by G. K. Parks
“We weren’t here yet,” Mercer said.
“Convenient.”
“Convenient or not,” Bastian said, “we can prove it. And we aren’t your enemy. But you know it. Deep down, you know you can trust us. That’s what you were told when you phoned your agency contact, wasn’t it?”
She eyed Julian, as if he was the only one she wasn’t quite certain about.
“You don’t know who to trust, but you can’t do this alone. You need our help, and we need yours. Don’t be coy, Lara. You have a pretty good idea of who we are. You know what we do.” Mercer shoved the phone in her direction. “Call whoever. Ask whatever you want. Ask about me. You’ll find out that I despise MI5 probably as much as you do, but that doesn’t mean I’d work with a terrorist. Working for them in this instance is a necessary evil, and one I willingly undertook in order to find your brother. When they contacted us, I didn’t know about the terrorist plot or the WMDs, but I do now. We want to get your brother back, but we have to save lives too.”
“Wouldn’t Owen want that?” Bas asked. “He risked his life to stop Flynn. Shouldn’t we continue his work?”
“You make it sound like he’s already dead,” she said quietly.
Mercer blew out a breath. “We don’t know.”
Hans reached for her hand, but she pulled away. “That’s why we’re here. You phoned your mates earlier after you stole my phone. Really, you didn’t think I’d feel your hand in my pocket?” He winked at her. “You wanted to make sure we were who we claimed. What did they tell you?”
“That doesn’t prove anything,” she insisted.
“It should.” Hans withdrew his hand.
“If you won’t help us, there’s the door.” Mercer pointed. “But Flynn will find you. And he will kill you. I won’t have that on my conscience, so if you leave now, we better not cross paths again. I risked everything for you last night.”
She considered his words. Maybe she finally understood. “You’re right. Flynn is planning an attack. Something massive. Owen found out about it, but he didn’t report it. He hoped I still had enough friends at the SIS who could intervene. He gave me coordinates and shipping numbers. I made some calls. A few days later, I received a package in the mail. It was from Owen. It was an empty canister, hermetically sealed. I had the lab run it. They found traces of VX.”
Twenty-five
“What else was in the package?” Mercer asked.
She turned her head away, biting on her thumbnail. The temperature in the room must have dropped ten degrees.
Bastian closed the computer and took a seat beside her. “Owen sent more than just an empty canister. Whatever he sent, that’s what you hid under your floorboards. What was it, love? More weapons? A map? What?”
“It was nothing like that.” She hesitated.
“It’s gone now. We didn’t find it, and I doubt the two blokes guarding your flat removed it. What was it?” Mercer asked.
Fear shone in her eyes, but she shook it away. “Owen sent me his credentials. His government ID. His passport. That’s when I knew he wasn’t planning on making it back home.” Her mouth had gone dry, and she took a sip of water. “Are you certain you didn’t miss them?”
“We didn’t find them,” Donovan said. He shot Bastian a worried look and slid the phone to Lara. “Why don’t you call and make sure one of your people didn’t recover them?”
While she spoke on the phone, Mercer and Bastian exchanged a few words in private. If MI5 knew Owen surrendered his ID, they’d use it as proof he turned or intended an unsanctioned suicide mission. The more troublesome question was whether Flynn could have tracked the package, broke into Lara’s, and stole Owen’s government ID. It would explain how Flynn determined Owen was a traitor and also his preoccupation with questioning Lara.
“Owen found the chemical weapons,” Mercer said. “He knew where Flynn was keeping them.”
“But the canister was empty. Flynn must have conducted a test run or loaded the disbursal system. We know he’s not bright enough to wait,” Bastian surmised, thinking of the premature explosion.
“Flynn has other locations I haven’t been made privy to yet. Killian’s the key. I’ll play them both. One of them has to crack,” Mercer said.
Lara hung up the phone, shaking her head.
Mercer eyed her. “Did your brother know who Flynn turned inside Palace Barracks?”
She shook her head. “I have some contacts looking into it, but they haven’t found anything concrete.”
“Maybe we have,” Bastian volunteered. He slid the piece of stationery to her. “Have you ever seen this before?”
She read the words, but they were of little consequence. “No. What’s so special about it?”
“Flynn has a list of components, bomb materials, written on the same letterhead. We noticed this piece of paper in Liam Partridge’s inbox. We’re not sure where it originated, but it can’t be a coincidence they’re using the same paper,” Mercer said.
“Partridge is my brother’s handler. Do you think he’s involved?”
“We don’t know.”
Lara traced her finger over the embossed design. “You really think they’re passing notes?”
“There is no electronic communications between Flynn’s faction and any of the agents at MI5. They might be utilizing dead drops to leave messages,” Bastian reasoned. “You’re the one with expertise in this area. What would you do?”
She didn’t answer.
“Flynn told me he had a contact within MI5, but he didn’t say who.” Mercer glanced at his teammates. “Flynn said his connection’s dead.”
“No one from Palace Barracks has been killed or died recently,” Bastian volunteered, watching the wheels turn in Lara’s head.
Abruptly, she stood and slammed her palm on the counter. “No. You’re wrong. Owen knew someone on his team was compromised. It’s why he came to me and asked for help. It’s why we were supposed to meet. Flynn must have discovered Owen’s true identity. The turncoat probably ratted him out, and Flynn,” she cringed, “he must have done something to Owen.” She glared, her rage winning out over her concern. “Owen is no traitor. He would have died for the service before he’d share secrets with a mass murderer.”
“I hope you’re right,” Mercer said. “That’s why we need your help.”
She blew out a breath, a barrage of curses flying from her lips.
“We want the truth,” Donovan said, “just like you do. And the best way to get it is to find out what happened to Owen.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you have in mind?”
Bastian looked at Mercer. “I was wondering the same thing, Jules.”
Mercer leaned against the counter, his eyes on the intel taped to the wall. “None of Flynn’s known areas of operation have yielded results. We haven’t gotten eyes on Owen, and no one in Flynn’s rank and file has mentioned Owen’s name to me. I’ve checked Flynn’s compound. Owen isn’t there. What about the church and the symbol Flynn has printed on his cash?”
“The symbol pops up in a lot of dodgy areas,” Donovan said. “I scouted a few locations this morning, but they’re probably just fronts for Flynn’s less legitimate businesses.”
“Colin Flynn’s an international arms dealer.” Lara grabbed a pen and went to the map on the wall. She circled two ports and a private airport. “Interpol and the SIS believe he controls these areas and allows his overseas suppliers to use them.”
“Donovan and I have already checked those locations and the old boathouse,” Hans said. “We didn’t find any signs of your brother.”
“I know. That’s where my search began. I just happened to be there when a large crate was picked up. I followed the driver to a church, and then I caught sight of you and your pal.” She stared at Mercer. “I followed you to the library and the clubs.”
“You might have had better luck sticking with Killian,” Mercer said. “I don’t know where he rerouted.”
She grinned.
“Pity.”
“What did you do?” Mercer asked.
“I put a tracker on his car.”
“The suspense is killing us,” Bastian deadpanned. “Where did he go?”
She held her palm out toward Hans. “Your phone, please.” After entering a few commands, she handed the device to Mercer.
“He returned to Flynn’s compound. He didn’t deviate. He didn’t make any questionable stops. He followed orders.”
“He had to deliver the money,” Lara said.
“How long have you been monitoring Flynn’s activities?” Bastian asked.
“Since Owen missed our rendezvous. The only place I haven’t been is inside the hornet’s nest, and quite frankly, I was prepared to march through those doors last night.” She gave Julian a dirty look. “But you interfered.”
“I saved your life.”
“You did a real bang-up job.”
Mercer’s fists clenched. It took him a moment to realize her animosity and sarcasm were a result of her worry. Like the rest of the K&R specialists’ clients, she feared for her loved one’s safety.
“Where is Killian now?” Mercer asked, handing the device to Bastian.
“Still outside the theater. It looks like Donovan and Hans are right. Flynn has his men monitoring the area.”
“Bollocks. He’s going to strike soon.” Lara turned the angry intensity on Julian. “What are you going to do about it?”
Working his jaw muscles, Mercer fought to keep his anger in check. She knew precisely how to push his buttons. “What can you tell us about Mathias Murphy?”
Her brows knit together. “He’s Colin Flynn’s biggest rival. They’ve been fighting over Ireland’s black market arms trade for the better part of a decade now.”
“And this morning, Julian turned their cold war hot,” Bastian mumbled.
Lara shook her head. “What does any of this have to do with Owen?”
“Flynn’s fighting a war on two fronts. I’ve convinced him Murphy has sleepers inside the faction in addition to MI5 nipping at his heels.” Mercer thought for a moment. “Flynn already knew MI5 was on to him, whether from a leak or Owen slipping up, but after you attacked us last night, I told Flynn it was an attempted robbery. Coupled with a few other lies and unfortunate mishaps, Flynn has no reason not to believe me.” A dark thought flitted through the forefront of Julian’s mind. He knew how to prove himself once and for all to Colin Flynn, but he couldn’t take the risk. He’d use that method only as a last resort.
“So take me to Flynn,” Lara said. Obviously, she’d come up with the same idea Julian did.
“You don’t want that, darling,” Hans said.
“Oh, I do.”
“Love, did you not hear what Jules just said. He doesn’t want your death on his conscience, and neither do I. We’re in the business of saving lives, not sacrificing them,” Bastian said.
“Even for the greater good?” She circled the kitchen. “Trust me, boys. I can handle myself.”
“You don’t know Colin Flynn, but I’ll consider it.” Mercer tossed a sharp look at Bas, just as the analyst opened his mouth in protest. “But Killian abandoned us last night. And despite what Flynn has told me, he clearly still trusts his second-in-command. So we need to do something to change that.”
Bas grabbed his computer and placed it on the countertop. “This would be a lot easier if I...” Bastian chuckled. “Right. We know where the bastard is and what he’s doing.” Bastian reached for the camera and ejected the memory card. “I can doctor some photos. Create a fake account. Transfer in some funds. This is doable.” He glanced at Mercer. “I need six hours. The account will be tricky. It needs to be backdated and traceable.”
“I can help,” Lara offered.
“About damn time,” Mercer mumbled. “Radio the moment it’s done. Right now, I have to get to Flynn’s pub. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
“Jules, be careful,” Bastian warned.
Mercer nodded and went out the door. His team knew how to take care of business, and he also knew, despite his words, none of them would let Lara leave. She might be trained, but she didn’t stand a chance against three former SAS operatives. And no one, not even Julian, stood a chance against the army Colin Flynn controlled. She was just one woman, albeit one who caused a lot of trouble. Maybe together, they’d have a fighting chance.
Twenty-six
Julian made sure the radio was tucked into his ear. It was small and flesh-colored. Flynn wouldn’t notice it, at least that’s what Mercer was counting on. Julian blew out a slow, steadying breath. Every cell in his body was poised to strike. The only thing he wanted to do was beat the answers out of Colin Flynn. But Mercer knew the attack wouldn’t be stopped by Flynn’s death. In fact, his loyal followers would probably take their anger and sorrow out on even more innocent people. For a moment, Mercer missed the military and precision airstrikes. But he could do this. He didn’t have a choice.
Pushing through the pub door, Mercer immediately noticed the establishment was practically empty. Even the bartender was gone. Flynn sat at the corner table. Four of his guards were positioned around the room.
“Julian,” Flynn waved him over, “grab a glass.”
Mercer ignored the suggestion and took a seat across from Flynn. “My mind needs to be clear. Where is everyone?”
Flynn took a gulp directly from the bottle. “We have two wakes to plan.”
“And Killian?” Mercer inquired.
A grin pulled at Flynn’s lips. “You’re obsessed.”
Mercer looked around again. “We should speak privately.”
“No, whatever you have to say, you can say here.”
Mercer couldn’t be positive, but there was a strong possibility Colin Flynn was drunk. It could be an act. So Mercer proceeded cautiously. “I’ve spent most of the day scouting the scene of last night’s attack and checking into Mathias Murphy’s strongholds. He has a restaurant and pub, both fronts to clean his money.”
“Tell me something I don’t know. Can you name the traitor? Or are you just wasting my time?”
“I’m getting close.” Mercer glanced uneasily behind him, sensing a tension building among the guards. Despite the emptiness of the room, Mercer felt claustrophobic. “I told you a woman was part of the attack last night. She shot out the tires. She’s the one who set everything in motion. I didn’t get much of a look at her, but I found some blood drops in the alleyway where she hid. I followed them.”
“You’re just a blooming bloodhound, aren’t you?” Flynn retorted, clearly drunk. That made him unpredictable and even more dangerous, but Mercer knew Flynn’s condition could be advantageous.
“She broke into a restaurant. I spoke to some of the staff. She was with a man. They disguised themselves as cooks and went out the back. That must be how they evaded the police. I already checked the security footage, but they were clever. They either stole the footage or wiped it. They didn’t want to leave a trace.”
“So you still have no idea who they are?”
“I didn’t say that. There’s more.” Should Flynn want to check the story, Mercer stuck with the truth, minus a few important details. “But I think I will have that drink first.” Getting up, Mercer sauntered over to the bar. “Bas, is the photo ready?” he whispered.
“Sending it to you now.”
Mercer grabbed a bottle of cognac, figuring Flynn wouldn’t have dosed all the bottles, and poured some into a lowball glass. In the mirror, Mercer watched Flynn signal to his guards. It was now or never.
“I did find one other thing.” Mercer spun, catching two of the guards as they started to edge closer. Pretending not to notice, Mercer returned to the table and sat down. He pulled the phone from his pocket and enlarged the photo. “You want to tell me what Killian’s been doing all day?”
“I sent him on a few errands.”
“Really?” Mercer glanced back at the guards, two of whom were now seated at the bar. “Did one of th
ose errands involve catching a matinee?” He pushed the device across the table. “And if I’m not mistaken, Mathias Murphy must have gone to see the same show.”
Flynn lifted the phone. He fought to keep his expression neutral, but Mercer could see the surprise in the terrorist’s eyes. The alcohol impacted Colin’s ability to appear cold and detached. Instead, rage boiled to the surface.
“When did you take this?”
“Several hours ago.” Mercer stared at Flynn. “Did you send Killian to broker a truce? Or did you ask him to look into the matter because you didn’t believe I was capable?” Mercer waited, watching the flush creep up Flynn’s neck and color his ears. “I said Killian betrayed you. Is that enough proof, or do you need more?”
Bastian’s voice in Mercer’s ear reminded him it would be several hours before the fake bank account was up and running.
Flynn tossed the phone down. “You two,” he gestured to the guards near the door, “pick up Killian and bring him to me.” Flynn pushed away from the table, grabbing the bottle by the neck and throwing it across the room. It shattered on the floor. Flynn swore several times. His breathing becoming more and more ragged. He was practically hyperventilating when he grabbed Mercer by the collar and hauled him to his feet. “You better not be lying. I want the truth.”
Mercer fought his instincts to fight back. He remained still, sensing the snake would strike. “It’s a bloody photograph. There is no lie or truth. It’s simply what is.”
Flynn’s grip tightened, and he shook his head from side to side, trying to make sense of the words. He released his hold on Julian and dropped back into his chair. The anger was barely contained, and Mercer knew from experience Flynn couldn’t think straight, let alone see straight.
Within moments, Flynn was up and moving again. He grabbed another bottle from behind the bar, took a swig, and slammed it down. He couldn’t sit still. Part of him was filled with disbelief. The rest with righteous anger. Someone would die tonight.
“Prepare for an extraction. Flynn’s pub,” Mercer mumbled into his hand, hiding his words behind a cough. “Wait for my order.” He coughed again and rubbed his side, reminding Flynn and the two guards he was wounded. A fight was brewing, and being outnumbered and outgunned meant Mercer needed every advantage possible. He didn’t know how long it would take his team to get in place or when the other two guards and Killian would arrive, so Mercer had to prepare for the worst and think on his feet.