Michael was jogging the next week when his cell phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket, looked at the screen, and stopped dead in his tracks. SAWYER LOGISTICS. Sawyer Logistics was a CIA front company he'd been involved with in the early 2000s.
That entire operation flashed before his eyes in a split second. It was how he met Fiona.
July 2001
Back from an eight-month assignment in Kabul, Michael had been breathing American air for only 16 hours when he was summoned to meet with Colin Indra, an agent in the CIA's London station. Except Colin wasn't in London at the time. He was travelling to Amesbury, Massachusetts, by way of Boston. Michael, who was in Washington DC, was ordered to meet him the next day at Logan International Airport.
Early the next morning, Michael walked through hot, sticky air from his hotel to a parking garage three blocks away. He found the blue Hyundai that had been left for him on the third floor. The agency had already delivered the key to him at his hotel. He drove two miles east to another garage. He parked the Hyundai on the second level and took the key for the car he was supposed to pick up next. They'd left that key in the glove compartment of the Hyundai. He walked two flights of stairs up to the fourth level and located the shiny, silver Prius. And from there, finally, he drove to Dulles Airport and boarded Delta flight 511 to Boston.
Two hours later, Michael found Colin in the boarding area of gate E6. Bushy-haired and pockmarked, Colin was sitting in a seat against the wall, holding a blue Nokia phone to his ear. When he saw Michael, he put a finger up to signal for him to give him a minute. Michael sat four seats down from him and surveyed the area while Colin volleyed between talking and rolling his eyes. About three minutes later, Colin pressed a button on his phone and put it in the inside left pocket of his sports coat. He stood up and walked to Michael, offering his hand. Michael rose and shook his hand.
"Glad to meet you, Michael, and thanks for coming. I've heard good things about you."
"Thanks. Wish I could say the same, but I'd never heard of you until yesterday."
"I won't hold it against you. Let's walk. I've got a rental car waiting in the lot." Colin picked up his worn, leather case and headed out. Michael noticed he limped slightly on the right. They made small talk all the way through the airport.
"So what am I doing here?" Michael asked once Colin had swept the rental car for bugs and they were finally on their way.
"How much do you know about the PIRA?" Colin replied.
Michael shrugged. "Studied them at the Farm. Pretty quiet since the Good Friday Agreement."
"Yeah. And they should be getting quieter. Word is that Sinn Féin is going call for them to disarm in the next few months."
"That's good."
"Yes and no. They disarm, there's gonna be a lot of arms floating around."
"That's not good."
"Nope. Bunch of people have reason to move these guns. Bunch of them. True believers who don't want the war to end. Robin Hoods who want to make sure the guns go to the Davids instead of the Goliaths of the world. Mostly opportunists who want to make some money."
Michael nodded.
"And that's where you come in. We're interested in one family who seem to be pretty big fish in a sm – well, not a small pond. A small but growing pond, let's say. You're going to get in with them and let us know what they're doing. I'm going to be your handler."
"What's my cover?"
"You're going in as a sympathizer from Kilkenny."
"Why Kilkenny?"
"Because they know everybody in Dublin and Belfast."
"Wow. And what's my in with them?
"You work for a logistics company. You can move their stuff."
"I see." He thought for a few moments. "Why me?" he asked. "I've never worked in western Europe. There's gotta be dozens of guys more knowledgeable about the IRA than me."
"There are."
"So?"
"So my main analyst in London has been studying the shot caller in this family night and day for four months, and she says you're the man for the job."
"What, does he have my background or something?"
"No, she doesn't."
Michael turned to Colin. "She?"
"She. Fiona Glenanne."
Present Day
Michael answered the phone with silence. After a couple of moments, a female voice on the other end said, "I'm calling to arrange rail transport to Cincinnati."
That was the code phrase they used when Michael was in Ireland. It meant Colin needed to meet with him. A few other agents in the London station would occasionally take the more mundane meetings with Michael. They knew the phrase as well.
But they didn't know there was a second part of the code. Only he and Colin knew. They never had to use it, but it was there. It was a way for Michael to test the legitimacy of the call if something didn't feel right. If the call was real, Colin would've instructed the caller about the second part. So if the caller didn't answer that question correctly, Michael would begin the protocol they'd established if he suspected his cover was blown.
"Sure, I can help you with that," Michael said. "What's the city of origin?"
"I'm sorry; did you say What's the city in Oregon?"
That was the right answer. Michael's hackles were still up, though.
"Mr. Westen, it's Lauren Portice." Lauren was the main analyst Colin mentioned all those years ago.
"Lauren. This is a surprise." Michael kept his voice friendly but guarded.
"I know; it's been a long time. I was hoping we could get together today."
"Today? You want me to fly all that way today?"
"No, no, no. I'm in . . . I'm where you are."
Michael immediately scanned 360 degrees around him. Nothing unusual.
"You don't say. What brings you to Dallas?"
Lauren paused before answering. "I could meet you at the Sagamore. How about 2:00?"
So she knew he was in Miami.
"I can't make it at 2:00. How about 4:00?" Michael said. There was no way he was going to this meeting without back-up, and he needed time to get Jesse and Fiona set up. Sam was cruising with Elsa. Still. Again. It was hard to tell at this point.
"4:00 is fine. I'll be in the lobby."
No way was he going to a location she picked, either. "Actually, I don't want to deal with tourist traffic today. Let's do GreenStreet Café in Coconut Grove."
"No problem. See you then." She hung up.
Michael stood in place, scanning, thinking, planning. Dreading.
He sat cross-legged at a table on the GreenStreet patio later that afternoon as the blazing sun relaxed into a peach glow. He had a bug in the front pocket of his suit jacket so Jesse could listen from a table at the edge of the patio and Fiona could listen from her perch on the rooftop across the street. The three had been in position for forty minutes. Each had a theory about the meeting. Michael worried Colin was in trouble. Or dead. Jesse figured Lauren was in trouble and needed some help.
Fiona knew in the pit of her stomach Lauren was here to pull Michael back in. The boys both poo-pooed that idea, reminding her that everybody who was anybody in government knew he was off limits for the year. Plus, Lauren's expertise was in Ireland and the UK, and obviously he couldn't be expected to go back to that part of the world.
Still, somehow she knew.
A petite woman with a dark bob entered the patio at 3:57. Michael stood up as she approached his table. They politely embraced and touched cheeks as they each kissed the air. It was standard operating procedure for male and female operatives to pretend to be in a relationship whenever they met in public. People don't remember random couples. They remember a single man and a single woman sitting together and talking. Spies don't want to be remembered. The relationship could be reserved or familiar, passionate or frigid, solid or crumbling, whatever fit the situation, but a relationship it must be.
"It's good to see you, Michael," Lauren said. She called him Mr. Westen on the phone, and she'd call him Mr. Westen again if they were in private, but in public, he had to be Michael. He had to be her equal.
"You, too. You look good." Michael sat down and motioned for Lauren to do the same. "I ordered you an iced tea," he said, gesturing to the sweating glass on the table. "I remember how frustrated you were that you couldn't get anything but hot tea."
"Good memory." She took a sip. "Ahhh, it's like being home again."
"Where's home?" Michael asked.
"Shreveport. At least it was. My parents left when my youngest brother graduated. You?"
"You're looking at it," he said. "For better or worse."
She swirled her fingers in the condensation on the glass. With her eyes on her tea, she said softly, "I'm really sorry about – about how you had to leave Ireland. And about how you got here."
"You had nothing to do with either one. You don't need to be sorry." He looked at her, waiting for her to make eye contact.
"I know, it's just – I just feel bad is all. I don't understand how they could believe you went rogue." She raised her eyes to his face.
He smiled. "Some people went to a lot of trouble to make sure the story was convincing. But I landed on my feet, more or less. Could've been worse."
She laughed nervously. "And it looks like I was right in picking you for Ms. Glenanne."
He smiled again, more broadly. His defensive smile. He'd assumed she knew about Fiona, because at this point everyone knew about Fiona, but it still felt like an invasion. "Yes, I suppose you were." He took a long swig of iced tea and let the silence become awkward. "So what brings you here, Lauren?"
"Yes. That." She exhaled slowly. "We're working with MI-6 on a joint investigation of a terrorist cell we located outside Leeds in 2011. It's going fairly well. We got an MI-6 agent inside about six months ago." She paused to drink a few sips. "He's in pretty deep."
"Okay."
"He's in, and he's bringing back a lot of good intel. A lot." She looked at Michael. The wrinkle in her brow told him she was worried.
"What's going on, Lauren?"
She shook her head. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think he turned. I think he's working with the cell."
Michael scanned the area, instinctively looking for threats. That's what he did when he got news like Lauren's, even if the threat was 4,500 miles away.
"Why do you think so?"
"It's hard to put into words. Basically the intel is too good. We're not working hard enough for it."
Michael nodded. "Why are you coming to me?"
She waited a few moments before answering. "Honestly, I don't know who else to go to. I can't go to anyone else on the team, either us or MI-6. They may be compromised, too."
"What about Colin? You had a great relationship back then."
She stared at Michael. "Oh god, you don't know."
Michael closed his eyes. "Know what?" he asked, expecting the worst.
"He died in 2009. I'm so sorry. I don't know why I assumed you would know. You were out by then."
His eyes filled with water, but he managed to stop the tears from falling. "How'd he die?"
She gave a half-hearted laugh. "How's this for bad karma. He'd been in renal failure for a few years, was doing dialysis, was on the transplant list, the whole bit, and then one night he skidded on black ice and crashed head-on into a tree. He was DOA at the hospital."
Michael blanched. "I'm sorry, Lauren. I know how close you were."
"He thought so highly of you, Michael. He was really thrown when you were burned. He tried to get someone on the phone for months. Just someone to listen to him lay out how absurd it was. They would never talk to him, and I think after a while he just resigned himself to it. That's also around the time he got sicker and started dialysis, so . . . ." She trailed off. "His mind was somewhere else, to say the least."
To know someone was in his corner during that horrible time, to know someone believed him. Believed in him. Michael was surprised how much that comforted him, even all these years later when it didn't matter. He cleared his throat and composed himself. "What are you looking for from me, Lauren?"
"I know you're on sabbatical, or whatever they're calling it. That's not common knowledge in my part of the world, but . . . well, I know it now. And Michael, after all you've been through, with Tom Card and Olivia Riley, after all that, I hate to ask you, but I need your help. I need a partner in this. Someone who's not connected in any way with this op or London station or MI-6, and someone I trust. That's not a big pool."
"No, I imagine it's not." He breathed deeply. "So you'd need me to come to London? Or – " Before he could finish, his phone buzzed twice, letting him know he had a new text message.
End the mtg. Need to talk.
From Fiona. Of course. He repocketed his phone. "Speak of the devil, Lauren. Ms. Glenanne would like to speak to me. That probably doesn't surprise you." He looked at the roof across the street and waved. He could see Fiona throw her arms up in a huff and start gathering her weaponry.
Lauren grinned. "Not from what I know of you two, no. Listen, I know this is – it's from out of nowhere, and, like I said, I wish I didn't have to bring this to your front door."
"Don't worry about it. How long are you in town?"
She scrunched up her face. "Until you say yes?" she said hopefully.
He chortled. "Tell you what. I'll call you in a couple of hours. What's a good number to reach you?"
She showed him her burner phone and waited as he punched the digits into his own phone. "Thank you, Michael. Really."
He watched her walk up the street as Jesse came to his table. "Wow. Not what we were expecting, huh?" Jesse said.
"Nope." Michael's phone rang. Fiona.
"It was exactly what I was expecting," she snapped.
"You expected to learn of a suspected mole in an operation you didn't know existed?" By this time Fiona was off the roof and preparing to cross the street to them.
"Michael, if you think – "
He cut her off. "Just come here. We'll talk then." He hung up before Fiona could yell at him again.
"Not happy?" Jesse asked.
"Not happy," Michael confirmed. "You might want to leave before she gets here. This is not going to be pretty."
"It's okay, man. I ate my Wheaties. I got your back."
"We need to have this conversation in the car," Fiona hissed as she neared the table. "Let's go."
Michael laid a twenty on the table. Then he and Jesse dutifully followed Fiona to the car.
"Fi – " he began once they were away from the patio.
"No. In the car."
They trudged in silence for two blocks. Fiona tossed the keys to Jesse. Really she threw them at his head. He caught them, so no harm done, and he took her meaning in any event. He got in the driver's seat of her car and shoved the seat as far back as it would go. His knees were still in his chest. Michael got in the back seat, assuming Fiona would sit in the front, but she got in with him instead. He closed his eyes and got ready.
"I'd say I can't believe you're considering this, but clearly you are considering this, so instead I'll ask why the fuck are you considering this. Wait, I can answer for you." She changed her voice to imitate Michael's slow, dry droll. "She needs me. It's just this one time. She has nobody else to turn to." She switched back to her own voice. "Well, allow me to respond. I don't care if she needs you. And it's never just this one time. And the fact that she has nobody else to turn to is not your goddamn problem!" She paused to slow down her breathing. Michael said nothing. Jesse said nothing. Poor Jesse was trying to disappear into the seat.
"It's not called the Westen Intelligence Agency, Michael. You are not the only one who can rush in and save the day." Her tone was calmer; her breathing measured.
Michael waited a few seconds, then decided it was safe to talk. "Fi," he said quietly. "I can't throw away this part of me just because you want me to. It's who I am. Who I've always been."
"And who you are now is a father."
He was silent.
"You can't throw away being a father, Michael. You can't do that to Charlie. And while we're at it, you're a husband. I mean, that's what you are. I count, too. I am tired of coming second, Michael. I'm so tired of it. Charlie and I are first as long as there's nothing to compete with us. But the moment the world needs rescuing, we're thrown in the back seat. You're not just Superman anymore. You're Superman with a goddamn wife and child. A wife and child who need you and want you and are damn well entitled to you."
Again he waited before speaking. "I don't know what to say, Fi. This is the same fight we've had for a decade. Charlie adds a new dimension, but this is the same fight."
"It's not the same fight. Charlie doesn't add a new dimension. He changes everything. Everything, Michael. He is simply more important than you. His needs come first. Period. You have to give him what he needs. You have to do what it takes."
"What it takes? What it TAKES?" Michael was incredulous. "I would die for him, Fiona! I would die for you! How is that not putting your needs first?"
"He doesn't care if you'd die for him, Michael. He needs you to live for him."
Everyone was silent as Fiona's words hung in the air.
"That's really what it comes down to, Michael," she said softly. "You'd die for your family, for your friends. We want you to live for us instead."
Author's Note: This chapter was a challenge. I wanted to stay true to the show by using facts it established, but I also had to fill in some gaps and reconcile some internal inconsistencies. For example, Forget Me Not was the first time the show told us the year Michael and Fiona met - 2001. That seems a bit later than what the first six seasons suggested, but I went with it. Well, by 2001, the IRA was a different beast than it was in the mid to late 90s. I don't know that Fiona would've been blowing up cars for the IRA that late. Also, Michael said in Last Rites that they met in the Black Sand Pub in Belfast, but Forget Me Not said it was in Dublin. The violence was heavily centered in Belfast and other parts of Northern Ireland, not in Dublin. So why would the Glenanne clan have been in Dublin at that time? Tough questions to answer, I think. Anyway, I worked hard to create a scenario that would fit with both reality and the characters. I think I succeeded, but whenever something doesn't seem to gel, please indulge me and suspend your disbelief for a while. Hope you enjoy.