Stone of the Heart
The Sortie
Covert operatives have a hard time dating. Even if you find someone who doesn't mind that you won't talk about your past or that you carry a concealed weapon, they usually want more than you're able to give. Michael watched her sleep, the strain of the past few days not outwardly visible. Her hair was splayed across the pillow, her expression serene, no hint of the drama that unfolded mere hours before.
Michael extricated himself from the sheets that swaddled them, moving stealthily as to not awaken her, partly for her benefit allowing her uninterrupted slumber, partly for his benefit giving him time to think and strategise. He stepped gingerly over the broken glass that littered the carpet, a stark reminder of the scene that followed Sam's hasty exit.
Sometimes Fiona was as volatile as the explosives she favoured. This was one of those times. As soon as the SEAL left, Fiona blew! She hurled whatever was in her reach directly at him. Glasses, ashtrays, a bedside lamp, and several empty beer bottles became projectiles while her fury was unleashed. Michael was able to successfully dodge most of the barrage but a jagged edge of one of the bottles caught him along his upper arm. It was a deep gash likely requiring stitches but he had patched himself up as best he could. Blood was seeping through the makeshift bandage. He looked around for something that might stanch the bleeding.
Fiona stirred the moment Michael slipped away. Brushing the sleep from her eyes, she made her way sluggishly to the bathroom, shielding her eyes from the bright light. "I was trying not to wake you." Michael held a folded towel to his bicep. She moved closer and inspected the wound slightly blanching at the damage she had inflicted. Michael rummaged through his bag looking for duct tape to hold the towel in place. He noticed her concerned expression. "It's just a scratch. It'll be fine."
"Michael, it's too deep. Ya really need stitches." Fiona came to full alertness as she tenderly dabbed the wound, remorse consuming her. She left momentarily, returning with a well-stocked medical kit. It was not uncommon for operatives to do their own field medicine. It was uncommon, however, for your own team member to actually cause the damage. Michael was silent as Fiona went about the task of cleansing the area, preparing to sew the gash closed.
Michael gritted his teeth as Fiona began. She worked slowly and methodically. Halfway through she initiated a discussion. "This isn't completely my fault, ya know." The American looked at her quizzically, unsure on how anyone else was to blame. "If that pompous ass, Card, hadn't given me the cold shoulder and then yer man there, Sam, hadn't called me a psycho, I wouldn't have lost my temper, would I now?"
"Fi, you tried to blow him up." Michael pointed out the obvious flaw to her reasoning. Fiona glanced upward briefly. Truth be told, it was the American that had induced her fiery rage. He made no attempt to defend her; no tender looks came her way while either man was present. Her insecurity about their relationship intensified under his dispassionate gaze, so she reverted to old patterns using violence as a sort of foreplay. Of course, she had done more damage than she intended - to the man and to the room.
She bound off the last stitch. "At least after tonight I'll never have to see Axe again. Don't know how ya can be friends with someone like that. He's like an over eager Boy Scout. All Stars and Stripes." Michael smiled at the description of his friend. Sam Axe would likely take it as a compliment.
Fiona relaxed slightly seeing Michael's changed expression. "Ya go back to bed. Get some sleep. I'll clean up this mess. Don't want housekeepin' calling the Peelers thinkin' there's been foul play here." Fiona retrieved a trashcan and began picking up chunks of glass. Michael watched for a few moments before joining her in the task. They completed the clean up in contented silence as both regained much needed emotional equilibrium and prepared themselves for the mission ahead.
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As darkness fell, they began their preparations. Dark clothing, blackened faces, sniper rifles primed and ready.
"I'm still not a fan of this plan, Michael. This is our operation. How do ya know ya can really trust the man? I think he likes the drink a bit too much." Fiona packed some C-4 while she expressed her reservations once again.
"Sam has saved my ass more than once." Michael did not want to revisit this topic of discussion but it was apparent that Fiona was not going to let the matter drop. "Sam and his team have the best approach. Security may patrol the docks but they won't be expecting a water assault. They'll be in and out without raising any alarms."
"Then, why exactly are we needed there?" If Michael's associates had the situation covered, she could think of other more pleasurable ways to spend the rest of the night.
"Tactical support, Fi." The spy grew serious. "Just in case I miscalculated the situation. I'm not gonna leave my friend hanging in the wind."
Fiona heaved a bag filled with supplies on her shoulder. His words made sense and she had no sound argument to continue the debate. "Well, if I'm goin' to be sittin' on some damn rooftop in the dead of night I better be able to shoot something ... or someone." She left the room in a huff, Michael following close behind, hoping she wasn't referring to Sam.
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Card had been given the go-ahead for the mission in record time, the Navy lending its support and personnel to the task. Sam Axe assembled his team and watched the clock waiting for the start of the agreed upon timeline, allowing Mike and his unstable lady friend to get into position.
Fiona cut through the wire fencing as Michael stood watch. Even Fi had to admit there were advantages to working with a government agency as satellite images of the area had provided a wealth of information including access points and building locations. They selected a site for their perch, which seemed to provide an excellent view of the area as well as substantial cover for themselves. Once in place it was just a waiting game, Michael hoping their services would not be needed.
The Harbour Master, O'Reilly had provided not only the final destination of the vessel but also the date of arrival and the approximate location the particular container could be found on the ship, essential information if this mission was to succeed.
Right on schedule, the ship pulled into port, a flurry of activity accompanying its arrival. It was nearly midnight before it was secured and the accompanying paperwork cleared. Then, the area emptied, a mere skeleton crew working the overnight shift. Unloading of the containers would begin at first light giving the covert team a window of opportunity. Michael noticed that Fiona was alert and focused despite the lack of action. He surmised it had something to do with the chance she might actually get to use her sniper rifle. She would want to be ready in case the opportunity presented itself. The spy appreciated that he did not have to listen to a litany of complaints now that the exercise was underway.
If all went according to plan, the land-based operatives would be unaware of the SEAL team's movements. Only a signal would indicate a successful completion of the endeavour. So, time dragged on, each second longer than the one before.
"That's it. They're done." Michael saw the quick burst of light indicating that Sam and his men had planted the tracker and were departing the scene. Their job was finished here. Card had agents in play that would take over the upcoming phase of the operation in Germany or wherever it would lead. The CIA spy on the ground would use his or her own assets, or recruit one if that would help infiltrate the organisation, track where these weapons would ultimately land. Michael was needed back in Ireland to shut down Hannon's pipeline.
Fiona's shoulders slumped. "So, we sat here most of the night for nothing?" She had been looking forward to a least a brief firefight.
"Sorry to disappoint you." Michael began packing up the supplies. He was anxious to leave, as darkness would camouflage their exit. As much as the Irish woman may have liked to see some action, Michael breathed a sigh of relief that he made the right call - a smooth operation that drew scant attention. A shoot out in a foreign country involving an American spy, a PIRA guerrilla, and a United States SEAL team would likely set off an international incident, as well as get him fired. Something that would please Fiona no doubt, but not a scenario he preferred.
He watched her as she gathered her unused ammunition, a wistful expression on her face. Michael could not feed her thirst for action, but he offered a consolation prize of sorts. "It's almost morning. Maybe we can find a nice cafe for breakfast - Spanish omelette, egg whites only?" His smile was inviting and Fiona realised there was no reason to linger. A speedy and stealthy exit followed as the sky began to lighten.
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A leisurely breakfast followed the night's exploits once their equipment was stowed away and their attire became more street worthy. Fiona began to make plans for the day ahead. "I was thinking we could do a bit of shopping, maybe take in a museum in the afternoon, and go clubbing in the evening." Hamburg was a cosmopolitan city known for its delights and she was hoping to sample a few before returning home.
Michael quickly squashed her idea. "It's best if we try to get some rest. Head back once it's dark."
"Back? Tonight? Surely, we can have a night for ourselves, a little music, some dancing, a drink or two?" Fiona batted her eyes slightly as she tried to sway the man.
"We have a radio back at the hotel. We can pick up a bottle of something and you can dance until we leave. Knock yourself out." The spy presented a practical solution.
"It's not the same if no one's watching!" Fiona sighed in frustration. One night of normalcy was small recompense for her assistance, yet it seemed that she was to be denied even that.
The spy pointed out the obvious. "Your idea of 'clubbing' is a tactical nightmare, Fi. The lights are low making facial recognition difficult, the venue too crowded compromising surveillance of the area, the noise level rules out hearing the types of conversations around you. No telling who might be in the crowd or what they might be carrying. Too few exits, too much alcohol..."
Fiona held up her hand before he added any more negatives. "Ya may be the only human being that can make a night out on the town sound like a covert operation." She took a bite of toast, leaned back in her chair, and scowled. "Has anyone told ya, ya're no fun, Michael?"
"Once or twice." Michael admitted.
"Expect to be hearin' it a bit more." Fiona sighed realising her plans would come to nothing as the man's mind was made up. "I'm going to peruse the shops a bit before I head back to the hotel." Michael winced as he prepared to point out the inherent flaws in that idea but he stopped once he noticed Fiona's stance and expression. Her arms were folded across her chest, her eyebrows raised, and her lips pursed. He recognised the sight of an argument that he could not win so he nodded reluctantly. A small smile of victory appeared on her face.
Michael attempted to pay the bill but Fiona took over as the man began to struggle trying to decipher whether or not service had already been added. She sighed in frustration. "Maybe they should teach you better maths in spy school." Michael quickly looked around to be sure her comment was not overheard, his look indicating he found no humour in her biting comment.
They strolled through several shops, occasionally stopping when something caught Fiona's eye. Michael, tense and uncomfortable, surveyed the streets checking for tails or customers that seemed out of place. He was anxious to leave and return to the relative safety of a controlled environment. The joy of the excursion for Fiona was quickly disappearing since her companion was clearly on edge. "Ya'd think we were in Grozny the way ya're actin'."
"There are a lotta people I could run into in this part of the world that I'd rather avoid." His eyes, hidden under sunglasses, continued to scan his surroundings. "Are we done yet?"
A disgruntled sigh escaped her lips and she quickly found what she was looking for, anxious to get him alone and remove the worry from his face. "I'll just pay for this and we'll be on our way." Fiona held up a small snow globe of Hamburg featuring the Landungsbrücken Waterway Station.
Michael took a quick glance at her purchase, then a much longer one. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Adding to my collection." Fiona moved toward the cashier.
"No one is supposed to know that you're here. Remember?" The spy whispered his admonition and then attempted to pry it from her hands intending to return it to the shelf.
She increased her grip, pulling it closer to her body. "It's goin' to be sittin' on a shelf in me house. I'm not wearing it around town, Michael."
"What if Hannon sees it?" Michael thought this little trinket had the possibility of unravelling their entire operation.
"If Hannon's in my place, we have bigger things to worry about than this snow globe." She pulled it from her lover's hands, determined to keep her prize.
Michael's frustration mounted. "Fine. Let's just get out of here." He released his hold on the object as he realised their disagreement was beginning to garner strange looks from a few tourists looking for their own souvenirs.
It was time to begin their journey homeward, a journey that would go far more smoothly with a Fiona who did not want to wring his neck. He inspected her purchase with interest now that the matter was settled. It was made of plastic, not glass. A small consolation but at least it was less likely to cause much damage should he and Fiona clash once again. Things were never easy with this woman, a fact he accepted and it was one of the many reasons he was drawn to her. He just had to hope they would make it back to Ireland in one piece.
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They had barely unpacked when Michael raised the issue of Hannon. The spy felt his window to nab the gunrunner was slowly closing. Events initiated in Germany were now out of his control. If the spy on the ground there identified and eliminated his target, repercussions would be felt in this corner of the world. Once Hannon's distributer was in custody, it was likely that the man would shut down his enterprise temporarily and go underground until the situation proved more conducive to business. Michael felt the need to initiate contact, but without Fiona's cooperation, it was a pointless enterprise.
Fiona stood by the étagère, polishing her snow globes and adding her recent purchase to the collection. She felt his eyes tracking her every movement. The man clearly had something to discuss with her, something he was reticent to broach. "I'd like to think ya were staring at me like that because ya were ready to go at me at any moment. But, sadly, I think ya want to tell me something, something I won't like." She stopped her activity and walked closer as her mind reviewed several topics he would be apt to raise. "Is it Hannon, then?" Michael nodded, a bit apprehensively unsure of her reaction. "Go on. The sooner ya tell me your 'plan', the sooner we can move on to more enjoyable pursuits."
"We need to draw out Hannon. Give him something big. Something that he'll want to move out of the country quickly." Michael began to pace slightly. He could set the trap but did not possess any bait of his own. He knew what he was asking, not only in terms of merchandise, but also it meant his time in Ireland would draw to a close.
Fiona swallowed hard, knowing for weeks they were on borrowed time. The conversation may centre upon the gunrunner but both understood the implications. She raised the question that was foremost in her mind. "Where will ya go... when this is over?" Her eyes were downcast, wondering if he would even give her an answer or simply deflect the query with one of his own.
"Not sure. Eastern Europe, Middle East, Africa maybe." Michael truly had no idea where his next posting would be. Much of it would depend on his success, or lack thereof, with this particular assignment. "You know, Fi, even spies get leave." He knew this was true, not that he ever took advantage of that offer but it was a glimmer of hope that both could cling to during these waning days.
The IRA operative flashed a sad smile at her companion before switching gears. "I'm not sure I have that type of personal inventory, Michael."
The American had a suggestion. 'What about IRA stores? There must be something there to entice Hannon to make a move."
Fiona's jaw dropped. "Do ya know what ya're asking?" The referendum was days away. It was too early to deplete the Army's cache and too volatile a time to bring up such a sale. If she were to do this, it would have to be on her own.
"Yeah. I do." Michael was loath to put her in this position but saw no other way. "I made you a promise at the start of this that I would get everything back. You just have to trust me." There was sincerity and determination in his gaze.
Trust him. Quite ironic coming from a man who had begun their relationship with a lie! If he could not deliver on that promise, her associates would show no mercy once her deed was detected. "Give me a few days to see what I can come up with. Right now, I have a bank robbery to plan."
He reached for her. "After." His message was clear and welcomed.
"What about your stitches? Ya'll not be wanting to tear them out again." She drew closer.
A wide grin appeared cross his face as the man an expert at playing the odds noted, "I'll take my chances." Michael Westen was used to living on the edge. He had been tottering on the brink for weeks, straddling the line between effective operative and besotted lover. A few torn stitches would be a small price to pay for another night in her arms. Time for him, for them, was running out.