Stone of the Heart

The Heist

"Where are you going?" Michael sat up; confused as to the reason Fiona had left the bed and headed toward the shower.

She paused at the doorway, illuminated by the light behind her. "I told ya before ya started things. I have a bank to rob." With that, she turned and entered the shower.

"Tonight?" Michael followed close behind. "Can't it wait until morning?"

Fiona pushed back the door and stared at the man, a look of amusement on her face. "Were ya planning to make a night of it then? Can't keep yer hands off me, now?" She smiled at the perplexed expression on her lover's face. "Yes, Michael. Tonight. I prefer not to blow a safe in the middle of the day. All those pesky bank patrons standin' in me way." Michael's brow was furrowed as she enlightened him about her plans. "Did ya forget ya're not the only one with a job to do?" She closed the shower door and turned the water on full blast drowning out further conversation.

Michael grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his waist and waited for her to emerge. The sound of rushing water ceased and he immediately continued the dialogue. "Don't you think we should talk about this? This thing with Hannon... " The spy feared the operation was reaching a critical point and they both needed to stay focused on the task. But one glance told him that Fiona had other ideas.

Fiona stepped out, open mouthed, not quite believing what the man appeared to be saying. "There's nothing to talk about, Michael. Hannon is not my primary concern. I don't work for the CIA - or have ya forgotten?" She dried herself quickly and wrapped a towel around her hair, then proceeded into the next room.

Michael trailed after her, unsure how to continue. Fiona watched him for several seconds as he struggled for words, finding his awkwardness slightly endearing, easing her annoyance. "This has been in the works for weeks, Michael." She slipped on her clothes. "A quick job. In and out. Relatively routine. A last chance to fill the coffers." As she released her hair, he grabbed a brush and handed it to her, their hands touching for the briefest of moments.

The American stopped himself from raising any further objections. It would be pointless anyway. He realised that what Fiona said was true: she had her own work, her own responsibilities; a life she would return to once he was gone. He had no right to interfere. So, he planted that false smile on his face, pretending that all was well, covering his unease with a thread of truth. "I was just hoping, you know, to be together." He moved closer cradling her face with his hand.

"I thought we covered that." She winked and began to move away, finishing her toilette. A part of her wished she could blow off the job, crawl back to bed, and keep both of their professional lives away for one more night. But, duty called and she intended to answer. She twisted her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck, placed a gentle kiss on Michael's lips filled with promise, and quickly left before his eyes could plead with her to stay.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The team was reunited once again, possibly for the final time. Together, they had relieved several banks of their cash, strong-armed donations for the cause. Fiona reckoned they had hit at least thirty over the past eight years. Now, as The Agreement looked to become reality, the six members that had worked so closely together were grappling with what the future held for them individually. The eldest of the group, Hughes, had already decided the life of a pensioner suited him well after all the years of mayhem. The youngest, O'Farrell, had recently become a father. Looking at his new son, the man decided to find legitimate employment, break the cycle of the Army becoming a way of life beckoning each new generation to continue its association.

One member, Brennan, knew his allegiance would never waver. PIRA was home, it was family, it was the reason a chance for peace existed. He thought he might become more active in Sinn Fein, press the cause politically rather than with force. Another also felt tied to the IRA but he had enough of Belfast. He thought to head south to Dublin, get involved with the faction there. If they were running drugs instead of guns, he believed he could adapt. After all, contraband was contraband. The last two, Fiona and Ruairi, still had no answer about what came next now that peace was disrupting their livelihood. Although neither broached the subject with the other, both considered switching their allegiance to the Real, continuing their work under another banner.

But Fiona had other skills besides explosives and marksmanship. Over the years Fiona as a matter of necessity had become quite adept with running guns, negotiating deals, and executing sales flawlessly. She could certainly expand her own personal operation or continue to use her skills for the benefit of PIRA. If disarmament was to become a reality, those weapons could be surrendered to the Brits without profit or sold to entrepreneurs like herself or Hannon. The proceeds of such sales could fund the political activities of Gerry Adams and his associates. Ruairi may not have the skills to run his own operation but he was a man to be trusted. She would not hesitate to continue their partnership.

A wave of sadness passed over her as she thought about her other 'partner'. How she wished that she and Michael could forge a business together! Together, they would truly be a force - his strategic know how, her expertise in the field. She highly doubted that the American spy would consider abandoning his work with the CIA to become an international arms dealer. More's the pity, she thought. He was more suited to that line of work even if he didn't want to admit it to himself.

Fiona pushed those regrets aside realising no amount of wishing would change the facts. Once the operation regarding Hannon was complete, Michael would be reassigned, away from Ireland, away from her.

"Fiona! Fiona! Have ya heard a feckin' word I've said?" Hughes reprimanded her sharply. They were finalising their plans for the assault on the bank and the woman's attention had wandered.

"Sorry." Fiona brushed off her malaise fully focusing on Hughes while her associates snickered.

Ruairi, grinning, jabbed her slightly in the ribs and whispered. "Called ya out, right so." It wasn't often he was able to find fault with his long time associate and he could not resist the impulse to taunt her a bit. Fiona's elbow stabbed him in the solar plexus as the big man doubled over in pain.

"Oh, I didn't see ya there." The irony of that comment was not lost the crew. The red haired operative was a big man, his presence difficult to ignore.

The mood turned serious as Hughes gathered his team closer to review the operation once more. This was likely the last opportunity for the Provos in any capacity to strike a bank within the country. If the referendum passed, these types of activities would be immediately condemned. Even now it was fraught with difficulties, not officially sanctioned but a blind eye was turned, as funding was necessary.

The venues for the jobs varied but their roles often remained the same. That familiarity did not dissuade the elder man from outlining everyone's task and positioning. A suspicious package would be discovered elsewhere in the city drawing forces away from the area of their intended target. The youngster, O'Farrell, would drive, dropping off the crew, returning seventeen minutes later. Brennan and Grady, armed to the teeth, would remain outside the building, prepared to eliminate any threats that came their way. Fiona would fashion an entrance into the building and then together they would blow the safe. Ruairi would act as sentry once they were inside. Then, the big man would carry a majority of the cash to their awaiting escape vehicle. Hughes moved to each in turn expecting confirmation of the upcoming assignment, assessing that each was up to the mission ahead.

"Right, then. Off ya go." He checked his watch. "Back here in a coupla hours. Fiona. A word." The older man held Fiona back. The rest of the team hurriedly left, trying to stifle their grins and laughter believing Ms. Glenanne was to receive a reprimand of some sort.

"I'm sorry for..." Fiona began to apologise again for losing her focus but Hughes held up his hand to silence her. His intent was not to rebuke her but to have a private conversation.

His mood seemed to darken as he spoke. "A bit rattled we are dese days. All of us. It's in everyone's eyes. Makes me wonder if we can pull this one off." Now, it was Fiona's turn to look concerned. She had never heard any less than utter confidence from the man. "Tinkin' we could use a bit o' help." His eyes never left hers.

She swallowed hard while she pondered several options and then turned her attention back to the diagram. "If we can get some additional cover here... And here." She pointed to areas around the bank. "Then we can just concentrate on gettin' in and out quickly."

"Right so." His blue eyes twinkled at the addition to the plan. Fiona rolled her eyes realising that was his idea to start with, wanting her to see it for herself to recruit a few more guns for the job.

"I'll make some calls." She picked up her mobile and prepared to get some much needed tactical support.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They arrived at the appointed time. Equipment was gathered, checked, and loaded into the van. Hughes pulled Fiona aside. "Is it sorted den?"

"Tis." A reassuring smile accompanied the affirmation. "A pair of snipers in each location we discussed. They know what to do." The woman had no trouble securing additional backup. Two of the men were part of her gunrunning detail; the other duo consisted of her brother, Sean, and Michael. She nearly hesitated asking him, reluctant to bring the American spy into 'RA work once again but he had participated willingly before and her options at this late date were somewhat limited. She needed someone with sharpshooter skills, someone she could trust, and someone who knew how to keep a secret. Michael qualified on all counts.

"Grand." A sigh of relief escaped his lips. "Move it out."

O'Farrell was already behind the wheel; chain smoking and tapping the steering wheel nervously.

"Ya all right there, man. Ya look a bit knackered." Ruairi was the first to notice their driver seemed to be a bit off.

"Babby was up all night, he was. Colic, Maeve says. I'll be right as rain once we get goin'." The male members of the team nodded in sympathy, all having experience with sleepless nights when their own were born.

The team piled into the van. Once Hughes received word that the 'suspicious package', a small explosive device, had been discovered in East Belfast, the mission was given the green light. The RUC and the bomb squad would rush to the scene reducing forces in this part of the city.

The streets were virtually empty at this time of night. Their progress not impeded by traffic or pedestrians. The van reached the drop off within minutes discharging its cargo and passengers quickly, the wheelman slipping away easily. Watches were checked as the clock was now ticking. Speed was of the essence to avoid detection and be ready to flee when O'Farrell returned.

Michael and Sean watched from their perch. The team unloaded. Two stood guard, the remaining three applied det cord with speed and precision, a nearly soundless explosion giving them entry along the south wall of the bank. Rifles pointed at the vacant street, hoping it remained that way until the trio emerged with the cash. Now, there was naught else to do but wait.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Michael Westen once again found himself in an awkward situation. Her call was unexpected and, if truth be told, unwelcome. He could sense the unease in her voice when she posed the question, wondering perhaps if she would be rebuffed, some excuse invented that prevented him from lending support to a cause that was not his own. There was a moment of hesitation before he agreed. The reality of it was that he had little choice if he was to rely on her continued cooperation in his pursuit of Hannon. How could he deny her some tactical support when he was asking so much more of her?

There he sat - on a Belfast rooftop, a sniper rifle in his hand, and a pain in the ass by his side. Sean Glenanne wasn't the spy's vision of an ideal partner. He had the same impulsivity as Fiona without her sharp mind and intuitive nature. He was arrogant to the point of recklessness and his constant banter an ever-increasing annoyance. Michael felt that the man was more of a liability than asset. Luckily for Sean, he was Fiona's brother or the American might have decided to silence him - permanently. So, they had made a reluctant peace with one another brokered by their mutual love for the same woman.

The spy watched the players below him move into position, the streets devoid of all other life. The American government covert operative squirmed at his current predicament: a sniper working unofficially for the IRA, providing back up for a bank robbery, its funds to be used against the Crown. Things had gotten way too complicated! Michael wiped his face and banished these unproductive thoughts, replacing them with a mission critical focus: surveil the area, stay alert for potential threats, and be prepared to act. Michael Westen watched the streets through his gunsight, his finger on the trigger, the comforting feel returning him to balance once more.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

O'Farrell turned the corner, then headed down a nearby street, stopping at the sight of the squad blocking his path. He had been arrested a week ago carrying illegal weapons. A deal had been struck, selling out his comrades for a chance at a new life free from incarceration, a relocation to Liverpool and immunity for his past deeds. He owed it to Maeve and the boy for a fresh start. He knew the Army reach was long, his days numbered. He just needed to live long enough to get them settled, free them from the shackles of this city and his chosen affiliation. His heart was heavy, the weight of betrayal crushed his chest making it difficult to breathe but the deed was done. Regrets had little place on the battlefield. He was whisked away from the scene, grateful he was at least spared from seeing the faces of those he sacrificed, knowing the thought of those same faces would haunt him forever.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A section of British soldiers seemed to materialise before their very eyes. Michael and Sean watched as they swarmed the street capturing the sentries before a single shot was fired.

"Bloody bastards!" Sean was stunned by the speed and stealth of the attack. He prepared to fire but Michael grabbed the shaft of his rifle before he could act.

"Wait! Use your head, Sean. Call the other team. Tell them to hold their fire." Michael took command of the situation.

"What the hell are yer talkin' about, McBride? Me sister's in there." He was ready to deliver a blow if the man stopped him again.

Michael tried to explain. "They didn't shoot. They don't want any new martyrs. We can use that. Call them off, Sean." Glenanne took a moment to assess the situation. The man was right. The section seemed to be composed of about twelve soldiers. They stopped their advance, prepared for action but their orders were clearly to avoid a political incident if possible. Sean made the call. The snipers stood down, at least temporarily, and they kept the channel open with their associates in case the situation changed.

The officer in charge of the section used a bullhorn to deliver his message to those inside. They were cornered, escape unlikely, and their best option to stay alive was to surrender their weapons and come out of the building with their hands raised. His request was answered with a bullet.

Someone inside fired a warning shot toward the officer. The bullet whizzed by his ear by inches. A shot from one of his over anxious soldiers fired back without orders. The corporal ordered all his men to stand down. He was not about to bring another bloodbath to the streets of Belfast when the chance for peace was so close. Time seemed to stand still as each side waited for the other to make a move.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He fired without thinking, instinct took over. The sight of a string of British uniforms sent him back to the early days of the conflict. Kill or be killed. It was simple, so he fired. The other side reacted immediately, and now a bullet lodged in Hughes' thigh.

Ruairi scouted as Fiona applied pressure to the wound to stanch the bleeding. She grabbed some cable wire to use as a tourniquet. "I can see about eight of them. Can't really tell how many there are?" He kept his gaze outside while making his report. They stopped all movement once the commands were shouted through the bullhorn.

"The boys?" Fiona didn't look up from her task. The fate of their team members would likely dictate their next actions.

"No sign of them. Scooped up, I suppose." Ruairi could add no further details.

"So, they're alive." Fiona's deduction was barely a whisper. The big man nodded. "They're not planning a full breech yet. That gives us a small window." The woman saw a glimmer of a silver lining.

"Window for what, Fiona? We're outmanned and outgunned and Hughie there is gonna bleed out if we don't get him some help." Ruairi wanted her to face facts. They were out of moves as far as he could tell.

"Then, we'll get him some help." Fiona apparently had devised a plan of some sort.

"Don't be daft. Youse need to leave me here, go out de way we come in. I'll keep 'em occupied." Hughes reached for his gun but between the pain and the blood loss both operatives could see he was incapable of providing any support.

Fiona began rummaging through her holdall. She slipped several clips of ammunition in her pockets, a block of C-4, two gas grenades, and a spare weapon. "I'll slip out the front. Make it look as if I'm about to surrender." Fiona knew that being a woman she would likely get a few minutes of grace especially if she looked remorseful. Sometimes, being female was an asset in this business. "I'll create a diversion with one or two of these." She indicated the tear gas grenades in her pocket. "Ya get him out the south wall, head down the alley. Someone will get to ya."

"That's crazy!" Ruairi was not about to let her do something so foolish.

"Doesn't mean it won't work." The woman produced a slightly wicked smile, willing to play the odds.

"Then, let me do it. Ya get away with Hughie." The big man was not about to let a woman go into harm's way on his watch.

"Now, who's talkin' outta his arse. Hughie must weigh eighteen stone. I can't carry him... But you can." Fiona pointed out the obvious. Ruairi could offer little argument but she could see he was reluctant to carry out her plan. "Look. If we don't make a move now, we'll lose the chance. We'll all wind up in remand... Or worse." Before either man could argue, Fiona headed for the door never glancing behind her. She quickly picked the lock and stepped into the night.