by G. K. Parks
“Mr. Flynn,” Mercer began.
“Shut up.” Colin spun; his anger focused on Mercer. “We’re waiting for Killian, and then we’ll have this out.” Remembering Alana, Flynn dug out his phone and dialed. He paced back and forth, draining the bottle as he went. “I need you to stay at the compound, darling.” They exchanged a few curt words, and he dialed another number.
Shite, Mercer thought. Had he overestimated Colin’s affection for Alana? As far as Flynn was concerned, his girlfriend was guilty by association. Mercer would have to do something to change his opinion.
“Colin, you do realize she’s nothing more than a victim,” Mercer interrupted. “Killian betrayed her too.”
Flynn’s eyes darted to Julian. “This is my business.”
“She didn’t know. He tricked everyone. You. Her. Everyone.”
“Not you,” Flynn hissed. He jerked his chin at the two guards who narrowed in and grabbed Julian by both arms and lifted him from the chair. “Want to explain that one, mate?” he asked sarcastically. Now that he found somewhere to focus his misplaced rage, Flynn forgot all about whatever punishment he planned to inflict upon Alana.
Mercer made a half-hearted attempt to tug one of his arms free, but the guards held tight. “You want to hit someone, Mr. Flynn? Colin? Then fucking do it.”
That’s all Flynn needed to hear. He pulled his arm back and struck. Mercer shook off the hit, working his jaw and tasting blood. He was getting tired of being punched in the face. Mercer licked his cut lip and stared at Colin. The terrorist struck again, and Mercer knew Flynn was moments away from losing all control.
“It doesn’t matter how many times you hit me. I’m not your enemy,” Mercer said softly.
Flynn blinked, the words penetrating through the anger. “Let him go.”
Mercer glared at the two men and reached for a napkin. He wiped his mouth. Flynn circled the room. The guards remained poised near Mercer. If the situation were different, Julian would have them on the ground in a matter of moments, but he had to appear submissive to Flynn. It was the only way, even though the thoughts running rampant through Mercer’s mind involved various methods of resolving the current dilemma through violent and bloody means.
For the next thirty minutes, an uncomfortable silence permeated the bar. No one spoke. Flynn had been flexing his hand nonstop. Mercer checked the time. Bastian had to stay at the computer, which meant Donovan and Hans would be performing the extraction, but with both of them gone, Lara might try something stupid.
The pub door opened, and Killian stepped inside. The two men who’d been sent to fetch him remained stationed at the door. One of them flipped the lock, and Killian turned, raising a confused eyebrow.
“Colin?” Killian asked.
“Where have you been all day?” Flynn snarled.
Killian didn’t break eye contact with Flynn. “At the theater, like you asked.”
“With whom?”
“No one. You told us to split up.” Killian glanced in Julian’s direction. “I thought we weren’t discussing this in front of him. This morning you said—”
“I know what I fucking said.” Flynn stormed toward Killian, forcing the other man into the back corner of the pub. “Explain this.” Flynn shoved the phone in front of Killian’s face.
Killian tentatively reached for it. “What the hell is this?” Killian started to laugh. “This is pathetic. You can’t honestly say you believe this rubbish? Clearly, it’s been doctored.”
Flynn didn’t smile or laugh. He stared with cold eyes at Killian. “Who killed Kevin and Duffy?”
Killian’s smile fell, and he glared daggers at Julian. “You fucking did this. I’m going to kill you.” He reached for his gun, but Flynn grabbed it out of his hand and tossed it onto the pool table. “Colin? You know me. We’re practically family. We’re like brothers.”
“Tell me the truth.”
“It’s him.” Killian pointed. “You know it. You know you can trust me.” His pleas were becoming more frantic. “I loved Kevin and Duffy. How could you accuse me of being involved?” Killian put his hands on the sides of Colin’s face. “Listen to what I’m saying. Look at me, Colin. Really fucking look. You know me. You know I didn’t do this.”
Flynn jerked out of Killian’s grip and took a step back. He turned around, reaching for the bottle to collect his thoughts. Torn between loyalties and seemingly irrefutable proof, Colin didn’t know what to think. Before the faction leader came to a decision, Killian lunged for Julian.
Mercer had been watching the exchange from the table in the corner. Desperate men did desperate things, and Killian was in dire need of Mercer’s confession. He shoved Mercer, pinning him against the wall.
“Tell him the truth,” Killian spat.
Mercer brought the backs of his forearms up against the inside of Killian’s arms and broke out of the grip. Following through with a headbutt, Mercer forced Killian back just far enough to deliver a right cross. The blow made Killian falter.
Keeping one eye on the four guards and Flynn, Mercer ducked down and charged at Killian, practically throwing the man onto the empty pool table. Killian’s gun slipped off the table and clattered to the floor. Mercer threw a few more punches, the tension in his back and arms dissipating as he continued to swing. He reached for the cue ball, planning to knock out his victim with a well-placed hit to the temple.
But Killian kicked Mercer in the solar plexus and used the momentum to launch himself off the table. He drove his shoulder into Mercer’s chest and knocked him backward. Mercer hit the wall hard enough that his ears rang and his breath whooshed out. Somehow, Mercer managed to duck before Killian threw a fast jab that landed solidly against the cinderblock wall. The resounding crunch indicated the Irishman’s hand had broken.
“Anytime now,” Mercer said.
“You bastard.” Killian swung again, and Mercer dropped him to the floor with a sweeping kick.
“Who’s the target?” Hans asked in Mercer’s ear.
“Killian,” Mercer bellowed.
“And you want us to take him alive?” Hans asked, disbelief in his voice.
“The men who attacked me last night. The masked men who killed Duffy and Kevin, you sent them, didn’t you?” Mercer hit Killian again with his empty fist. “Admit it. Admit that they’re part of your team. That you orchestrated this. Tell Colin the truth.”
“Copy,” Donovan said, understanding Mercer’s cryptic message. “Keep your head down. Flashbang in three.”
Mercer pulled back with his right. The cue ball concealed by his fingers, and he struck hard. Killian’s eyes rolled back, and his limbs went limp.
At that same moment, the two guards blocking the exit with their backs to the door died instantly. They dropped simultaneously. The sound of the bullets dampened by the silencers on Donovan and Hans’ handguns. Mercer saw the guards collapse. No one else in the room noticed. All eyes were on the brawl, as if this were a prizefight.
But when the canister broke the front window, Flynn and the remaining two guards turned to see the cause, and Mercer rolled beneath the pool table, squeezed his eyes shut, and covered his ears. It wasn’t enough to nullify the effects of the stun grenade, but it helped Mercer partially maintain his senses.
By the time Mercer could see again, two figures clad entirely in black were hauling the unconscious Killian out the door. One of Flynn’s guards fired, and Donovan killed him in the same style Mercer used the previous night. Mercer pulled his gun. He had to make this look real. He fired, narrowly missing. Donovan returned fire to the left, as he always did, and Mercer rolled to the right.
Once Donovan and Hans were out the door with the target, they sprayed the pub, forcing Flynn, Mercer, and the one remaining bodyguard to take cover behind the bar and tables. When the shooting stopped, Mercer was the first to race outside. He fired at the retreating car. Flynn came up behind him, grabbed the gun, and fired several more shots until the Sig clicked empty, but Hans and Donovan
were safely away by then.
Flynn yanked at his hair, screaming curses into the night sky. With his face red with anger, he shoved the empty gun back into Julian’s hand. “Find him. Find his team. I’m going to kill them all.”
Twenty-seven
“Those were the same men who attacked last night,” Mercer insisted. He watched as Colin’s crew cleaned the pub. No one reported gunfire, but since the entire town knew this was Colin Flynn’s business, they must have known better than to call the authorities. “Same tactics.” Mercer looked down at one of the dead guards. “Same spread.”
Colin nodded tightly. He watched the men get zipped into body bags. By the time the pub opened, no one would know three homicides had occurred.
“You should be somewhere secure,” Mercer said. “We don’t know what else they might try, but it’s clear you’re their target.”
Flynn glanced down at the cut on his forearm. He’d been grazed. Mercer wasn’t sure if it had been intentional or accidental, but he knew his teammates wanted to put an end to Flynn’s reign of terror as quickly as possible. However, they wouldn’t risk killing the terrorist just yet.
“Those were Mathias’ men.” Flynn exited the broken front door and warily glanced at his parked SUV. “You drive.”
Mercer understood. For once, Flynn was actually afraid. It was about damn time someone terrorized him. Mercer led Flynn to the rental and unlocked the doors. He took a moment to check for bombs and started the engine. They didn’t speak again until Mercer pulled up to the wrought iron gates.
“Alana,” Flynn narrowed his eyes on the golden glow coming from the bedroom window, “does she know?”
“No.”
“Are you certain?”
“I have no way of proving it, but I did find this.” Mercer held out his phone, showing the fake bank account. “Killian was paid handsomely for his deception. Her accounts are clean. Honestly, Colin, I’ve seen the way she looks at you. She’s in love with you. She’d just as soon cut her own throat than betray you. You know that to be true. She’d forsake her family for you.”
Flynn grunted. “I thought the same of Killian, and I was wrong.”
“Let me speak to her,” Mercer said. “I will get the truth.” Mercer knew Flynn would torture the poor woman, possibly even kill her. And Mercer wouldn’t stand by and let that happen. He’d protect her, even if it seemed she’d dedicated her life to shagging a terrorist. Maybe she couldn’t control who she fell in love with, or maybe she was no better than Flynn or Killian. But since MI5 didn’t have a file on her and neither did Interpol, Mercer was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.
“Fine.” Flynn instructed Mercer to pull up in front of the house, and the two men entered. “You should get cleaned up first. I’ll send for Maura. It appears you’ve ripped your stitches, and I could use some patching as well.”
* * *
“You’re sure?” Colin asked.
“As sure as I can be.” Mercer examined the staples in his side. “How’s your arm?”
“Better than your side.” Colin watched Alana through the open doorway. “I do love her.” Her cheek was slightly swollen from where Mercer slapped her the previous night. It was the only way to stop Colin from taking over the interrogation and doing something much worse, but it left Mercer feeling icky inside. As a rule, he didn’t like to hit women, unless they hit first. “She cried herself to sleep.”
“I didn’t hit her that hard.”
Colin chuckled. “No, it wasn’t that. She doesn’t believe Killian would betray us.”
“So you believe she’s not involved?”
“I’m coming around to the idea, but I’m having my men keep an eye on her.”
“Probably for the best. You should monitor her calls. Killian might reach out. It’d be the fastest way to track him and find out what Murphy is planning.” Mercer pulled a shirt over his head.
“I asked her to call Killian last night, but he won’t answer.”
“I can trace his phone,” Mercer offered.
“It’s turned off. Probably destroyed. Killian’s been doing this a long time. He knows how to stay off the grid and avoid getting caught. I never thought he’d use those techniques against me.”
“Are you sure the rest of your men are loyal to you and not Killian?”
Flynn didn’t answer. “I’ve deposited the other fifty into your account. You have your orders.”
Mercer holstered his weapon, nodded, and left the compound. He drove to the center of town, ditched the car in a parking garage, exited through a different entrance, picked up a waiting rental, and swept his person for bugs. After that was done, he activated the radio.
“Flynn made another deposit,” Mercer said.
“It’s a good thing he likes to pay up front. It’s the only way we had the funds and accounts set up to create the fake one for our new pal,” Bastian said.
“Where is he?”
Bastian gave Mercer the address. “Donovan’s with him, but our prisoner isn’t talking. I don’t expect he’ll speak to you either.”
“How’s Lara feeling?”
“Are you sure that’s wise, Jules?”
“I don’t know, but why don’t the two of you join us. Tell Hans to hold down the fort. We’ll meet up and figure out the play.”
“I hate it when we do things on the fly.”
“Where’ve you been, Bas? We always do things on the fly.”
When Mercer pulled up to the safe house, Bastian was waiting at the front door. He nodded to Julian, eyeing the streets for signs of a tail, but Mercer was careful. He took in Julian’s appearance.
“Only slightly worse for wear.” Bastian pointed at a locked, soundproofed room. “He can’t hear us.”
“Good.”
Lara appeared steadier on her feet. She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. She was itching to get answers. “What’s the play?”
“What has he said so far?” Mercer asked, catching Donovan’s eye.
“Aside from detailing precisely how he plans to get revenge on you, he hasn’t said a word. He doesn’t know we’re connected. I think it’s best we keep it that way. You shouldn’t go in there.”
There were numerous reasons why Julian shouldn’t step into that room. “Flynn trained him to resist torture. Hell, living with Flynn is daily torture. Killian will break, but we don’t have time for a typical rendition.”
“He doesn’t know who’s behind this,” Donovan said. “He’s been trying to figure it out. At the moment, he thinks we’re MI5. We could convince him otherwise. Maybe we should convince him Flynn orchestrated this, that Flynn betrayed him and the cause.”
Mercer thought for a moment. “Killian objected to the sale of machine pistols. He was opposed to arming his enemies because he knew they’d eventually turn against him.”
“His enemies, yes, but not Flynn.” Bastian flipped through the profile. “He’s loyal to Flynn. It won’t matter who we claim to be. He’ll never betray his leader. He won’t give up the targets.”
“What if you convince him to give up his enemies?” Lara asked. “We know who Flynn hates, well, specifically we know who his prime targets would be. MI5. Mathias Murphy. And anyone involved in the deaths of Flynn’s family.” She studied Julian. “You’ve convinced Flynn that Murphy is waging war, but I take it Killian didn’t buy it.”
“Of course not. I played him against Flynn.”
She blinked rapidly as she processed the words. “Right, so we continue the charade. How’s your Irish accent, lads?”
“He knows I’m English,” Donovan said.
“Maybe you’re the hitter Murphy hired when Mercer refused to take the contract.” She cleared her throat and spoke with a perfect brogue. “Maybe we use what we know and bluff on the rest. We have six targets. We know the locations of Flynn’s operating bases, and we have a general idea who’s supplying his weapons. We can make this work.”
“Jules,” Bastian said, “I can fill in.
You and Lara should remain out here and monitor the situation.”
“Rubbish,” she said. “I possess more intel on this situation, and I’ve done this many times before. I’ll get what we need.”
Mercer turned to her. “You stay focused. You stay on topic. Our priority is finding out about the attacks. After that, you can do whatever’s necessary to get the answers you need. But not until then, do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Is he restrained?” Mercer asked, and Donovan nodded. “If something goes wrong, we’ll pull you out.” Mercer pointed an accusatory finger in her face. “Nothing better go wrong. This is a one-shot deal, and I went to a lot of trouble to get him here. You will not fuck this up. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” she practically spat.
Donovan remained glued to the live feed while she settled into the room and began the interrogation. Lara Shepherd possessed the same skill set as Mercer’s team, but she was also an expert manipulator. Still, Killian would be a tough nut to crack, and frankly, it’d be a miracle if the man left the room with either nut still attached.
“She shouldn’t be in there,” Bastian said. “Neither should you.”
“What do you propose?” Mercer asked. “Donovan’s been drilling him all night. You have the profile. Aside from Alana, who he knows is under Colin Flynn’s protection, there are no other pressure points to squeeze.”
“Lara wants to find her brother. I’m not sure she’s seeing any of this clearly.” Bastian watched her. “At least she appears level-headed. That’s more than I can say for most of the interrogations you’ve conducted in recent years.”
Mercer snorted. “Get her whatever tools she needs, and let her work him over until we have answers.”