Retaliation

by G. K. Parks

  “Donovan won’t allow it. He’s just as protective as you are.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Any reason we’re using your home as home base?” Bastian asked. “We never discussed assignments at your house until now.”

  Mercer’s cheek twitched. Things used to be different. Perhaps one day they would be again. But for now, it was the only place he wanted to be. He could feel Michelle’s presence there, and even though it made his heart ache, he believed he needed to feel the pain. It was all he had left of her, and he didn’t want to be without it. “We’ll be leaving soon enough, so don’t get used to it.”

  The two men climbed into the car, taking a different route to their destination. Even though the last threat they faced had been permanently removed, they still acted as if they were behind enemy lines. It was best not to allow anyone to get the drop on them, particularly after their last two bouts. The team had barely recovered, and now, they were off again. It was the life of a security specialist, but this wasn’t their typical mission. This was something much worse.

  “You saw the letterhead,” Mercer said.

  “Aye.” Bastian scrounged around in the glove box for a bag of pretzel sticks. Taking one out, he bit down on the end, practically sighing in relief.

  “What do you make of it?”

  “Jules, we don’t know enough yet. Let me delve into the rest of the files before I give you an opinion. For all we know, it’s the hottest item sold in every shop in Belfast. It might mean nothing.”

  “You can’t seriously believe that.” Mercer sighed. “Don’t just look into the files. We need intel on every agent involved in Shepherd’s op. Any name that pops up in regards to Colin Flynn needs to be examined. Someone’s dirty.”

  “It could be Shepherd.” Bastian saw the protest on Mercer’s face. “Hear me out. He lost his wife. He doesn’t see his son. We have no idea if he speaks to his sister, but Partridge didn’t think they were close. He might not have anything left. Maybe he lost it all to the job. And since Flynn suffered the devastating loss of his own family not too long ago, Shepherd might have commiserated with Flynn. It could have turned into more than that.”

  “Losing family doesn’t turn you into a terrorist. And from what I read, Flynn’s responsible for killing his own wife and children. The arrogant prick brought the explosive into his home. He built it there, and it detonated. He killed them, just like he’s killed dozens of others.” Mercer rubbed the grit from the corners of his eyes. “Shepherd wouldn’t comfort a man like that.”

  “I believe you’re projecting.”

  “Piss off. Flynn knows the faction is compromised, and after last night, he’ll have more questions than ever. We need to take advantage of this. We need to convince him he’s being hunted.”

  A feeling of dread washed over Bastian. “How exactly?”

  “It depends on what Donovan found and what you can pull from those files, but an introduction might be in order. Maybe I can offer Colin Flynn something he desperately needs.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  Truthfully, neither did Julian. But without Owen Shepherd’s intel, the only way to find out where and when Flynn planned to strike would be to get the intel directly from Flynn. Someone had to infiltrate the faction, and Mercer didn’t trust anyone at MI5.

  “What are we telling Hans?” Bastian asked.

  “That also depends.”

  “On what?”

  “How desperately we need a fourth man. Do you think he could shoot left-handed?”

  “You could ask, but in a pinch, I doubt he’d risk it. He’d shoot right-handed, and the recoil might do more damage. He needs to be careful. The first time he recovered, he stood a better chance. Now, after what happened,” Bastian shoved another pretzel stick in his mouth, “he might only get forty percent function out of that arm.”

  Mercer clenched the steering wheel harder. “It’s my fault. I won’t let any harm befall him again. He’s staying behind and compiling our intel. We’ll figure something else out.”

  “Jules,” Bastian began, but one stony look from the commander silenced him. “He won’t be happy about it.”

  “I don’t care if he’s happy. Someone needs to work behind the scenes, and I’m going to need you in the field. We won’t give him a choice.” Mercer parked the car and surveyed the area. Deciding it was secure, he took the box and headed for the front door.

  When they entered, Hans was already hard at work behind the computer. “You took your bleeding time getting here. Let me show you what we’ve found.”

  Seven

  “Pressure cooker bombs.” Mercer taped the intel to the vinyl sheet.

  “Not just schematics, but orders. Flynn bought in bulk. According to these records, he has enough equipment to build twelve devices.”

  Recalling the basement, Mercer said, “I only saw three. They might not have arrived yet.”

  “Or he already moved them to their intended locations,” Bas said.

  “Or he sold them,” Hans suggested. “He might be outfitting the other factions.”

  Bastian propped his computer next to Hans’ and wired the two machines together. “I’ll see what I can pull up from his stored internet files. This would have been easier if you hadn’t deactivated the internet, Jules.”

  “I couldn’t bypass the security system without doing that,” Mercer said. “And finding Shepherd was the objective, not thwarting a terrorist plot.”

  “Looks like we have a new objective.” Bastian stopped mid-keystroke and turned to Julian. “We haven’t worked a recovery like this since we left Her Majesty’s service. If you want to pass, it’s not too late to tell MI5 to bugger off.”

  “You probably should but not on my account.” Mercer studied the intel taped to the wall. “I gave my word. I will see this through.”

  “Jules,” Bastian said, “we aren’t cleaners. We do not perform wet work. And it seems that’s all Partridge is interested in.”

  “Makes him look guilty, eh? I wonder what he’s hiding. Whatever it is, Owen Shepherd must know about it, and Partridge doesn’t want it coming to light.” Hans looked at Mercer. “Is that what you’re thinking, commander?”

  “Not exactly. Do you think Shepherd’s been turned?” It was something Julian hadn’t seriously considered, instead choosing to believe MI5 housed a sinister villain who sold out good agents and authorized needless killings.

  Bastian bit his lip. “It’s too soon to say. I’m still compiling the dossier, but the Security Service has special teams to handle this sort of thing. MI5 has no reason to involve us, lest they be nothing more than vindictive tossers. I think they want to remind us of our place, Jules. Two birds, one stone.”

  “Shitheads,” Hans mumbled.

  “I’ll cooperate until it’s no longer in my best interest, but you need not concern yourselves with this.” Mercer plucked a surveillance photo off the wall. “MI5 wants me. I knew their price for wiping my record clean, so I can’t very well complain when they call in their chits. But the two of you can walk away. Donovan too. We’re dealing with the bloody IRA. You know how vindictive the Irish are. And Flynn’s a proven sadist. You shouldn’t risk your lives needlessly.”

  Bastian considered Donovan’s absence and glanced at Hans. “Jules is right. You have your mum to think about.”

  “Pish.”

  “And your lady friends,” Bas added.

  Hans grinned. “This is what we do. And the birds love a good story. This ought to get me laid throughout Ireland. Plus, Donovan would want me to tell you to piss off. We do this together or not at all. And frankly, mate, not at all isn’t a bloody option right now. Mass casualties aren’t something I can have on my conscience.”

  “Agreed,” Bastian said. “Face it, Jules, we’re like the bloody Musketeers. All for one.”

  “Bad example, Bas. One of them was a traitorous bastard,” Hans said.

  “He must have worked for MI5,” Mercer quippe
d.

  “Catching up on the classics?” Bas asked.

  Hans snorted, a mischievous grin on his face. “While I was in the hospital, one bird, in particular, liked to read to me, at least until we found a better use for her time.”

  “Enough.” Mercer returned the photo to its place on the wall. “When was Shepherd last sighted?”

  “A member of the support team spotted him three weeks ago. He was with Flynn. He didn’t try to make contact.” Hans’ index finger scrolled across the mission report. “If Flynn made him then, by now, Shepherd’s probably been cut to bits, and Flynn’s disposed of the pieces.”

  Mercer nodded, more to himself than the team. “Any word from Donovan? We need to find out what happened to Lara, and I’d prefer a briefing in person.”

  “He’s on his way back,” Hans said. “He hasn’t found her, but he might have a lead.”

  Bastian clicked a few keys. “I have a spider. Several actually. I set one to search for any transactions on her credit accounts and metro card, but there’ve been no hits. I’ll set another to monitor social media in case she pops up in the background of anyone’s photos. You know how much people love posting stupid shit on the internet. I might work miracles, but this is going to take a lot of time and computing power.”

  “We don’t have the time, but we’re out of options.” Mercer blew out a breath. “Set it up. Like Hans said, we have to stop Flynn from enacting whatever plan he has in place. We can’t allow him to commit mass casualties, and we need to locate Shepherd. The probability of a positive recovery is decreasing by the minute.” Julian turned to Hans. “I need you to coordinate everything from here. You’re going to be our eyes and ears. We need you on overwatch, soldier.” He heard faint scratching at the kitchen door. “And someone has to take care of Cynthia until she goes home.”

  “You want me to dog sit?” Hans asked.

  “No, but I expect you to multitask. And I’m in no mood for an argument.”

  “Yes, sir,” Hans grumbled.

  Bastian flipped through the dossier. “MI5 put Grace Shepherd and Harry into protective custody. I’ll get their location and pass it on to Donovan as soon as he returns.”

  “I can do it,” Hans said.

  “Agreed.” Mercer checked the time and dropped into a chair. It wasn’t common for the commander to act so blasé in the middle of a mission, but the intel was off. Julian could feel it. He just couldn’t put his finger on exactly what was wrong with it.

  “Are you sure you’re up for this, Jules?” Bastian asked. “Maybe you should have a medical consult.”

  “I’m fine. I just need a minute to think.”

  “Why does he need a consult?” Hans asked.

  Bastian’s gaze flicked to Mercer momentarily. “This morning, he was coughing up blood.”

  “Shit,” Hans swore.

  “I’m fine.” Mercer stood. “I just need a few minutes of peace and quiet to think. We’re missing something.” He went into the bedroom and removed his wedding ring, pressed it against his lips, and tucked it into a trinket box on the dresser. His gaze fell on one of his wedding photos, and he sighed. The thought of leaving triggered another stabbing pain in his chest.

  “Bollocks.” He couldn’t tell what was physical and what was emotional. It didn’t matter. He just had to last long enough to bring Shepherd home and stop Flynn from killing hundreds.

  Several ideas coalesced, and Mercer returned to the main room. “Did Shepherd try to make contact with Grace or Harry before he disappeared?”

  “No,” Bastian said.

  “Then he didn’t tell Lara to hide either. If he had, he would have warned his wife to take care of their son. That would have been his first priority.”

  “Unless he hates the boy,” Hans said. “Nothing indicates Shepherd should be father of the year. And from their divorce proceedings, he wasn’t husband of the year either.”

  Mercer shook his head. He didn’t buy it. “What about communications between Lara and Grace?”

  Bastian checked the files. “Nothing in the last two years.”

  “Since Owen infiltrated Flynn’s faction.” Mercer rubbed his palms together. “Flynn took Lara or had someone else take her. It’s the only explanation for her disappearance and the reason for Shepherd’s frantic and erratic behavior during his last check-in.”

  “So Flynn knows Shepherd is working against him,” Bastian said.

  “In that case, they’re probably both dead.” Hans pushed away from the desk, needing to move, to take some sort of action.

  “According to MI5, Flynn makes examples of traitors. He would have made Shepherd’s death a spectacle to rub in MI5’s face. Owen Shepherd is still alive.” Mercer was positive of this fact. He just had no idea where the man might be. “Where’s your camera, Hans? I need to see the photos you took of Flynn’s safe house. There might be something there, some clue.” Mercer practically laughed. “We attacked Flynn last night. He’ll want to know who’s gunning for him. And the first person he’s going to ask is Shepherd.”

  “We need to get back there,” Bastian said. “He could be keeping Owen in the boathouse, or he has another location he’s using to hold him captive.”

  Mercer took the offered camera and flipped through the photos. Pulling out a map, he marked the location and checked the files for additional details on Flynn. These were just a few of Flynn’s many places, and Mercer remembered the map hanging on the wall in Flynn’s office. The stray markings might be targeted sites, or they could be Flynn’s other compounds. Julian recalled the stray marks and placed them on the map. He circled the known locations of Flynn’s operations and the bar he frequented. They lined up with the pre-existing marks. “Now we have a starting point.”

  Eight

  “There’s no sign of Lara,” Donovan said. “I searched her place. As far as I can tell, she didn’t take anything with her. I didn’t see any signs of a struggle or a break-in either. It’s almost as if she simply vanished.”

  “What about the post? Has her mail been collected?” Bas asked. “Maybe a neighbor knows something.”

  Donovan shook his head. “I spoke to her neighbors. No one remembers hearing or seeing anything suspicious. She never mentioned going on a trip. Her mail’s piling up.”

  “The Security Service has to know something. They should have observed the same things you did. Women don’t just walk away from their lives and take nothing with them,” Mercer said.

  “Unless she didn’t have a choice.” Hans scribbled down an address and hung up the phone. He checked the time. “I’ll ask Grace and Harry if they have any idea where Lara might have gone. Her disappearing act must connect to the call she received from the public line. Maybe Owen reached out to his sister and told her to flee.”

  Mercer squinted, analyzing the expression on Donovan’s face. “What is it?”

  “It’s probably nothing, but her place was clean, practically pristine.”

  “Like someone picked up after making a mess?” Bastian asked.

  Donovan shrugged.

  “I want to see for myself,” Mercer said. He turned back to Hans. “Did the Security Service give you Grace’s location?”

  “No, mate. They said they’d take me to her.”

  “Then get going.” Mercer jerked his head toward the door.

  “Right-o. Anything else I can do? Maybe pull a rabbit from my hat?”

  “No, that’s plenty,” Mercer said. “Just be careful. Flynn’s people could be monitoring Grace and Harry as well.”

  “MI5 calls it a safe house for a reason,” Hans said.

  “But we don’t know if the agency has been compromised,” Bas warned, “so be cautious.”

  Donovan studied the intel taped to the vinyl sheet. He didn’t speak again until Hans was gone. “You should know, there were two chaps who seemed particularly interested in Lara’s flat. They were outside when I arrived, and I spotted them again when I left.” He held out a blurry photo he had taken. �
��They’re either MI5 or Flynn’s guys.”

  “Let’s find out.” Bastian took the offered photo and scanned it into the computer.

  “Either way, I didn’t like the looks of them. I tried to circle around, but they were careful. They might have realized I was on to them.”

  “Do you think they’re still there?” Mercer asked.

  “I don’t know, but they weren’t there for me.”

  “Let’s find out who they are and what they want.” Mercer grabbed his gear and tossed his car keys to Donovan. “You drive.”

  Mercer attempted to doze in the car. He’d barely slept since he agreed to be MI5’s errand boy, but sleep didn’t come. It was probably for the best. Most nights held nothing but heart-wrenching torment.

  “Don’t get too close,” Mercer said, opening one eye. “We don’t want to tip them off.”

  Donovan turned down an adjacent street and parked at the end. “How do you want to do this? Quiet or loud?”

  “We’ll start off quiet.”

  “And go out with a bang.”

  Donovan and Mercer crept along the side of the building. Donovan pointed out the waiting sedan with the two blokes inside. A pair of binoculars sat atop the dashboard.

  “How long do you think they’ve been here?” Mercer asked.

  “I have no idea, but it’s odd timing. Could it have anything to do with striking against Flynn last night?”

  “Impossible to say. They might have already been here. You don’t suppose they’re police.”

  “Undercover, perhaps.” Donovan reached for his phone. “I asked DCI Yancy if he knew of any ops in the area, but he said no.”

  “Is he back on active duty?” Mercer asked.

  “Not yet, but we don’t have many contacts in the police service. He was at the top of a short list.”

  Mercer studied the vehicle. It was an odd color, a dark green, and a more expensive make than what the coppers typically drove, even the undercover variety. “They’re not cops.” Mercer reached for his gun.

  “Does that mean you’re going to shoot them?” Donovan asked, a joking quality to his voice.