by G. K. Parks
Bastian looked at the slip of paper. “Will do, though it might be fun to see that.”
“Piss off,” Hans mumbled.
Mercer watched the two men collect their gear and exit the safe house. Taking a seat at the counter, Julian grabbed one of the laptops not currently in use and powered it on. “Flynn’s convinced Mathias Murphy is to blame for last night’s debacle. He asked me to investigate, but after hearing that phone call, I believe you might be right. Flynn’s trying to set me up. He’s testing me, or he’s setting a trap.”
“He’s still on the Murphy kick?”
“Yes.”
“There must be a reason.” Bastian hit a few keys, pulling up the data they’d compiled on the rival faction. “I have hard copies from MI5’s records over there.” He pointed to the kitchen table. “There’s been bad blood between them for half a decade.”
“Why? What happened?”
“They started out as colleagues, I guess. I don’t know. Friendlies.” Bastian shrugged and chomped down on the jerky. “They were conducting business. Murphy sent some of his men to pick up a shipment from Flynn, but the authorities caught on. Murphy’s men realized they were being followed and pulled out.” Bastian stopped chewing and swallowed. “That was the raid that resulted in the premature explosion that killed Colin Flynn’s wife and children. Ever since, Flynn’s blamed Murphy.”
“Murphy’s a target.”
“I believe so.”
“And that’s why Flynn’s been so adamant Mathias Murphy is responsible for his recent string of bad luck.”
“The real question is if he believes you. Frankly, Jules, you made quite the first impression. Do you really think Flynn believes a word you’ve said since?”
Mercer thought about the interrogation. He couldn’t recall all of it, but he’d spoken at length about Michelle and the pain of losing her. Hell, he probably shared more with that psycho bastard than he had with any other living person. The thought left him nauseated but convinced of one thing. “This isn’t a test. Flynn trusts me. He wants me to flush out the leak.”
“Are we mixing metaphors?”
“Bollocks.”
Bastian cocked an eyebrow. “You could be wrong, Jules. Are you willing to risk your life on a guess?”
“It’s not a guess.”
For the next hour and a half, Mercer and Bastian searched every database and file for details on Mathias Murphy. Fortunately, Murphy kept his activities limited. He and his extended family ran their faction the same way the Italians ran organized crime. It was about family obligation and taking care of one’s own. Compared to Colin, Murphy was small potatoes. And for the Irish, that was a massive insult.
“Jules,” Bastian said as they neared the end of their research, “what are you going to do?”
“I’m not sure.” He glanced at the clock. He had less than eight hours until he was expected at the pub. “But I need to buy some time.”
Twenty-four
“You’re not going to like it,” Donovan said the moment he returned to the flat. “Those six locations are all soft targets. We’re looking at potentially hundreds of civilian casualties, depending on the device and materials used.”
“And the disbursal system,” Hans chimed in. He placed a high-powered camera equipped with a telephoto lens on the counter. “We actually spotted a few suspicious blokes in the area. You might want to take a look.”
Mercer flipped through the photos on the viewscreen. “Aaron.”
“Who?” Bastian leaned over his shoulder to see.
“Aaron. He’s in the file.” Mercer pointed. “Flynn had him ditch the car I stole.”
“You stole a car?” Hans grinned.
“Yes,” Mercer didn’t bother to mask the irritation, “we’ve been over this.”
“Right-o.” Hans glanced at the bedroom. “Guess I should wake sleeping beauty.”
“I want to speak to her.” Mercer continued to flip through the images on the camera. “That’s Killian.” He showed the photo to Donovan. “Different location?”
Donovan pointed on the map. “Yes. Here and here.”
Mercer scrutinized the map and the photographs. “Flynn’s moving ahead with his plans to attack. I can use this.” His thoughts went to ways of manipulating the information. “I have to turn Killian into an asset or flip the intel on its head. Is there anything I can use? Anything you noticed? Even the smallest piece of intel might prove useful.”
“I’m not sure.”
Mercer thought back to earlier this morning. The map was still laid out on Flynn’s desk. Colin must have ordered Killian and Aaron to scout locations. Time was running out. “The wheels are in motion. I’ll have to find some way to delay Flynn’s timetable.” Julian had to convince Flynn that Killian was the informant. He couldn’t come up with any other viable options. “What about the other locations? Did you check all of them? Did you locate any devices or delivery systems?”
“No, we searched, but these aren’t secluded areas. There are dozens of buildings, churches, parks, theaters. Any one of them could be a target,” Donovan said.
“Or none of them,” Bastian volunteered. “He could just load up a lorry and boom.”
“Bas, whatever happened with the church and tracking the drop-off?” Mercer asked, his thoughts splintering in a million directions.
“Hang on. I’ve got that here somewhere.” Bastian shuffled through the growing pile of paperwork while Mercer continued to flick through the camera’s photos.
“Do you recognize anyone at the other four locations?” Donovan asked.
“No, but our timing could be off. I’m surprised you noticed anyone skulking about,” Mercer said.
“They weren’t hard to pinpoint. They were the only other chaps casing the place. It looked like they were firmly planted. Neither of them has any intention of leaving his perch.” Donovan took the camera and zoomed in. “I’d say the theater would be the most likely target. Wait for a show to begin, place the device somewhere inside, possibly in the ventilation system, and secure the doors. No one would get out. It’d be a massacre.”
A chill went down Mercer’s spine. They’d seen attacks like that before. “What about the other five locations? What are the best targets?”
“None of those were as clear-cut. Killian had eyes on the theater, but this other wanker, Aaron, was it, he observed everything. Hans and I were unable to make out his target.”
Mercer blew out a breath. “Flynn’s planning to strike soon. Within the next day or two. He wouldn’t leave his people exposed if he didn’t need them to monitor traffic and security to finalize their plans.” Still, with twelve devices and only six potential known locations, there were too many what-ifs. Flynn might not attack any of these targets, or he could attack them all and several others. Or he might focus all of his firepower on one vulnerable area to inflict maximum damage. “Dammit.”
Bastian handed Mercer the vehicle records and a blurry still photograph taken from traffic camera footage. “This man delivered the crate to the church. I traced his route back to that boathouse we explored. I’m guessing that’s where the deliveries are left, and this guy brought the box to the church.”
“Where did he go afterward?”
“I don’t know. He ditched the car in a parking garage. No internal cameras, and we didn’t get a good enough shot of him to put a name to his face.” Bastian held up a finger before Mercer could ask the next question. “The vehicle is registered to Flynn’s pub. It’s listed as a company car. That’s not at all telling.”
“That doesn’t help us. He’s going to attack, Bas. We have to do something.”
“We should go back to the profile,” Bastian said. “We need to figure out what’s driving Flynn’s motivation.”
“Revenge,” Mercer said.
Bastian licked his lips. “Yeah, okay. Against whom?”
“Mathias Murphy. The government agents who raided his compound. Possibly the agency itself.” Mercer
turned, catching a glimpse of Hans lingering near the now open bedroom door.
“Lara, darling,” Hans repeated a little louder, knocking gently against the door, “it’s time to wake up.”
“That sentiment is usually followed by ‘thanks for the shag. Don’t let the door hit your bum on the way out’.” Donovan smirked.
A muffled, feminine voice sounded from within, and Lara emerged in the doorway. Her gaze flicked around the unfamiliar flat. Briefly, her focus came to rest on Julian. “The loo?” she said, stumbling slightly. She threw an arm out to catch herself, and Hans swooped in to steady her.
“It’s just over here,” Hans said.
She righted herself and ducked inside. An intrigued expression crossed Hans’ face. He patted his pocket and glanced at the commander, who pressed a finger to his lips.
Listen, Julian mouthed, and Hans quietly stepped closer to the bathroom door, but all they could hear was running water.
“Did I miss something?” the analyst asked.
Mercer frowned, resisting the urge to break down the door and confront the woman who put the entire op in jeopardy. “Bas, she just nicked Hans’ phone.”
“You’re serious?”
“Trace it.”
Bastian entered a few commands. As a general rule, the analyst kept trackers on the team’s phones, along with a programmed trap and trace. “Jesus. You’re not going to believe this.”
“Are we compromised?” Donovan’s hand automatically moved to his holstered weapon.
“No,” Bastian snorted, “but she is.”
Mercer leaned over. He recognized the number. “Bloody hell. She’s with MI6. Find out everything you can on Ms. Shepherd, but let’s play this close to the vest for now. I don’t want any more surprises.”
When she emerged from the bathroom, she stumbled again. Hans caught her, offering a reassuring smile. “Easy, love.” She slipped the phone back into Hans’ pocket. “Let me help you back to bed.”
“I thought you had questions,” she said.
“We do, but they can wait.” Mercer hoped that was true. They didn’t have much time to waste, but he didn’t want to interrogate the woman without knowing more about her first. “Are you hungry? We’re just about to pick up dinner. We can talk then, yeah?”
“Okay.” She disappeared behind the bedroom door.
“Do you mind?” Julian asked Hans.
“And I thought being included would involve more than taking some photographs and running to the nearest fish and chip place,” Hans muttered, placing his phone on the counter. “Is this location burned?”
“We’ll let it play out for now,” Mercer said, and Bastian agreed.
“At this point, if the SIS tries to conduct a rescue mission, we’ll ask if they wouldn’t mind helping us out with our Flynn problem,” Bastian mumbled.
“You all better be alive when I get back, and you better be here. I’m not traipsing across Ireland searching for our next base of operations. It’s not safe out there, particularly when Flynn’s looking to ruin everyone’s day.” Hans grabbed a jacket to cover his weapon and went out the door.
“Donovan, keep an eye on her,” Mercer said. “Is there any other way out of that room?”
“No windows, mate. No other exits. Same goes for the loo. The only way she’s leaving is through the bedroom door.”
“Still, she’s wily. We need to be cautious.” Mercer reached for Hans’ compromised phone. “Let’s see if our mates at MI6 are still in a talkative mood.”
* * *
“Courtesy of MI6.” Bastian continued to type with one hand while the other tapped a beat on the granite. “Her background’s classified. All mention of her being an operative was erased. But after a few calls to some old friends, I’ve pieced some things together. I gather Ms. Shepherd worked with an elite unit. They won’t talk about it. So I don’t know if she wanted out or if she was compromised. Either way, they disavowed and wiped her for her own protection. I’m not sure any of it is relevant to us.”
“That’s how she tracked Flynn’s operation.” Donovan picked up a highly redacted file and passed it to Mercer. “It’s probably why she came looking for her brother as soon as he made contact.”
“Owen would have trusted her before the plonkers at the Security Service,” Mercer mused. He scanned the documents but didn’t find any additional details that his teammates hadn’t already told him. “What about the men outside her flat in Islington?”
“Even though they officially denied it, I can tell you someone at the SIS made the green sedan disappear from police impound. I’m guessing the men who pinned you in Lara’s bedroom were her old mates, not spies, just desk jockeys,” Bas said.
“They knew how to shoot, but they didn’t know how to do much else. It’s probably how we managed to maneuver so easily around them,” Donovan said.
“And before you ask,” Bastian said, reading Julian’s mind, “I verified all of this directly from the source. Partridge doesn’t know anything about it.”
“Why didn’t MI5 tell us Owen’s sister worked for the Secret Intelligence Service?” Mercer asked.
Hans unpacked the takeout containers from inside the bag. “Do they even know?”
“Probably, but it’s need to know. And Partridge doesn’t think we need to know anything.” Bastian stepped away from the counter and rummaged in the fridge. With a bag of carrot sticks in hand, he returned to the computer. “Ever since you mysteriously vanished, Jules, he’s been keeping me inundated with Shepherd’s old reports and case work. It’s how I found the misplaced recording. I’ve read everything, listened to everything, seen everything. Nothing indicates what happened to Owen, but Mr. Shepherd was getting close to something. I noticed a shift in his tone over the course of the two years. Flynn went off the rails after losing his family. That’s when matters started to escalate. It appears Owen delayed or thwarted several attempted bombings and a few shootings. He’s a bloody hero.”
“Then why would Partridge think he turned? After doing all that, how is that even possible?” Mercer asked.
“How dare you?” Lara entered the room, squinting against the harsh lights. “My brother isn’t a traitor.”
“No one said he is, love,” Bastian replied, not bothering to turn around.
From the look on Bas’s face, Mercer knew his friend didn’t quite care for this woman or her deception. For the record, neither did he. “Still sore about the shotgun?” Mercer mumbled so only his team would hear.
Bastian shot him an annoyed look. “In case you’ve forgotten, we’re here to find your brother, Ms. Shepherd. And that would be easier if you would be forthright with us.”
“So you say.” She took a seat at one of the stools and put her elbows on the counter. She reached toward the box of takeout. She studied Mercer’s cheek. “Sorry about that, mate.”
“You are not.”
She laughed quietly. “You’re right. I’m not.” She rested her head in her hands. “What do you know so far? Have you seen Owen? Is he okay?”
“Tell us what you know,” Mercer said.
She shook her head. “You first.” Her eyes stared fiercely into his. She wouldn’t back down. She was headstrong and stubborn. Even the concussion hadn’t knocked that out of her.
“We don’t know much. We’ve barely been at this a week. Jules infiltrated Colin Flynn’s faction, but trust is a hard commodity to come by.” Bastian hoped that would be enough to get her to open up. She hadn’t shared any details concerning her brother or her identity since he picked her up last night.
“You went back to Flynn after everything that happened?” she asked. “I’m surprised he didn’t kill you.”
“I didn’t have a choice. Flynn’s planning an attack.” Mercer studied her expression. She knew, even though she did her best to hide it. “Did Owen confide in you? You said he made contact a few weeks ago. We ran your phone records. We know he called you from a public phone. Whatever he said to you, that’s wh
at caused you to flee, isn’t it?”
“I wasn’t fleeing.”
“Then what did you do? Why are you here?”
She bit the inside of her cheek. “I’m looking for my brother.”
“Did you ask your old team for help?’ Mercer asked.
Her eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“We know you’re MI6,” Bastian spat.
Slowly, she opened a container and speared a morsel of food with her fork. She popped it into her mouth and chewed. Every muscle in Mercer’s body tensed. He took a step forward, and Hans put his palm on Mercer’s chest.
Lara swallowed, watching the exchange. “I’m no longer with the SIS. Haven’t been for three bloody years. I’m retired. More or less.” Slowly, she climbed off the stool and filled a glass with water. After gulping down half the contents in a few swallows, she turned back to Julian. “I told you Owen never arrived at the train station. According to MI5’s surveillance records, he never even left Ireland. Something happened here, and he couldn’t come home. Either he believed Colin was on to him and didn’t want to risk my safety, or one of those arseholes at Palace Barracks sold him out.”
Mercer studied her expression. The unspoken implications resonated much louder than the words she spoke. “Owen knew MI5 was compromised. That’s why he called you. He needed outside help and your connections to stop Flynn. That’s why those two men were staking out your flat in Islington. You didn’t tell them where you went, did you?”
She didn’t speak, her expression unreadable.
Hans cocked his head to the side. “You don’t trust us, love?”
“How do I know you’re any different from the rest of the plonkers at the Security Service?” she asked. “For all I know, you’re the corrupt ones.” She sneered at Julian. “I’ve been watching you. I’ve seen you with Flynn at the pub, with his mates, with that woman. How do I know you didn’t do something to my brother?”