by G. K. Parks
“You believe he betrayed you?” Mercer asked. Unlike most men who found themselves in these situations, Aglin didn’t appear frightened.
“Aye.”
“Who is he?” Mercer casually circled the captive. His gaze darted around the room. He didn’t see any obvious surveillance devices. Did Flynn believe shackles were enough to detain prisoners? And if so, Owen Shepherd could be anywhere.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Mercer turned to Flynn. “Yes, it does. He might not be working alone.”
“I’ve gotten the answers I need.” Flynn removed the gun from his left side and held it out to Mercer. “Kill him.”
Julian examined the gun. It felt light, even for a thirty-five. He met Aglin’s eyes, seeing an intrigued spark in them. “Fine.” Mercer aimed and pulled the trigger. As he suspected, the gun was empty. It clicked, and he cocked his head to the side, feigning confusion. Ejecting the magazine, he found the clip empty. “Explain.”
Flynn nodded to Aglin, who flipped open one of the shackles on his wrist and then the other before removing the tape from his lips. He climbed to his feet and stepped closer to Julian. They were roughly the same height and build. The Irishman looked annoyed that Mercer would have shot him so easily.
“I wanted to see if you could follow orders,” Flynn said as Aglin took the gun from Mercer’s hand.
“And?” Mercer didn’t take his eyes off Aglin. “Did this prove anything?”
Flynn shrugged.
“So he’s not a traitor?” Mercer asked.
“No,” Flynn retorted, “Kevin’s family. He’s one of the few men I trust completely.”
Aglin loaded the gun and tucked it into his waistband. “You looking to cause trouble for Colin?”
“On the contrary. I’m trying to prevent it,” Mercer replied.
“We’ll see about that.” Aglin rubbed the corner of his mouth, eyeing Mercer suspiciously. “It seems the trouble didn’t start until you showed up.”
Mercer glanced at Flynn. “If you don’t require my services, I’ll leave you be.”
Flynn clapped Julian on the back. “Enough of this. You passed the test. Now, we drink.”
The three of them clambered back into the SUV. The back seat barely large enough to fit the men comfortably. Mercer studied his companions, feeling naked and exposed without a weapon or Bastian’s nagging voice in his ear.
“Colin,” Aglin whispered, “I didn’t find anything at Alana’s.”
Flynn gave the other man a sharp look. “We’ll discuss that later.”
Mercer turned away from the window and glanced at the two men. “Mr. Flynn, is there something I should know?”
“You’ll know what I want you to when I want you to.” Colin sunk back into the seat. The look on his face kept Aglin from speaking, and neither Killian nor the driver made any attempt to communicate.
Mercer understood team dynamics. For someone Colin considered a brother, Kevin Aglin didn’t seem to understand the fundamentals about speaking in front of outsiders. Julian filed that thought away for later consideration. He cleared his throat and gave Aglin a friendly smile. “No hard feelings, mate. It was nothing personal. I was just doing as I was told.”
“No worries,” Aglin replied, but the sentiment wasn’t sincere. After all, it was difficult not to take attempted murder personally.
The SUV stopped outside the pub, and Flynn waited for Killian to step out and check the perimeter before opening his car door. Mercer waited patiently on the sidewalk. He scanned the area, but he didn’t spot any friendly faces. Bastian might be positioned somewhere nearby, but the analyst was smart enough to remain hidden. However, something told Mercer he was on his own.
“Julian,” Flynn called as the rest of the men went inside, leaving only Killian to monitor the exterior, “you order another drink like you did last night, and I’ll let the boys draw straws to see who puts a bullet in your head. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Flynn gestured for Mercer to go ahead, and Julian obliged, catching a glimpse of Flynn whispering something to Killian.
The trick to any infiltration is to make it appear you belong, so Mercer went to the bar, ordered a pint, and took a seat. He scanned the area. Broken bottles would make useful weapons, as would the pool cues near the back of the room. The pub had two pool tables which Mercer had barely noticed the previous evening since no one was near them. The rack of cue sticks stood against the corner at the back of the room. However, the racked balls caught Mercer’s eye. One of those wrapped in a scarf or sock would make a decent weapon.
None of Flynn’s men approached Mercer. In fact, they treated him like a leper. It might have had to do with the fact he threatened to have them shot less than twenty-four hours ago, but there was nothing he could do about it now. However, from the constant leers, there was a good chance he might not make it out of the room alive.
Eventually, Colin took a seat next to Mercer. With a nod, he dismissed most of the men, leaving only Aglin, Killian, and the driver waiting in opposite corners of the bar. The three of them were armed, as was Flynn.
“You still don’t trust me,” Mercer mused, finishing his beer. “That’s smart. I wouldn’t trust me either.”
“Tell me about the man you hired, the one who shot off the tip of my ear.” Colin fingered the bandage.
“Not much to tell. He’s another mercenary I crossed paths with in Africa. He happened to be working a job in the area and had a few hours to spare.”
“What’s his name?”
Mercer shook his head. “You would have him killed, and that’s bad for business.”
“Maybe I should just kill you. You seem bad for business.” Flynn removed the Sig and pressed it against the hollow beneath Mercer’s jaw. “It’d be easy enough, eh?” Flynn cast a glance out the window. “Unless your man arrives to save your sorry arse again.” Flynn waited, exchanging looks with the three guards.
“No one’s coming. Go ahead and shoot.” Mercer waited, understanding this was about Flynn reestablishing his dominance and saving face. “I can’t stop you.”
Flynn laughed. “Bang.” He put the gun on the bar and reached over and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. He hooked two glasses with his fingertips and put one in front of Mercer and poured. “Drink.”
Obediently, Mercer lifted the glass and swallowed. Flynn refilled it, emptying the rest of the bottle before grabbing a fresh one from behind the bar. He topped off the rest of Julian’s glass and filled his own. Flynn took a long sip, deflating as he swallowed. His shoulders sagged, and he rested his head in his hands. For once, Colin Flynn appeared overwhelmed. The stress was getting to him. Mercer could use that.
“Last night, someone broke into Alana’s flat,” Flynn said. “You were right. Someone is trying to fuck with me, so I want to know how you knew they’d go after her.”
Mercer took another sip. They were finally getting down to business. “Was she hurt?”
“No. She left before the bastard broke in. She’s fine.” Flynn eyed Mercer over the rim of his glass. “I’m waiting.”
“It made sense.”
“Bollocks. You knew. Were you behind it?”
Mercer laughed. “Bloody hell. I was here with you last night, remember?”
“And after that?”
Mercer felt warm. Too warm. He blinked, painting a smile on his face. “Honestly, I was working on my exit strategy. The way I figured it, you’d either hire me or kill me. I had a fifty-fifty shot and needed a contingency.”
Flynn thought for a moment. “Who’s to say I won’t do both?” He laughed, and Mercer found himself laughing along with the terrorist. “So were you responsible for the break-in?”
A telling buzz went through Mercer’s mind. “No, mate. I’m not insane.” Julian’s eyes rested on the whiskey glass. Flynn didn’t drink from the same bottle. “Bugger.”
“Hmm?”
Julian held the smile, hoping to appear
oblivious. “I need to piss. Excuse me.”
The moment Mercer stood, he knew he was in trouble. The buzzing in his head turned into an intense pain, and the room spun. It took all of his concentration to navigate his way from the bar to the men’s room without stumbling. The floor which appeared solid last night now pitched worse than a sailboat caught in a hurricane.
He pushed the door open, grabbing the edge of the sink before he collapsed to the floor. What the fuck did Flynn put in that whiskey? Shoving a finger down his throat, Mercer gagged and choked before vomiting into the sink. Well, mostly into the sink. He heaved again, but it was too late.
He tried to straighten, but the floor lurched upward from beneath his feet. He fell backward and stared up at the blinding ceiling light. The door opened, and Aglin entered with Killian on his heels.
“Looks like you’ve had too much, mate,” Aglin sneered.
“What did you do to me?” Mercer asked.
“Nothing yet.” The two men hoisted Mercer to his feet and dragged him out of the pub and into the back of the SUV. The driver was already in the front, and Flynn was in the passenger seat.
Everything blurred, and Mercer struggled to hang on to consciousness. His limbs weighed him down, heavy and uncooperative. He was barely aware of being hauled out of the SUV and dropped onto a cold tile floor.
Flynn knelt down and smacked Mercer’s cheek. “Wake up.”
Mercer blinked, his tongue thick in his mouth. “What did you do to me?” The words came out garbled, but Flynn understood.
“I just gave you a little something to loosen your tongue. I have a few questions that need answering. And you’re going to answer them truthfully. What you say will determine your fate, but first, I need to make sure no one’s listening in. You said I shouldn’t trust anyone, but I want to trust you. You just need to prove yourself.”
Flynn nodded to Killian, who took Mercer’s shoes and belt before stripping off the rest of Mercer’s clothing. “Colin,” Killian said, “he’s been tortured recently. I’m not sure how well he’ll respond.”
“That won’t stop me from giving it a go.” Kevin Aglin grinned, a sick, demented look that Mercer vowed to wipe off the man’s face.
Flynn examined the recent bruises and fresh scars. He slapped Mercer lightly on the cheek to get his attention. “How did this happen?”
“Knife,” Mercer said without thinking. A quick answer didn’t cause the jolt of pain to shoot through his skull, but he’d been interrogated enough times to know when and how to lie. As a general rule, it was usually best to deny everything, but he needed Flynn to trust him, which meant the terrorist needed to get enough of the truth so he’d believe everything. And Mercer wasn’t in any condition to withhold everything, just the important details.
“I can see that.” Flynn stood. “I don’t want to hurt you. I want to protect you, like I do the rest of my family, but I don’t know you. I don’t know why you’re here or what you want. Answer Kevin’s questions and this will stop. I will stop it. Do you understand?”
Mercer squinted, trying to force himself to nod. His body was sluggish, just like his mind. He couldn’t fight back, and Flynn knew it.
Aglin examined the various scars, finding the deepest one and pushing the pads of his fingers into it. Mercer screamed. Whatever cocktail he’d been given wreaked havoc on his nervous system and pain receptors. Or he was always in this much pain and wasn’t aware. Aglin retracted his fingers, watching the ribs spread as Mercer gasped. Julian rolled onto his side, the tile floor cold against his overheated flesh.
Aglin poked at the wound again, and Julian howled. Flynn’s eyes came to rest on the recent bruise, courtesy of Brody Devlin. “Stop,” Flynn instructed, kneeling beside Julian. “It looks like you have plenty of enemies. I can hold them off, but you have to tell me who’s coming for me.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“You don’t have to. Why did someone do this to you?” Flynn tapped the bruise.
“Side effect of my work.”
“What is your work?”
“Whatever has to be done.” Mercer took a breath, watching as Aglin picked up Mercer’s belt and tugged on it a few times before folding it in half and slapping the thick leather against the wall. The thwack echoed against the hard, smooth surfaces, a look of things to come.
“Why did you turn your back on your country? Why did you leave the SAS?” Flynn asked, wiping his hands on his trousers and standing up to make room for Aglin.
The bodyguard used the belt like a whip, striking Mercer across the chest. The former SAS operative screamed, nearly blacking out from the pain. Julian had barely recovered when Aglin moved down to Mercer’s knees. He let the belt dangle to the floor, building up the anticipation and dread before swinging hard. The leather cut into Julian’s thighs. It stung, drawing blood and immediately causing welts to form.
“Another operative killed my wife,” Mercer spat. “The SAS let it happen. They,” he felt tears well in his eyes, his skull on fire, “betrayed me. They tried to blame me.”
Aglin swung the belt again, gentler this time. The metal clasp hit against Mercer’s most tender bits. Mercer jerked, hissing. Before this was over, he might be castrated.
“Wait.” Flynn put a hand on Aglin's arm before the guard could inflict another blow. The terrorist watched Mercer swallow down the sob. “You lost your wife?”
“Yes.” Mercer bit back another sob. Once he regained his faculties, Colin Flynn would pay.
“Who blew up my car?”
The truth blared through Mercer’s mind like a trumpet. Truth serum didn’t exist, but whatever concoction Flynn mixed into the whiskey made the power of suggestion nearly overpowering. “I don’t know. Probably someone Mathias Murphy sent,” Mercer managed through gritted teeth. The name surfacing from MI5’s reports and Flynn’s prior musings. “He wants what you have. He wants the power. He thinks you’ve grown lazy.” Mercer’s mind drifted to Shepherd, but he locked his jaw to keep the truth from spilling out.
Flynn rubbed his mouth, circling around Mercer’s naked body. “Did Mathias try to hire you?”
“Yes.” The single word lie was easier to get out. “I think so.”
“What about your government contacts? MI5 wanted you to do their bidding. I’ve seen their requests.”
“Fuck them.” Mercer tried to push off the floor, but between the vertigo and slight muscle paralysis, he couldn’t gain any traction. “Fuck them all.”
Flynn appeared pleased. “Good, you’re finally being honest.” He hunkered down near Mercer’s face. “I just have a few more questions, and then we’ll get you cleaned up.”
Fourteen
The interrogation continued for hours. Mercer could feel his grip slipping. He wasn’t sure what he was saying. He couldn’t discern dreams from reality. What was happening? When he couldn’t fight the drugs anymore, he stopped speaking. He’d rather die than jeopardize his team. But Flynn didn’t appear angry. He wiped the blood from Mercer’s chest and spoke softly to the two men.
Julian was vaguely aware of being dragged back to the car. When he blinked again, he was naked outside the inn. Killian and Aglin carried Mercer down the hall and to his room. Julian caught the slightest glimpse of Flynn. The faction leader was on the phone. Then everything went black.
Mercer woke with a blanket thrown over him. A woman, the brunette who’d spoken to Flynn two nights ago, rinsed the washcloth in a basin of water before washing the blood from Mercer’s chest. The hot water stung, and he hissed.
“Shh,” she soothed. “The worst is over now.”
Mercer looked around the room. He was back at the inn. His Sig rested on the table across the room, and Flynn leaned against the dresser. For a moment, Mercer feared what he had said. What did he tell Flynn? Was the team in jeopardy? Was the op scrapped? But Mercer had been trained to withstand torture and drugs. He would have died before sacrificing his team or their mission. He relaxed only slightly, still
desperate to recall the lies he told. He’d need to know what he said in order to stick with his story.
“How are you feeling?” Flynn asked.
Mercer didn’t speak. He wasn’t sure what game the terrorist was playing now. Julian tried to sit up, but his head spun. His limbs felt like gelatin, and he didn’t know if he had full control of his faculties.
“Easy,” Flynn insisted. He brought a glass over to the bedside table. “Drink this. It’ll help.”
Mercer snorted. “No, thanks.”
Flynn let out a dramatic sigh and took a sip from the glass. “It’s not drugged, see?”
“Piss off.”
Flynn studied Mercer for a long moment. “Maura, get fresh water and clean bandages.” Flynn waited for the woman to step out of the room before he spoke again. “My wife was also killed.” Flynn licked his lips and rubbed his mouth. “My children too. It’s a hard thing losing your family. And it’s even harder to relive it.”
Mercer squinted, recalling the story he had told. Operatives were trained to resist, but when they were pushed beyond the brink, they were trained to disclose useless information. And that was the story Mercer had shared. “I’m sorry,” Mercer managed, even though his dark thoughts were far from sympathetic.
Flynn nodded, lost in his own nightmare. “I should have stopped Kevin sooner. For that, I apologize. But you need to see things from my perspective. A stranger walked into my pub, shot at me and my people, and claimed he was there to buy guns. But we both know that wasn’t the truth.” Flynn stared at Mercer, but Julian wasn’t willing to partake in any more give and take after everything that just happened. He’d been forced to give, and Flynn tried to take everything he wanted. “You came to me for a job. Don’t waste your breath denying it.”
“I go where the work is.”