by G. K. Parks
Flynn laughed, “And all of this was just one day after someone blew up my car and I lost one of my guards.”
“Someone was killed?” Mercer asked, feigning ignorance. The lie filled him with relief that he was back in control of his thoughts.
“It was an accident.” Flynn waved it away like it was nothing. “But I didn’t know if I could trust you. Now I know I can.” He picked up Mercer’s cell phone and held it out. “You gave me the intel I wanted on Mathias Murphy and his crew. Now let me pay my debt. Enter your bank account information. You’ve earned your fee.”
Mercer entered the number just as the woman returned. She took a seat on the opposite side of the bed and continued to clean and dress his wounds. “I can take care of myself,” he said to her.
She withdrew for just a moment, her eyes meeting Flynn’s who gave a barely perceptible headshake, and she resumed her ministrations.
“Let her tend to your wounds,” Flynn said, leaving no room for argument. “Maura’s a nurse. She’ll get your head straight and make you forget the unpleasantness of these last few hours. By the morning, this will be nothing more than a memory of a bad dream.”
Instead of arguing, Julian handed the device back to Flynn, who transferred another $50,000 into the account. Bastian would be monitoring their accounts, and now, the analyst would know where to look to gain access to Flynn’s. With this information, the team could make a list of Flynn’s buyers and discover any potential informants or leaks inside the government. Maybe the last few hours were worth it.
“You have your money. You can walk away if you want, Julian, but as you pointed out, I’m in need of outside help. And I don’t think things would end well for you if Mathias were to discover you came to me with a proposition.” Flynn put the phone on the nightstand. “I’ll let you think about it. We’ll talk again in the morning.” Flynn stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Mercer tried again to dismiss Maura, but Flynn had given her orders. And she wouldn’t disobey the faction leader. After bandaging Mercer’s chest, she pushed the blanket away and tended to the cuts on his thighs. When she took him in her hand, he grabbed her wrist.
“Leave me be.”
She pulled her arm free and clucked her tongue at him. “I’m making sure there isn’t any permanent damage.”
He didn’t have the energy to fight, and she proceeded to gently polish the family jewels. He sunk back against the pillow, watching her through his lashes. His head felt like it’d been knocked around Wimbledon. He needed the fog to lift and the invisible weights to leave his limbs. And despite everything, Maura’s tenderness helped.
The faction leader knew precisely what he was doing. It was psychological manipulation. Basically, Flynn intended to trigger a quasi-Stockholm Syndrome. The torture and drugs would break a man, pushing him to the brink, and then Flynn stepped in. He called off the attack. He stopped the pain and heaped rewards on Mercer, along with promises of more to come. Praise, money, and sexual gratification – it was an apology and a bargaining chip. Flynn was shrewd. Maybe Owen Shepherd did turn.
Mercer sighed, a wheeze traveling through his chest and culminating in an angry cough. She cleaned him up and covered him with the blanket.
“Colin’s right,” she said as she collected the medical supplies. “You should drink something.” She eyed him. “And I don’t quite care for that rattling in your chest.” She picked up the stethoscope and pressed it against his left side. “That bastard really did some damage. You need to take care of yourself.” She met his eyes. “I suggest you steer clear of Kevin Aglin. He won’t forget you tried to kill him, and he’ll hold a grudge until the day he dies.”
“I’ve noticed.”
She chuckled. “You would have.” She stepped toward the door. “You need anything, tell Colin. He’ll send for me.”
“Do you always do what he says?”
“Aye. He’s going to save us all. He’s one of the few left who’s still willing to fight. I don’t see how everyone’s already forgotten what it used to be like, how terrible it was, but he hasn’t. I’d do anything for that man, and you’ll be hard-pressed to find anyone around here who won’t, including Kevin.” She jerked her chin expectantly at the glass, waiting for Mercer to take a sip. “If Colin hadn’t intervened, Kevin would have torn you to bits. Colin must see something worthwhile in you. That’s rare. He wouldn’t have saved you otherwise, so you can trust that Colin won’t hurt you again. He’s just fighting for the cause. It’d be best if you remember that.”
She shut the door, and Mercer dropped back against the pillow. Between the drugs, the beating, and having his knob polished, he was spent. Reluctantly, he drained the glass, wondering if the contents would kill him slowly in his sleep or if Flynn would come back and put two behind his ear.
Hours later, voices outside the door roused Mercer. He climbed out of bed, stiff and sore. He dressed, ignoring the sting of the lash marks. He field-stripped his Sig, making sure each piece was in working order before reassembling it and pressing his ear against the door. A quick glance at his watch showed it was just after oh nine hundred. By now, Bastian would be frantic. He had to find a way to get a message to his team.
“Are you sure?” Mercer recognized the voice as Killian’s. “You saw the marks. The scars. He’s accustomed to torture, and based on his record, he’s doled it out a time or two. How can Colin honestly believe the intel he gave was good? He would have said anything last night to save his skin.”
“I don’t know, mate. No one’s ever been able to resist before. You watched him break. Half the town probably heard him wailing and begging to die,” another voice Mercer couldn’t place replied. “I don’t think anyone could fake that. But it’s not our call. It’s Colin’s, and he believes Mercer is valuable.”
“We’ll see.” The voices were growing quieter, as if the men were walking away from the door. “Keep an eye on him. The moment he crosses a line, Colin needs to know about it.”
Were those two idiots attempting to disseminate misinformation? Perhaps they wanted to test Mercer to see if he was a snitch. Or they were clueless and didn’t realize he might hear them through the door. Regardless, Julian was tired of the games. The one last night could have killed him. He had to be more careful. Lives depended on it. Bastian’s, Donovan’s, and Hans’ life depended on it, not to mention countless others.
Julian took a seat on the bed. The buzzing headache was growing in intensity. He needed water. He needed to flush the remnants of the drugs out of his system. He went to the bathroom, rinsed the glass, and drank. He’d wait at least an hour before leaving the room.
It was obvious Colin had men waiting for him, and Mercer didn’t know how he wanted to proceed. He had to commit to the soldier of fortune persona he used when he initially approached Flynn, and after last night, Mercer couldn’t be sure what he said or what impression he made on Flynn. He’d have to sell it even harder now. Unfortunately, he had no idea what that would entail, and he possessed very few details concerning Mathias Murphy, the rival faction leader. Painting him as a scapegoat and enemy wasn’t a smart move, but in the heat of the moment with Flynn already convinced of Mathias’s treachery, Mercer didn’t have much of a choice.
Mercer needed to contact his team. He needed facts. They needed to perform a threat assessment. Mercer’s words might have inadvertently triggered a war between the two terrorist factions. Perhaps the authorities should intervene before blood ran through the streets.
When he couldn’t wait any longer, he stepped out of his room. Killian and Flynn’s driver from the previous night sat in two antique chairs at the end of the hallway, near the front desk. Julian moved past them, doing his best to ignore them. When he stepped out into the mid-morning light, the sun’s reflection off the white SUV nearly blinded him.
“Mercer,” Killian called from behind, “Colin told me to take you wherever you want to go.”
Julian scoffed at the SUV. “Why should I
get in a car with you?”
Killian shifted slightly, making the gun on his hip apparent. “You don’t have to, but it would be in your best interest. I suggest you hear Colin out.”
“Mr. Flynn said I could walk away.”
“Go ahead, but it’s a long walk to the airport or ferry.”
Mercer felt his pockets, realizing his car keys were gone, as was the sedan he rented. They must have taken it the previous night to check the navigation system and search for devices or clues as to Mercer’s loyalty.
Julian spun on his heel. “You’ll take me to Mr. Flynn?”
“Aye.” Killian clicked the remote unlock, and Mercer climbed into the passenger seat. The second guard, the driver from last night, remained inside the inn. As Mercer suspected, he was probably going to toss the room again to see if circumstances changed in light of last night’s events.
Mercer slipped on his sunglasses and pretended to pay little attention to their surroundings. His head ached, but it was nothing compared to the way he felt last night. They passed a café on the corner. “Mind if we stop for breakfast?”
Killian ignored him and continued to drive. In broad daylight, the area around Flynn’s compound looked residential and inviting with lush vegetation and well-kept lawns. They drove through the front gate, and Killian parked the car in the driveway. He left the SUV far enough back, so a sniper on the roof could pick Julian off with a single shot. However, Mercer ignored the possibility. If Colin Flynn wanted him dead, it’d be far more personal.
“How long have you worked for Mr. Flynn?” Mercer asked.
“I don’t work for him.” Killian led the way up the steps to the front of the estate. “We grew up together. We work together.”
“I see.” Mercer resisted the urge to point out the obvious, that Flynn was top dog and everyone else was expendable. Right now, Julian needed to garner favor with the other faction members, not make enemies, so he held his tongue.
Killian held the door open, and Mercer stepped through. The house looked a lot different with the sunlight shining through the windows. “Straight back. He’s in the kitchen.”
Mercer moved forward, turning his head to look around. “What’s up there?”
“Keep moving.”
“Fine.” Mercer went down the hallway, finding himself in the living room just off the kitchen.
“Julian,” Flynn greeted from his seat at the table, “I’m glad you decided to join me.” He gestured to an empty chair. “Please, sit down. Alana, bring our guest a plate. He must be famished.”
Mercer took a seat, watching Flynn nod to Killian, who immediately headed back the way he came, reactivating the security system on his way out. Mercer found it odd. He listened, but there were no other sounds anywhere in the house. Did Flynn dismiss the rest of his bodyguards?
Alana placed utensils and a plate in front of Mercer before helping herself to a heaping serving of bangers and mash. “Dig in,” she said.
Mercer waited for Flynn to push the serving plate closer before he helped himself. The kettle on the stove whistled, and Alana flew out of her chair to grab it. She was rather impish, petite and svelte. But Mercer saw a determined fire in her eyes.
“Tea?” She filled Flynn’s cup and held the kettle expectantly in front of Julian.
Mercer waited for the faction leader to take a sip before he said, “Yes, please.” If only Bastian could see him now. The analyst would think Flynn had beaten manners and etiquette into Julian.
The hot tea calmed the constant ache in Mercer’s chest, and he closed his eyes for a moment. With Flynn, he didn’t know what to expect next, but Mercer needed to stay grounded and alert. When he opened his eyes, he found Flynn studying his face.
“You wanted to speak to me?” Mercer asked.
“We have business to discuss.” Flynn nodded to Alana. “Thank you for breakfast, sweetheart.”
She untucked her bare feet from beneath her and got up to clear the plates. Flynn pushed his plate away and rested his forearms on the table. She cleared his place and hers, giving Julian a curious glance. “Are you finished?”
“Aye. It was lovely.”
While she took his plate to the sink, he refilled his teacup. His eyes remained glued to Flynn. As Alana made another pass by the table, Flynn reached for one of her hands and brushed his lips against her knuckles. Mercer couldn’t discern if that was the faction leader’s way of staking his claim or if he really was madly in love. Even violent men possessed the capacity for love and compassion, but Mercer learned long ago it was easier to carry out a mission when he didn’t humanize the target.
“Go upstairs,” Flynn instructed, and she fled the room. “Have you made up your mind?” he asked Julian.
Mercer took another sip, his eyes never leaving Flynn’s. “I haven’t decided yet. As a rule, I don’t work for men who drug and beat me.”
“That’s a good rule, but these aren’t normal conditions.” Flynn reached over to the empty chair and picked up a folder. “The fact that you’re here means you need work or fear retaliation.”
“From whom?”
“Mathias, most likely.” A sick smile twisted Flynn’s lips. “You get itchy when you don’t have a job lined up. I understand what drives you. You want payback. And I’ll let you have it. Once you find out who betrayed me, you can take your pound of flesh before I finish the job.” Flynn opened the folder and placed a classified MI5 document on the table, detailing Owen Shepherd’s mission.
“Where did you get this?” Mercer’s stomach twisted in knots, and he regretted having eaten.
“I’m connected. I have to be.” Flynn leaned back. “You might be wrong about Mathias. MI5’s full of deceptive bastards. They might have approached you under the guise of being one of my rivals. You see, MI5 has infiltrated my ranks. Perhaps, they’ve done the same to Mathias’s faction. They would love to pit us against one another. If we kill each other, they won’t have anything to worry about, will they? So before I take action, I need you to find out everything you can. I won’t go to war without proof, and I need to know who amongst us has betrayed me. So do it quietly. Can you handle that?”
Mercer carefully read the briefing notes, finding they lacked the agent’s name. It only listed code names. “Tell me where you got this.”
“That isn’t important. You have your secrets, Julian, and I have mine.” Flynn blew out a steady breath. “Last night, you told me what these fuckers did to you, to your wife. I’m giving you a gift. Find the problem, and exterminate it. Kill as many government agents as you like. I have no love for them, and it will save me time later.”
“I don’t work for free.” Mercer remained still as he fought off the nervous twitch. Shepherd had been compromised. For Flynn to possess notes on a classified briefing, the source was inside Palace Barracks. Owen Shepherd was probably dead by now, or he’d been forced to flee. Were the men waiting outside Lara’s flat part of the faction or cronies working for the government traitor?
“I’ll pay you another fifty.”
Mercer dragged his gaze from the document. “On one condition.”
“Go ahead.”
“You tell me how you came upon this piece of information.” Mercer held it up to the light, as if questioning its legitimacy.
“It fell into my lap.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“It has to be.” Flynn wouldn’t budge. “Why the sticking point?”
“Clearly, you have a source on the inside. Why can’t you ask him who’s been planted inside your group? You can cut out the middleman, and I’ll be on my way.”
“My source is dead. He started asking too many questions, and I had to kill him. Is history going to repeat itself?”
Mercer glanced toward the door. “Last night, you said I could walk away.”
“You can, but I don’t think you will. I think you understand my vision. Maybe you want to be a part of it beyond the scope of this one job. I need men like you, Julian.
Men who’ve experienced the heartbreak and deceit firsthand and want to stop the cycle.”
Mercer paused, as if giving this serious consideration. Hopefully, Flynn believed he held the power position. If he did, that meant the faction leader didn’t realize the tables had turned. Originally, Mercer approached him for a job, now Flynn was refusing to let Mercer go. With that type of insistence, the faction leader wouldn’t notice he was being played. That meant Mercer and his team had a fighting chance of stopping a strike and finding out what became of Owen Shepherd or at least bringing his body home for burial.
“Fifty thousand. No strings attached. The body count is at my discretion. If I don’t want to get my hands dirty, I won’t. And if I decide to leave, I will.”
“Just make sure you find out what master the bastard is serving before we part ways,” Flynn insisted. “If it’s Mathias, I have to know. And if it’s MI5, they’ll get what’s coming to them. But I will not wage a needless war. I don’t have the time or firepower to waste. I have my own plans to carry out.” A spark lit behind Flynn’s eyes. “Maybe you’ll help me with that.”
“The last thing I need is to be labeled a terrorist on top of everything else Her Majesty has already accused me of, but the damage has been done. They deserve to pay.”
Flynn smiled. “Bloody good. Get some rest. I’ll need you completely recovered. And I’ll pass word along. My men won’t bother you again. You’re one of us now. You’ll be treated just like the rest.” Flynn’s eyes went cold. “I trust you’ll keep our arrangement private. And should I find out this is a ruse, last night will seem like a tickle party compared to what you’ll face.”
Mercer nodded, wondering how much Flynn actually trusted him.
Fifteen
Colin Flynn was a man of his word. He practically catered to Julian, still wooing the new recruit since they were in the honeymoon phase of their new relationship. After leaving Flynn’s compound, Mercer returned to the inn. His belongings were ever so slightly out of place. Clearly, they’d been searched. It was a good thing Mercer had destroyed the radio, even though he regretted being out of contact with his team. A large gift basket sat atop the dresser, filled with muffins, various dried meats, a few bottles of booze, and other essentials. Who knew terrorists sent gift baskets?