. "Disarm it." His voice was authoritative and brusque. "Now!"
Fiona looked at him with wide-eyed innocence. "What are ya talkin' about, Michael?"
"You wired his car, didn't you?" Fiona looked away. Refusing to answer Michael's question. "Didn't you?"
"My car?" Sam looked toward his vehicle and then back at the couple.
Michael continued his accusatory stare. Fiona's shoulders slumped. "Fine." She turned around, headed back toward the car, slipped underneath and began to undo her work.
Sam Axe was dumbfounded. "She wired my car! Ya gotta be kiddin' me." The Navy SEAL thought his buddy needed to put that hot slice of crazy in the rear view. "Seriously, Mike, you need to make some more friends."
Michael Westen sighed in frustration. An uneasy alliance had formed. The good news was that this was a short mission and those two would never have to see one another again. The spy took solace from that fact but they still had to get through the next twenty-four hours without his friends killing one another. It was going to be a long day!