by G. K. Parks
Over the last few days, Mercer had spent time with Colin’s inner circle, at the pub, at Colin’s dinner table, and at the warehouse, where they loaded weapons into the back of a truck. But aside from a few exchanged words when necessary, Killian made it clear he loathed the Englishman in their midst. The only reason any of them tolerated Julian was because Colin forced them to. They didn’t trust Mercer after the stunt he pulled the first night at the pub and with good reason. Julian would have to do something to change that. He needed them to talk to him.
The car came to an abrupt halt, and Mercer stared up at a large cross. “I should have realized you were a religious man.” Mercer eyed the tattoo on Killian’s arm.
“Shut your mouth.”
Mercer stepped out of the car and followed Killian to the side of the church and down the steps. Surprisingly, Flynn’s errand boy trusted Mercer enough to walk in front of him. That was a step in the right direction. Killian opened the door to the church basement, and they went inside.
The smell of burning candles and incense assaulted Mercer’s senses. He blinked a few times, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the hazy, dark interior. A doorway carved into the wall caught Mercer’s attention, and he crossed to it. Opening the door, he found nothing but a narrow staircase.
“Over here,” Killian called. “Grab this.”
Mercer lifted one side of the heavy box, and the two men carried it out of the basement and up the steps. Mercer heard a distinct metallic clank.
“What’s inside?”
“You’ll see soon enough.”
They loaded it into the boot and got back in the car. Mercer stared out the window. He’d have to tell his team about the church. He just didn’t know when he’d speak to any of them again.
When they hit a pothole, Mercer cringed. “Should I be concerned that whatever’s in the box might blow us to kingdom come?”
“Nothing’s going to blow up unless Colin wants it to.”
Mercer narrowed his eyes. “What are we transporting? Are we moving bomb materials?”
“Not today. Just guns. Does that go against your sensibilities?”
“No.” Belatedly, Mercer wondered what an actual MI5 agent would do in this situation. Is this how Owen Shepherd was caught? Or was Shepherd smart enough to let it go in order to maintain his cover?
“Good. We’ll be delivering the shipment to some buyers and collecting our fees. Colin thought it’d be a good way to introduce you to the operation. He says you don’t mind getting your hands dirty.”
“Brilliant.”
“Some people get squeamish around guns. They see it as killing their own kind, but you’re not one of us. You probably couldn’t care less. The more we shoot each other, the happier you’ll be, eh?”
“You’re right. I don’t care.” Mercer knew he had to stick to the script and give the right answers, but he heard the disdain in Killian’s voice. “You disagree with arming your countrymen?”
“Enemy of my enemy and all. But once our mutual goal has been reached, they’ll turn the weapons on us. And it’ll make it that much harder to kill them. The bloody cockroaches.”
“Have you shared this view with Flynn?” Mercer asked.
“It doesn’t matter. I do what I’m told. Just like you should.”
“Is this how Flynn finances his operation?”
“Partially.” Killian turned to Mercer. “You’re awfully chatty today, and might I add, a bit too inquisitive for your own good.”
“I’m just trying to sort some things out.”
“I’m still trying to figure out what you could have said to Colin to make him trust you. He only trusts his own kind, and you are not one of us.”
“Because I don’t bleed green?”
“Like I said, the enemy of my enemy.”
“That philosophy works both ways. You’re the enemy of my enemy, as well.” Mercer stared out the window. “You were there that night. You know what happened. Flynn asked the questions. I was in no condition not to be forthcoming.”
“Just because Colin trusts you, doesn’t mean I do. I know you filled his head with lies, telling him someone inside the faction is betraying him. It’s the only reason he’d even consider outside help, but you’re wrong. From where I’m sitting, you’re the problem, Julian. Before you arrived, we didn’t have problems. Now we do. It won’t take Colin long to figure that out. Make no mistake. Your days are numbered.”
Finally, Mercer was getting somewhere. “Is that right?”
“Aye.”
Mercer rubbed the stubble on his cheek. “Someone blew up Colin’s SUV right outside his pub. You don’t think that was a problem?”
“I think that was you.”
Mercer laughed. “Really? I’ve seen his security. The way you bloody lot hang around that pub at all hours of the night. You and I both know no outsider could have gotten near Flynn’s car without you or another one of his guards noticing. If I had done it, mate, you would have bloody well remembered seeing me.” Mercer turned in the seat, switching to interrogation mode. “The way I see it, either someone from Flynn’s inner circle blew up his ride, or one of your lot made it a point to look the other way so an outsider could get close enough. Which is it?”
“You’re daft.”
“Were you there that night? Are you sure Colin doesn’t think it was you? I’ve seen you with the men, the way you give orders. Now, you’ve made me aware of your loathing of this filthy gun business. I’m starting to think maybe this is why Colin wants us to spend some quality time together.”
“Don’t be a fucking nutter. I had nothing to do with it. I wasn’t even there when the SUV blew.”
“Convenient. Did someone ask you to step away?”
“Piss off. I love Colin. So does my sister. We’ll be family soon enough.” Killian’s neck reddened. The flush crept up to his ears. If Mercer didn’t back off soon, Flynn’s second-in-command would put two in Mercer’s chest and toss him out of the car.
“You’re right, mate. I was out of line. I apologize.” Mercer waited for Killian’s normal coloring to return before he said, “We should have a think about this.”
“No.”
“Colin said one of his men was killed that same night.”
“Brody wasn’t killed. He fell off the bloody roof.”
“Men don’t fall off rooves.”
Killian turned, his eyes cold as ice. “There was a storm. He must have lost his footing.”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” Mercer said, “but the timing seems suspect to me. According to Flynn, the explosion and the accidental death happened the same night. Could this Brody chap have leaked intel to someone with a vendetta against Flynn? Maybe Brody’s accident was meant to keep him from confessing his sins. I know for a fact Flynn can get anyone to tell him anything he wants to know at any time. Whoever’s working against Flynn would know this and be forced to tie up loose ends.”
“There’s no way. Brody never went to the pub. He always stayed at the house.”
“Where were you that night?”
“At the house.”
Mercer let out a scoff and turned his focus to the windshield, an idea forming in his head. Killian would make the perfect fall guy. It would make it that much easier to turn Killian into an asset. Mercer could probably leverage Killian’s position and disdain for gunrunning and use it to his advantage.
“Oi,” Killian shoved Mercer’s shoulder, “what are you thinking?”
“Maybe Brody was given a slow-acting poison. Something time-released to mimic a heart attack.”
“He fell. End of story.”
“What did the autopsy say?”
“We handled it in-house, as we do with the rest of our difficulties.”
“Fine, but MI5 has information on Flynn. The Security Service knows he has something big planned, and they’re watching him.” Mercer checked the side mirror again. “Or maybe they sourced that out to the police. Are you planning on losing t
he tail? Or do you intend to lead them straight to the drop?”
“I know what I’m doing.”
So do I, Mercer thought.
“They’re always up our arse. That’s nothing new, and neither is Mathias Murphy’s rivalry with our faction. These are constants.” Killian turned down another street, and the police car continued going straight. After another two turns, Killian parked the car and turned in his seat. He looked like he might strike at any moment. “How do you know so much about what MI5 knows? Are you working for them? It would explain a lot.”
“Like I told Colin, an unknown party approached me to do a job, but I never agree to anything without doing my research. I spent over a decade in Her Majesty’s service.” Mercer emphasized it by spitting on the floor, just like he’d seen Flynn do. “Even after everything military intelligence put me through, I keep my enemies close. I know what they know, and with the way they’re keeping tabs on Flynn, I’d have to be insane to make a move against him. Either you and the rest of Flynn’s boys would hunt me down and kill me, or MI5 would lock me away for murder. I told Colin this when he asked. I’m not loyal to anyone but myself and my boss, and right now, that’s Colin Flynn. When this job’s done, I’ll move on. Any allegiance I have will evaporate.”
“You have no loyalty. No honor.”
“Just to myself.” Mercer watched Killian’s hand drift closer to his hip. If he pulled his gun, Mercer would kill him. “Flynn knows precisely who I am, and now you do too. So are you going to help me determine who betrayed Colin, or are you going to continue to ask idiotic questions and get in my way?”
“The only thing I care about is Colin and our mission.”
“Brilliant.” Mercer jerked his chin toward the windshield. “What are we doing here?”
After a moment of deliberation, Killian let out a sigh. “Come along.”
Seventeen
Mercer remained near the basement door of the public library. Above, schoolchildren were listening to the story of Peter Rabbit. The fact that this was going on beneath their feet sickened Julian. This was a library, a sanctuary for the public, and Flynn had perverted it for his own gains. Should any of his enemies, be they rival terrorist cells or policing agencies, learn of what went on in this room, the place would be raided. The two heavily armed men covering the door would open fire. Casualties would be unavoidable.
It was an unacceptable price, and one Mercer refused to pay. He and his team would have to think twice about sharing this piece of intel with the authorities, unless they had a guarantee the building would only be secured after normal business hours. That point was non-negotiable.
Julian watched the women in nothing but their underwear and face masks count the money. They slid the bills into the machines and removed them once the band was secure. Each band boasted a small printed four-leaf clover with a pale blue spade superimposed over it. As with other businesses, it was about branding. And the clover and spade indicated this was Flynn’s money. Mercer had seen the symbol on flyers and posters around town, but he hadn’t known it signified the faction. This new knowledge might prove useful. However, Julian had only seen it printed on advertisements for pubs and clubs. It must indicate where Flynn conducted business.
Flynn ran a diversified operation and kept everything spread out. Based on what Killian had said, these women didn’t know about the church or the drop-off, and whoever left the crate of guns at the church didn’t know about this. Mercer snorted, amused by the separation of church and state. Flynn’s paranoia meant only his most trusted and loyal followers were privy to day-to-day operations. It would have made Owen Shepherd’s job nearly impossible, unless Shepherd had managed to infiltrate Flynn’s inner circle. Perhaps Shepherd failed, and that’s why MI5 lacked the proper intel, but more than likely, Shepherd had been sold out by someone he trusted.
However, since only a handful of people, Killian, Kevin, and perhaps two or three others, knew everything about Flynn’s business, Mercer would use that to his advantage to turn Flynn against his own men. Mercer needed to make sure the faction leader was consumed with the possibility of inner strife and mutiny. It was the only way to delay whatever attacks Flynn had planned. Mercer blinked, wondering if his team was having better luck.
Killian crossed the room, handing two heavy duffel bags to Mercer. “Take those to the car. I’ll be along in a second.”
Mercer took the bags and crossed the straps over his chest while one of the armed guards unlocked the door. Mercer nodded to the guard and went up the steps and through the library, catching one inquisitive toddler staring at him. The child waved, and Mercer waved back, even as he internally cringed. Flynn didn’t give a shit about his own people. He was a selfish bastard, and if left to his own devices, he’d destroy everything.
Mercer had known plenty of terrorists who called themselves freedom fighters. In some instances, they were desperate farmers and townsfolk who’d become guerillas when their lands had been usurped by warlords or powerful governments. They’d lost everything and were indeed fighting for their freedom. That wasn’t the case here. In fact, it couldn’t be further from the truth. Flynn was a greedy bastard who’d maim and kill his own people just to finance his personal vendetta. Mercer would find a way to persuade Killian to turn on his master, or at least make it appear that way; the groundwork had already been laid long before Mercer ever came into the picture.
Killian joined Mercer, exchanging the money inside the duffel bags for the guns in the crate. “Ready?” Killian asked, sliding behind the wheel.
“For what?”
“To make the rounds.”
After a quick stop to deposit the crate full of cash, they continued to their next destination. When they parked outside one of the clubs, Mercer spotted Kevin Aglin and Duffy O’Brien, more of Flynn’s lieutenants, waiting near the doors. Aglin puffed on a cigarette, flicking it away as a shit-eating grin erupted on his face. Aglin tapped O’Brien on the chest to indicate Killian and Mercer’s arrival.
While Mercer unloaded the duffel bags, Killian whispered something to his colleagues. When Mercer joined them, Kevin took one of the heavy bags and slung it over his shoulder. “Colin says you need to learn the business.”
“Brilliant.” Mercer felt as if he were being observed and casually glanced around. He didn’t spot anyone, but after the abrupt way he had left the park, he didn’t put it past Bastian to have found some way of tracking him. “But shouldn’t we take this inside? Or are you hoping to attract some nosy bobby’s attention?”
“Aye, mate.” Killian held the door, waiting for everyone to step inside.
Kevin cut in front of Mercer and slapped him in a seemingly friendly gesture against his right pec. “After me,” he teased, but the hit was far from friendly. The gaudy ring the terrorist wore cut into the barely healed lash wound, but Mercer didn’t react to the sharp sting.
“Of course.” Mercer took a step back, dark thoughts circulating through his brain.
“You’re a fast learner. Stick with me, mate. In the event we encounter trouble, I expect you know how to deal with it.”
“No problem.” The only problem Mercer could see was standing in front of him. Turning, he gave the sidewalks and passersby on the street another glance. Julian felt it; he knew they were under surveillance. He just didn’t know who was watching, but he’d find out before the night was through.
It didn’t take long for Killian to go into a back room and exchange the contents of one of the bags, a dozen MAC-10s, for stacks of cash. In the dimly lit club, Mercer couldn’t tell what else was exchanged, but he kept count as the money was loaded into the bag. There had to be tens of thousands zipped inside the black duffel. And he knew the guns weren’t worth that much.
“Are you taking that back to Colin’s?” Aglin asked as they left the pub.
“Yeah, unless there’s a reason I should stay.” Killian eyed Aglin, his eyes briefly darting to Mercer’s. “Is there any reason the four of us need to stick to
gether?”
“None.” Aglin hooked his free hand around Mercer’s neck, pulling him close. “I’ll take good care of our new friend. I’ll make sure he makes it back to Colin’s in one piece.”
“Guess we’ll split up then, eh?” Killian looked at Mercer, who silently agreed.
One down, two to go, Mercer thought as he followed Aglin and O’Brien across the street to a small pub. Unfortunately, the rest of their stops were not as simple as the first. The guns and munitions were divided and sold to over a dozen different men at a dozen different establishments. Duffy O’Brien held onto the cash while Mercer and Aglin carried the guns.
It was best to diversify. Drug dealers often followed the same model. No one person held both the cash and the product. In the event they were caught, it would be more difficult for the police to prove they were arms dealers. Aglin emptied his bag first, leaving Mercer with the contraband. Should they be arrested, Julian would be facing decades in prison, and Aglin made sure to point that out.
“You mean Flynn doesn’t have the police in his pocket?” Mercer asked.
Aglin sneered. “Who said he’d call in a favor for you?” Mercer didn’t answer. Instead, he followed the men into another club. “Give me the bag and wait here,” Kevin instructed.
Mercer did as he was asked, watching the way Duffy struggled to lug around the bag of cash. Unlike Killian and Kevin, Duffy lacked physical strength. He had the sinewy muscles and jitteriness of an addict, and Mercer figured he must have been Colin’s connection to the underworld. It made Aglin’s choice to let O’Brien carry the cash seem suspect. Addicts couldn’t be trusted. They were victims of their disease.
Movement at the end of the bar caught Mercer’s eye and cut his musings short. He turned, catching a glimpse of a dark-haired woman just as she turned away. She’d been watching him. Mercer moved toward her. Could she be an undercover cop or MI5 agent?
“Eh,” Aglin grabbed Mercer’s shoulder, “where do you think you’re going?”
“The loo.”
“Piss on your own time.”