Retaliation

by G. K. Parks

  Mercer disassembled the entire package, but he didn’t find any surveillance devices. However, after last night, he had no desire to consume anything sent by Colin Flynn. After emptying the basket, Mercer tossed the uneaten foods into a plastic bag and brought the liquor and basket to the front desk. After that, he took the bag of food with him. On his walk, he stopped to feed the ducks and squirrels. When they appeared unfazed, he continued on his aimless trek. He gave the bag to the first homeless man he found.

  Then Mercer ducked into a café across the street. He took a seat at the window and watched the man gorge himself on the baked goods and meats. Mercer finished his tea, aware of the two men following him. He recognized them from Colin’s pub. Obviously, Colin didn’t completely trust him. Until he did, Mercer wouldn’t be able to contact the team.

  “Bollocks,” he muttered into the ceramic. His watchful gaze remained on the homeless man who seemed just as healthy as he’d been before eating a good portion of the gift basket. Apparently, the food hadn’t been tainted. Now Mercer knew for certain Flynn didn’t want him dead, at least not yet. That was progress. Maybe Flynn really did want to convert Mercer into a true believer.

  Leaving a few quid on the table, Mercer left the café and ducked into a nearby shop. Bastian had contingencies in place, dead drops, and check-ins that no one would ever find unless they knew where to look. Mercer couldn’t risk leaving anything obvious, believing the two men keeping track of him might find it by mistake, so Mercer went to one of the shelves, found some superglue, and used it to glue a penny, face up, to the back of the shelf, hidden behind boxes of cereal.

  After selecting a few items from the aisle, Mercer went to the counter and paid. Bastian would know where to look and what to look for. Heads up meant Julian was safe, and Flynn’s men wouldn’t even notice. If they found the coin, they’d think some kid had glued it to the shelf as a practical joke.

  Confident his team would find the message and realize he was alive and not in need of rescue, Mercer returned to the inn. Flynn told him to rest, and it would not be wise to disregard orders this quickly. Now Mercer’s biggest problem was convincing Flynn’s men to voluntarily surrender the intel. The chemical weapons were Julian’s main priority. Even if he couldn’t get the list of targets or the date and time of the attack, he’d be able to limit the casualties by destroying the chemical weapons. Flynn would want to keep them close, but after the explosion that killed Flynn’s wife and children, the terrorist wouldn’t keep them inside his house. Would he?

  Mercer reached for a pen and paper and sketched out a map. Flynn had taken him to a warehouse and some other facility to conduct the interrogation. But Flynn had to possess other properties, control other locations. And some arsehole at MI5 knew about it. Despite Flynn’s insistence that the connection was dead, Mercer had trouble believing it. Every one of Julian’s instincts screamed Liam Partridge was working for Colin Flynn. Bastian was already suspicious. Perhaps the analyst had found damning evidence. It was pointless to speculate, and Mercer returned to the task at hand.

  He had just tucked his rudimentary map into the vent and screwed the grate back on when someone knocked on his door. “Yes?”

  Killian stood in the hallway, his hands in his pockets. “Colin thought you might like to join us for dinner and drinks.”

  Mercer thought for a moment. “Fine.”

  “Are you ready?”

  Mercer pulled the door closed without giving the room a second glance. He doubted they’d find his sketch, and even if they did, it was just a vague doodle. Meaningless to everyone else.

  Dinner went off without a hitch. Colin spoke to his lieutenants and closest friends, Killian, Kevin Aglin, Duffy O’Brien, Donal, and Aaron. Mercer only caught a few surnames and didn’t dare ask any questions. The group was seated around a large round table in an upscale restaurant. Alana remained at Colin’s side. The faction leader placed his left hand on her thigh when they sat down, and he had yet to move it.

  No one spoke of their extracurricular activities. They barely spoke about anything aside from the food, wine, and some good-natured ribbing. It felt like a scene from a mobster flick.

  “Oi, Julian, was it?” Aaron asked. “How long are you planning to stick around?”

  Mercer glanced at Colin, who had grown quiet. Obviously, he wanted to hear Mercer’s response.

  “We’ll see. I move around often. I find it best to keep the authorities a few steps behind.”

  Aaron grinned. “Aye, so do we.”

  “Speaking of,” Alana muttered, digging her nails into the back of Colin’s hand, “are you done sending me off with a babysitter?”

  Colin’s eyes remained on Julian. “Not yet, love.”

  She let out a huff. “Let me guess. You’re going to force me to stay under lock and key?”

  Colin and Killian exchanged a look. “You can’t very well go home, now can you? The place is a ruddy mess. I have to keep you safe.” Colin blew out a breath. “If you want, I’ll let you stay with your brother. But I much prefer having you close.” Colin sounded exhausted by what had become an old argument.

  Alana turned to Killian. “Really? What do you think?”

  “I think you’re safer at Colin’s than you are with me, but I can pull out the couch if that’s what you want. I just want you safe and happy, Al. That’s what we both want.”

  Mercer stared down at his plate, pretending to have no interest in the domestic squabble. But until now, he didn’t realize the familial connection. Alana and Killian were siblings. That must be why Killian thought of Colin like a brother, probably a soon-to-be brother-in-law, if one wanted to be literal. That information might be of use. Killian had a lot more at stake than his relationship with Colin. He had his sister to protect and her happiness. That’s why he’d go to the ends of the earth to keep Colin Flynn safe and to keep his illegal activities off the radar. It also meant Killian would know more than anyone else in the faction.

  Masterfully, Julian hid his grin. He just found his mark. Now to turn Killian into an asset.

  * * *

  Despite Mercer’s best efforts and round after round of beer, Killian kept his distance, constantly maintaining a watchful eye on the British outsider. Mercer knew it would take time to earn trust. However, time was a precious commodity. He’d have to find a way to speed it up, but for now, he didn’t want his intentions to be obvious. So Mercer remained near the rear of Flynn’s pub, watching Aaron and Donal shoot pool.

  Eventually, he offered to play the winner, and on their insistence that they wager with a hefty sum, Mercer was welcomed to the game. Of course, he made it a point to lose. Winning would have solidified his pariah status. Plus, he knew the Irish. They’d dominate the English, if given the opportunity, in order to make up for all the historical mistreatment.

  By the end of the first evening, Mercer made little headway into being accepted by Flynn’s crew. Killian and Aglin would be the hardest to convince. After all, Kevin Aglin liked to hold grudges, and Killian exhibited more brainpower than the rest of the drunken fools, who seemed to care little about anything other than shooting pool, chugging beer, and blowing shit up.

  Of course, now that Mercer signed on to Flynn’s crusade, the rank and file would eventually fall in line. But until they were convinced Flynn hadn’t gone daft, several of the men refused to let Mercer out of their sights. Mercer heard the whispers and saw the surreptitious glances. No one trusted him, which meant they would never talk openly or confide in him. Even when they were piss drunk, none of them would answer his questions. At this rate, he’d never find out where Flynn kept the chemical weapons, what target he planned to hit, or the timetable for the intended strike. And he’d never find out what became of Owen Shepherd.

  By three a.m., most of the lot couldn’t even walk straight, so Mercer tried asking about previous members and fallen comrades. It fit in nicely with the ruse and the role Flynn asked him to play, but no one mentioned Owen. As far as Flynn’s m
en were concerned, everyone was present and accounted for. This wouldn’t be easy, but Mercer didn’t realize it’d be this hard. He should have been better prepared before recklessly confronting Flynn in the pub that first night. Now he was stuck behind enemy lines. He needed his team. Hopefully, Bastian got his message.

  This same routine went on for days. Each morning, Mercer would attempt to lose the tail. Most of Flynn’s men were lazy, and they were growing bored, so Julian used it to his advantage.

  The first day, a few of Flynn’s men tried to follow on foot when Julian went for a run, so Mercer made it a point to make their attempt tedious and difficult. After the third kilometer, his muscles loosened, and he hit his stride. Some of Flynn’s men were in decent shape, but they weren’t prepared for a fifteen kilometer run.

  The next day, one intrepid bastard tried to follow in a car, so Mercer took to a walking path through the botanical gardens. After that, he didn’t notice anyone tailing him, so he left a message at a dead drop. It was innocuous enough that no one outside his team would notice, let alone realize what the code meant, but Bastian would. If all went according to plan, they’d rendezvous tomorrow.

  The next morning, Mercer woke energized and optimistic. Truth be told, he missed his team and needed the support. Another day surrounded by terrorists would drive Mercer mad. He laced his shoes, thoroughly stretched, and set out at a brisk pace.

  After a few kilometers, he lost the tail and headed for the river. The loop was the perfect spot to prevent Flynn’s men from sneaking up or observing the exchange. That’s why he chose this location. He just hoped Bastian was able to get away.

  Near the middle, Mercer slowed. The analyst was waiting at the designated point along the River Lagan loop. Mercer stopped and stretched his calf muscles against the railing. Despite the seven kilometers he’d already run, his heart kept a steady beat. Only his left side burned, but that was normal under the circumstances. After all, didn’t the doctors say cardio was good for the lungs?

  “You all right?” Bastian asked.

  “Fine.”

  “It’s been days. I found the coin. Had I not, I might have thought you were dead.”

  “Flynn thought about it.”

  Bastian squinted into the horizon. “What happened?”

  “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure. He laced my drink with a wicked cocktail. I just remember bits and pieces. But the next morning,” Mercer’s focus remained on untying his left shoe, “Flynn acted like I was a kindred spirit.”

  Even though Bastian couldn’t see Julian’s face, he recognized that tone. “You told him about Michelle?”

  “I don’t remember, but I must have.”

  Bastian turned around and posed for a few selfies. “She’s always on your mind. Under the circumstances, you had to say something. And you went with the best option.”

  “Rubbish,” Mercer growled. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is I didn’t compromise the team, but I can’t be bloody sure of anything.”

  “Well, I am.” Bastian turned to the side and snapped a few more photographs before carefully examining the screen. “We knew that would be your in with Flynn. Have you made any progress on locating the chemical weapons or Shepherd?”

  “No. I take it neither have you.” Mercer stared out across the water, watching the periphery for signs of Flynn’s men. It took more effort than it should to get away from the faction. Mercer never took the same route. He kept his destinations random. He left at different times, varied the distance and lengths, and kept an eye out for a tail. But it might not be enough. “Did anything shake loose on the gold paper?”

  “A civilian office manager purchased it for more civilized use.”

  “PR stunts,” Mercer mumbled.

  Bastian lazily leaned one arm on the railing as he scrolled through the content on his phone, doing his best to appear touristy. “Anyone inside MI5 has access to it. It’s in the bloody supply closet. I found it when I was looking for some staples. I’m digging up as much as I can on Liam Partridge, but I’m not making much progress.”

  “Keep trying. Flynn trusts me, or he’s starting to. He told me he had someone inside MI5, but the connection’s supposedly dead.”

  “Do you think he meant Shepherd?”

  “I don’t know what to think. For all I know, it could be a lie. Or a test. He knows MI5 approached me. Maybe he thinks I’ll go running back to them.”

  Bastian chuckled. “Clearly, Flynn has a lot to learn.”

  “Indeed.” Mercer went to work on the other shoe. “How are Hans and Donovan faring? Has there been any progress on their end?”

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  Mercer checked his watch. “Talk fast.”

  “Someone inside the government removed the car from impound, and the DNA results on the traces of blood came back classified.”

  “Classified? How is that possible?”

  “I don’t know, but Yancy is looking into it. I’ve contacted a few of our mates at Interpol, thought they might be a safer bet considering our current predicament. I’ll let you know what we find. Well, I would if I had a way to contact you.”

  “Enough, Bas. I need you to perform a threat assessment on Mathias Murphy,” Mercer said.

  “Don’t you think dealing with one terrorist cell is more than enough?”

  Mercer blew out a breath and stretched against the rail. In case someone was watching them, Julian didn’t want anyone to realize he was talking to the sightseeing bloke taking selfies near the water. “I told you Flynn interrogated me. I had to say something.”

  “And starting a blood feud seemed like a good idea?”

  “No, but he left me no choice.”

  “Jules, what exactly happened?”

  Mercer tightened his laces a final time. “It doesn’t matter. I’m in. We should assume Shepherd’s dead, but I will find out precisely what Flynn did to him. And I will find the chemical agents. What I need you to do is figure out which MI5 agents are in Flynn’s pocket. We have to flush them out. Start with Partridge. Flynn had Shepherd’s briefing notes. The op runner had the easiest access to that information. He could have copied it inside his office, slipped it into his coat, and passed it off to Flynn.” Mercer removed the rudimentary sketch from his pocket and surreptitiously placed it on the railing. “Here are a few additional locations to scout.”

  “I’ll look into it.”

  “Do that.” Mercer glanced around, stretching his back and arms. “If things go tits up between Murphy and Flynn, MI5 will have to intervene. I don’t care if they kill each other, but innocents might get caught in the crossfire.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I need equipment. Make sure the stash houses are stocked. Guns, radios, everything. I don’t know where I’ll be or what I’ll need, but I want to be prepared.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Bas, watch over the team. Keep everyone alive and be careful. I have to go.” Mercer hit the timer on his stopwatch and sprinted off in the opposite direction.

  Sixteen

  As per the instructions, Bastian remained for another fifteen minutes, taking more photographs before grabbing something from a vendor’s cart and eating lunch on a nearby bench. Operatives at meets didn’t hang around for fear of being spotted, but if one of Flynn’s men was following Julian, Bastian had to make it clear he wasn’t hiding or rushing off. It was the only way to ensure Flynn wouldn’t realize he and Mercer had just exchanged intel. And after firing on Colin Flynn, Bastian didn’t need to make anyone inside the faction suspicious. His life and Julian’s depended on it.

  When Mercer emerged at the end of the loop, Killian was waiting. The bodyguard leaned against the car, his arms crossed over his chest. When he spotted Mercer, he waved him over.

  “C’mon, it’s time you get your feet wet. Colin has a job for us.” He tossed Mercer a towel and climbed into the car.

  Keeping calm, Mercer wiped his face and opened the
car door. He glanced over the roof, but he didn’t see anyone watching or catch the glint reflecting off a scope. The timing couldn’t have been worse, but something told Julian he and Bastian hadn’t been compromised. And Mercer knew to trust his instincts.

  “Where are we going?” Mercer checked the weapon at the small of his back, the one he kept beneath the jacket he’d tied around his waist.

  “You’ll see.”

  Mercer glared at the man. “Answer the bloody question.”

  Killian snickered. “Afraid I’m taking you back to the warehouse to finish what Kevin started?”

  “Colin wouldn’t appreciate you knocking the shit out of me, so no, I’m not afraid.” Mercer smirked. “And for that reason, you shouldn’t be either. I have no desire to anger Mr. Flynn or Alana.”

  “Pisser,” Killian muttered. His gaze drifted to the rearview mirror, but no one was following. Mercer glanced at the side mirror, wondering who would be daft enough to track the faction. He saw a police cruiser a few cars back and resisted the urge to smile.

  “You do realize we’re on the same side,” Mercer said, earning a surprised look from Killian. “We have the same goal in mind, mate. The same endgame.” Mercer wondered if Killian knew of the real reason Flynn was keeping the former SAS operative around. “We want to fuck with the powers that be as much as possible.”

  “Aye.”

  Killian would be hard to crack. He didn’t speak much, but from his posture and commanding presence, Mercer figured he must know more than the others. However, it could be a bluff. Projecting an air of superiority was often enough to convince others that you were someone important. It was the basic alpha-beta mentality. However, the real alpha was Colin Flynn, and Killian knew it. Mercer snorted. In that scenario, Julian was the omega.