Stone of the Heart
The Match Point
The past few weeks had taken their toll on both Michael and Fiona. Their need to step away from the complications of their lives was unvoiced but evident to both. Neither desired to head straight to Dublin and whatever awaited them. Michael took the route suggested by Sean, crossing the border near Sligo, and found a small bed and breakfast on the edge of town, believing a day or two of rest made operational sense.
They could almost pretend they were a 'normal' couple if only for a brief time. They indulged themselves in a few hours of stolen pleasures: leisurely breakfasts, hours lounging in bed, long walks among the rolling hillsides moist with dew and dotted with sheep. Fiona even managed to convince Michael to make the climb up Knocknarea. The American rarely did anything that was not work related but Fiona insisted on the excursion. The hike was not strenuous for the pair but the vista at the summit left them speechless. Hand in hand they viewed the sea and the mountains about them until the mist rolled in. Fiona turned leading her partner toward a large stone mound.
Once at the base, she removed a small round stone from her pocket and added it to the structure. Michael looked puzzled by her actions. "It's the cairn of Queen Maebh."
"Queen Maebh?" The name meant nothing to the man.
"Sometimes I forget ya're not really a McBride." She sighed, a hint of sadness in her voice. "Her father, the High King, gave her Connacht to rule. Ya can see how wild it is, some might say inhospitable. It took fortitude and courage to hold and tame it. But she never gave up. Some say she was insatiable, competitive and always got what she sought. I rather admire her."
"Sounds a lot like you." Michael smiled , Fiona reddening slightly at the comparison. "Why the stone?"
"For luck. We might need it." Fiona took another look at her surroundings, drawing strength from the land about her and the man by her side, then began the trek down the mountainside and back to the reality of their lives.
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Fiona knew that if circumstances had been different she would have been in British custody or in the morgue. But Michael once again had intervened. But once in Dublin, it was time to pay her debt. She settled beside him on the sofa and reached for the yoghurt container he held. Once she had taken a spoonful, she returned it to its owner and began the conversation. "I think I have a solution to our Hannon problem, Michael." She paused momentarily, wondering if this was really a viable option, aware that she was headed down an extremely dangerous path. Michael stopped eating, waiting for her to continue. "There's a stockpile of weapons that really can't be used at this point. It's worth quite a lot on the black market and highly desirable."
Michael perked up. "What have you got?"
Her voice was hesitant, unsure if she was making the right move. "Several RPGs, couple of crates of Dushkas, and a few SAM missiles."
The American's eyes widened in surprise. "SAM missiles?" There had been rumours for years that the IRA had procured those particular armaments. Apparently, they weren't just idle tales.
"We bought them from the Libyans several years ago. They'd be happy to buy them back now. So would many others." She paused. "Anyway, Hannon would have no trouble selling those supplies to any number of militias. He'll get top dollar, too, as there would likely be a bidding war for such goods."
Michael saw the possibilities. Hannon would want to move quickly if that merchandise was dangled before him. He would also make some powerful enemies if he were not able to deliver after a deal was struck. "How soon would you be able to get your hands on the weapons?"
"A few days at the most." Fiona's heart was racing as she put PIRA's arsenal, rather than her own, on the line.
Michael was torn. It was exactly what he needed for the operation but the risk was exceedingly high. "I'll make the call." Their eyes locked as both considered the gravity of the decision. When he saw no uncertainty in her eyes, he began to dial. The final phase of the operation had begun.
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Another signal, another meeting. Michael strolled along the Liffey headed to the secondary meeting site. He wondered if Card would be paying him another visit but as he scanned the area he saw no sign of his mentor. Michael took that as a positive sign and relaxed ever so slightly.
He made his way over to the bench and pretended to take in the view. The day was grey but dry, small boats skimmed lightly across the water. Another soon joined him on the bench and immediately began to tuck into his McDonald's breakfast, the smell of fried food wafting toward Michael. "You know, I think I miss hash browns the most. For a country that serves two kinds of potatoes at every meal, you'd think you might find hash browns somewhere." Michael peered at the man and recognised the face. He had spotted him in the pub not long ago.
"Card didn't tell me there was someone else in play." Michael stared ahead seething that he had been not fully briefed.
Jimmy Behan took another bite. "Tom didn't know. You know how Langley is, man, sometimes the right hand doesn't know what the left hand is doing. I have no active projects. Just ears to the ground."
Michael scoffed. "Then why am I here."
"Vasyl Marchuk." The CIA operative spoke, then took a sip of his coffee.
Michael wracked his brain trying to place the name but came up empty. "Is that supposed to mean something to me?"
"It should you had really worked with Kovalenko." Michael's brow furrowed, a look of concern appearing on his face. He looked at Behan ready for him to continue. "Marchuk was the gunrunner's right hand man. Got picked up in the same operation and was sentenced to a very long prison term. Seems he had other ideas. Who knows maybe he didn't like the food? No hash browns, eh?" The man chuckled but saw his audience was not amused. In fact, he was beginning to glare in an ominous way. "Anyway, he made a deal."
Michael's stomach clenched. He knew the next part of the tale before Behan told it. "Your trip to Germany got quick action. Looks like Kovalenko's brother had taken over the business. Marchuk spilled his guts for a reduced sentence - time served. Word on the street is that he's coming here. There's speculation that he was in cahoots with Hannon, hoping one day to take down the Ukrainian brothers and set up their own partnership."
"Seems like your little adventure in Hamburg smoothed the way for the takeover, Westen. Hannon owes you a great deal. Of course, once Marchuk outs you, denies ever seeing you before, you'll end up floating face down in that river there." He pointed to the Liffey passing before the two men. "Your cover is about to be blown, Westen. Time to get out." Behan moved the McDonald's sack closer to the spy. "Inside the bag you'll find new travel documents - passport, tickets. There's cash in there, as well."
His jaw tightened, an icy coldness cut through him. "How long do I have?"
"A week. Maybe a bit longer. Maybe less." The man needed to leave, the sooner the better.
Michael nodded his head slightly. "Good. That gives me time to wrap things up with Hannon."
Behan's jaw dropped. "Did you hear a word I said, man? Your cover is about to be blown. It's time to bail."
"About to be blown." Michael turned toward the operative. "You said my cover's about to be blown. That still gives me time to finish this thing."
"Do you have a death wish, Westen? Card said..." The undercover agent was frustrated by Michael's response.
Michael interrupted, his voice firm and unyielding. "Tell Tom I'm finishing what I started. I've already got something in the works. Should be finished up by the end of the week, give me time to make things right." There was more in play than the operation with Hannon for Michael Westen. His mind in turmoil, the conversation drew to a close. The spy stood up leaving the 'Go' bag behind.
Behan called after him, stopping him in his tracks. "They'll kill her you know." Michael turned slightly, glancing behind him, a cold stare directed at the messenger. Behan was reluctant to continue as the man before him looked ready to snap his neck but Westen needed a dose of reality. He knew Westen and Glenanne were an item. He also knew the consequences of what would likely befall a female collaborator. Westen just wasn't risking his own life. "Pass her around before they do. It won't be pretty." It's not that he cared about the fate of Glenanne. In fact, her 'disappearance' could make things easier here. But he, more than most, knew the toll a deep cover assignment had on an individual, how muddled life became. He saw the pain in Westen's expression and felt the need to remind the man of the consequences of inaction.
The spy turned fully around prepared to deny any knowledge of what his contact was talking about. But Michael found the operative's eyes filled not with judgement, but rather with concern. "I know these guys. They'll kill her, man." He held out the bag hoping Westen would grab the lifeline offered. Michael walked back toward the man, taking the offering gingerly, a slight nod of his head acknowledging the advice of his associate. Then, he walked away his stomach queasy, a situation that had nothing to do with the smell of fried food.
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"Ya need to go." Fiona's voice was barely a whisper. Her finger glided across the rim of her glass as she stared into the liquid avoiding his eyes.
Michael stared at his own folded hands. "If I go, all my time here would have been wasted." A look of anger crossed her face before the spy added, "... professionally, that is." He clarified the fact not wanting her to think for one moment that he regretted their time together. "Hannon not only survives but builds an empire." He looked up. "I can't let that happen."
Fiona shook her head. "Michael, I know a part of ya wants to save the world but if ya're caught..." Her words drifted away. She knew what her associates were capable of, what Hannon was capable of.
The American wasn't concerned about his own welfare but Behan's words haunted him. "They won't break me, Fiona." He gazed at her with a mixture of love and determination. "But maybe you should take a trip - alone. Get someplace safe until this blows over."
"Run? Do ya even know me then?" Fiona had her own bit of defiance. She was not about to abandon everything she knew because the threat of danger loomed. She had spent every moment of her life under that cloud and she was still breathing.
"This isn't a game, Fiona." Michael stood up and began pacing. "If it goes wrong, I may not be able to save you."
"Save me?" The Irishwoman was not amused. "I don't need 'savin'. I can take care of meself, Michael." She faced him blocking his motion. "Besides, if ya think I'm turning over PIRA weapons to an American spy without being there, then ya're not the full shilling." There was no room for negotiation. If Michael were to use the Army's supplies, Fiona would stay close to the action. He was imperilling both of their lives. Failure was simply not an option.
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Hannon was salivating at the opportunity. Not only were the weapons choice with an enticing rate of return, the fact he would secret them away right under Glenanne's nose, was a bonus. Once the sale had gone through, Hannon would tip off the PIRA leadership that some of its 'trusted personnel' were a mite careless with its supplies. That should make Fiona Glenanne a liability within the organisation. He smiled at the thought of her downfall. He, on the other hand, would likely secure favour, and hoped he would be able to offer his services for future sales.
The photos of the stock were laid out before the arms dealer. Michael explained the circumstances of their existence. The referendum had been decisive. An overwhelming majority, North and South, had made their wish for peace known. He spun the tale of how Fiona was preparing to broker the sale of the pictured arms, hoping for a good price before the Brits started demanding the turnover of all munitions.
"She's planning to put them up for auction at the end of the month. Sounds like things are heating up in both Kosovo and Chechnya. Little wars throughout the world are apparently good for business." Michael smiled. "We'll have to move fast if you're interested."
Hannon picked up one of the photos. "I'll be damned. The rumours were true. There's been chatter for years about the Libyans selling SAMs to the Provos. Lot of folks were sceptical." He stared at the potential windfall contained in those photographs, calculating the likely profit.
Michael raised his eyebrows. "Wow! Funny you should mention that. Apparently, the Libyans want them back but Fi wasn't too interested in the sale." The spy dropped the bait hoping the arms dealer would pursue an already interested party.
"Is that right?" The spy watched as Hannon pondered his options. He was definitely intrigued but heavy weapons such as these carried a considerable amount of risk with large prison sentences attached. "I'll make arrangements to get them out of the country quickly - maybe one or two days at the most. Don't want them sitting around my warehouse. Too much of a chance someone will snatch them away." The arms dealer smiled, mentally tallying up his potential profit.
"Two days maximum. She's getting a bit too clingy for my taste. Barely lets me out of her sight these days. Kinda the jealous type. I want my money and a speedy exit. When these go missing, she'll know it was me." Michael pushed the man, knowing his time was running out, as well. "Once you find a buyer, negotiate the price, and put my cut in my offshore account, I'll give you the location of the stash. I'll even keep her occupied while you handle the transfer." Michael prodded Hannon on the need for quick action.
Hannon chuckled. "You do that, McBride. I'll be in touch."
"Good. Clock's ticking, Hannon." Michael swiftly turned. A quick glance over his shoulder showed that the man was already on his mobile taking full advantage of this potentially lucrative opportunity.
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There are some periods in one's life went everything falls into place. Keith Hannon was experiencing such a time. Reaching out to his current distributer, he discovered the man had been detained In Germany, the second Kovalenko brother to suffer the unlucky fate. Their mutual associate, Vasyl Marchuk, had turned on the partners, hoping to reap some benefit from their fall. He would join Hannon shortly, bringing the Ukrainian and Eastern European business contacts with him.
Hannon was bursting with confidence reaching out to the Libyans on his own, Glenanne usually acting as go between. Since she would soon be neutralised, he took the initiative, cutting her out and increasing his own profit margin. The Libyans were eager for the deal. A price was negotiated with ease, delivery guaranteed within days. The arms dealer completed the additional arrangements himself wanting his first solo outing to be flawless.
Fate and that man, McBride, had put everything within his grasp. He would give the man a bonus, possibly offer him a permanent position in his crew. He had moved beyond outfitting militias of children and into the realm of international gunrunning. Hannon would soon control the flow of armaments into continental Europe and much of Africa. It was a grand day to be alive!
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Fiona arranged to relocate the specific weapons that she intended to put into play. She needed to enlist the help of a few associates insisting the move was necessary as there were mutterings on the street that their location had been compromised and there may be a chance someone intended to whisk them away for his own purposes. As much as she trusted the American spy, she did not want him to have access to the main stockpile. Situations change, allegiances change and that information was simply too valuable to trust to an outsider, regardless of her feelings for the man. Some secrets you just don't tell.
As in their previous plan, Fiona was reluctant to divulge the exact placement of the weapons until the last possible moment. Michael concocted a plan that he hoped would meet both their needs. The Irish operative placed the coordinates of the location in a hollowed out cigarette lighter. Walking along the busy street, she stopped momentarily adjusting a buckle on her shoe. As she stooped down, she placed the small cylinder on the top of a car tyre. The specific vehicle parked by Michael, ensuring it would not be moved during this time. A few minutes later, the spy walked by as he hustled toward his meet with Hannon. He 'bumped' into a nearby pedestrian toppling the small bag that she carried. The American was profuse in his apologies, readily assisting in gathering up the scattered items, while slipping the lighter into his jacket pocket. The drop had been made.
Several minutes later, Michael joined the arms dealer at a cafe. Once settled he waved the scrap of paper toward the man before securing it into his breast pocket. "I've done my part, Hannon. Now it's your turn."
Both men took out their mobiles, Hannon to deposit the funds, Michael to receive them. "Half now, half when we have them in hand."
"That's not what we discussed." Michael produced a strained smile.
The arms dealer scoffed. "Take it or leave it, McBride."
It was a move that the spy expected. "Fine. Now if you will excuse me." He stood up prepared to leave hoping the man would stop him.
"Not so fast. I prefer you accompany us once again. Just in case there are any last minute changes." The man recalled their former transaction. Michael had to pretend to be annoyed by Hannon's control of the situation all the while subtly directing how it unfolded.
The team moved out. The drive to the location was long and tense but once they arrived, the weapons, exactly as described, were soon uncovered, quickly loaded in the truck, and they were once again on their way. Hannon visibly relaxed, smiling at the thought of his prize.
This time Michael was allowed to be present during the entire process as he was now a trusted asset, delivering another valuable cache to his business associate. The weapons were carefully transferred into a pair of 'Clontarf Medical Supply' vans much as before. The gunrunner seemed to be predictable and the spy hoped that would continue. It would make infiltrating his storage site to reprocure the weapons that much easier.
Hannon stepped aside during the transfer, making several calls. Michael stole glances his way as he helped heave the crates from truck to van. It looked as if Hannon already had a buyer lined up. The spy wondered how he might discover the intended recipient of the cargo, hoping the seeds he planted had taken root.
Michael didn't have to speculate for long. Once on the road and headed toward the warehouse, Hannon could not keep his business prowess to himself. Brimming with hubris, he spoke about the sale that he had recently negotiated with the Libyans. There were bonuses ahead for those involved and Hannon swiftly completed the transfer of Michael's 'blood money' as the arms dealer described the man's spoils.
Corks were popped and champagne flowed as the team unloaded their cargo. Michael was able to get a good interior view of the layout, ascertain where the weapons would be stored amid the actual medical supplies and where the shipping container would be positioned and loaded. This information was critical for success if his plan had any chance at all.
Hannon had one more bit of good news. "Ah, McBride, I know you were talking about clearing out soon, wanting to be rid of the founder of the feast, so to speak." He grinned at the thought of Glenanne and her likely fate once this theft was discovered. "Hope you'll reconsider. A former associate of yours is on his way. Should be here in a few days. Marchuk." He waited for Michael's reaction.
"He's out? Good news. Can't wait to hear that story!" Michael sipped his champagne as his chest tightened wondering if Hannon's next move was to shoot him.
"Haven't talked to him directly but his arrival will open opportunities for us all. A good man like yourself would benefit from the new arrangements. This is a moment of truth, Michael, do we have a future together or not?"
Michael nodded his head as if pondering the offer wondering what the response would be should he decline the offer. The spy did not intend to find out. "Double my fee."
"Fair enough." Hannon raised his glass and the two men toasted their budding partnership. Michael plastered that false smile on his face as he plotted the man's downfall.
A showdown with Marchuk seemed to be unavoidable if the spy remained in Dublin. Regardless of the services Michael was currently providing, neither Hannon nor Marchuk would hesitate to put a bullet into his head. They may take the time to figure out whom he really was, but nothing was certain. Their next stop would be to Fiona's to see if she were complicit or a pawn - neither option conducive to her business or her reputation. He could not let that happen. Now the spy just had to figure out exactly how he could stop the Ukrainian from setting foot on Irish soil. A chill had settled around his heart. He took another sip before heading out for what might be his final operation in Ireland.