Retaliation

by G. K. Parks

  “What do we do with him when he cracks?” Donovan asked. There was no doubt; Killian would eventually break. The only question was if it’d be in time.

  “Let her find out what happened to her brother and then pull her out. We’ll hand him over to MI5, just as soon as we identify the leak.” Mercer turned to Bastian. “Any progress?”

  “You mean since you asked ten hours ago? And in between having to doctor some photographs and set up numbered accounts that directly link Killian to Mathias Murphy?”

  “Yes.”

  Bastian grumbled to himself. “Lara has more friends than we do. They should be making progress, but I’ve noted some odd lapses in Palace Barracks’ security feeds. I’ve expanded our hunt to include civilian employees.”

  Mercer’s phone chimed, and he read the message. It was a reminder of Flynn’s latest assignment.

  Bastian adopted an impeccable Irish accent. “Go. We can handle this. I remember a few things when it comes to effective interrogation techniques. I should really give the lass a hand.”

  Twenty-eight

  An hour later, Mercer returned to Flynn’s compound with the surveillance photos in hand. Scouting Murphy’s known strongholds wasn’t a good sign. Mercer’s actions had started a war. And Julian was the only person who could stop it.

  “You should wait. He’ll be expecting this,” Mercer cautioned.

  “He knows what he did. He knows what will happen.”

  “Which is why you should take your time. Make him paranoid. Let the fear eat at him. It’ll drive him mad. And when he’s on the brink, that’s when you strike.”

  “No. We do this my way.” Flynn pushed away from the table. “Come with me.” He pulled on the gold chain hanging from his neck and removed a key. With the key in hand, he led the way to the basement door. Flynn flipped the light switch and descended the steps. “Close the door behind you. I don’t want anyone to overhear what we’re planning, just in case.”

  Mercer obeyed, doing his best to appear hesitant. It would not be in his best interest to demonstrate any type of familiarity with the basement or what Flynn housed within the locked room. Mercer surveyed the room, noting several missing crates. Perhaps those weapons had been bought and paid for two nights ago. It would explain the exorbitant amount of money Killian received and why he left the first club so quickly. Mercer just hoped it wasn’t because Flynn had sold off excess VX. Ireland already had one psychopath armed with a weapon of mass destruction. It sure as hell didn’t need two.

  Flynn turned, cocking an intrigued eyebrow at Mercer. “I’ve decided to trust you, Julian. It’s about time you extend the same courtesy to me.”

  Mercer took a few steps closer, his eyes taking in every aspect of the room. It looked much more daunting in the light. “Forgive me, but I’ve heard tales of men disappearing. A locked basement seems like the perfect place to make that happen.”

  Flynn chuckled. “Aye, but that hasn’t happened in a long while. Men no longer disappear inside my house. I have a separate facility for that. Apparently, I should have taken Killian there.” His expression soured. “I would have had he not been rescued last night. I won’t make that mistake again. I am no longer in a forgiving mood.” Flynn unrolled some instructions and checked the setup on the pressure cooker bomb he was building. He released the paper, allowing it to roll in on itself as he arranged the components inside the pressure cooker. “I need you to make a delivery for me.”

  Mercer eyed the bomb. “Who’s the target?”

  “Mathias.”

  “Which location? You had me scout five of them.”

  “The pub. He deserves an eye for an eye.”

  Mercer didn’t speak. His mind considered the neighborhood, the nearby shops, the pedestrians present at this time of day, and the innocent lives that would be lost.

  “Mathias’s men shot at you last night. You mean to tell me you don’t want revenge?” Flynn asked.

  The familiar twinge coursed through Mercer’s veins. “I want revenge.” Mercer nodded at the bomb. “What’s inside? Explosions are messy. Unpredictable. The fallout is harder to contain.” Mercer studied the jars of nails and coins. “I prefer clean kills with minimal fallout and less chaos. It’s harder to determine if the target’s been eliminated when you wipe out half a city block.”

  “That’s precisely the point. It’s why you’ll be delivering this.” He patted the side of the bomb. “Mathias wanted to rub it in our face. It was a show of force to rescue that bastard traitor from my pub. He wanted to show me he was responsible. So I want to make my move just as obvious. If he wants a war, I’ll give him a bloody war.”

  “This could just as easily be taken care of quietly.”

  “You don’t get it. It’s not just about Mathias. It’s about sending a message to Mathias’s faction, the fuckers at MI5, and the rest of the bleeding world. No one interferes with Colin Flynn’s operation. No one.”

  Flynn was a megalomaniac. He wanted to create chaos. He wanted to cause panic, and he didn’t care if his methods resulted in mass casualties.

  “Just one question. Why me?”

  “You haven’t been compromised. And I have matters to which I must attend. This is just the first volley. After this, it’ll come in three waves. It’s almost time.” Flynn smiled. “I have plans, Julian. Big plans. I’ll need your help with them. There is no one else. I paid you. I trust you can handle it.”

  “Very well.” Mercer’s mind raced. He couldn’t refuse. Not now. Not when he was so close to learning the truth. He would find some way to minimize casualties. The bomb assembly didn’t have an aerosol or disbursal system. It wasn’t a VX bomb, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t kill plenty of people. But Mercer had to do this. This one act would redefine his relationship within the faction, and it would be enough to convince Colin to divulge the rest of his plans for the other devices. “I’ll just need a few hours to determine the best place to leave the device.”

  “No.” Flynn reached for the industrial-sized container of rat poison, filled a few jars with the liquid, locked the lid, and checked the wires before securing the timer. “Everything is already prepared. You just need to leave this inside Mathias’s pub. No doubt, the bastard will be celebrating having Killian back in his grasp. It’ll give us the opportunity to inflict maximum damage.” Flynn grabbed a sheet of gold embossed paper and scribbled down an address. “Leave it just inside the front door. Once it’s placed,” Flynn pressed a button, and the timer lit up, “get the hell out of there.”

  “Someone will notice.”

  “So distract them. Make sure they are too busy to notice.” Flynn’s expression hardened as he carefully lifted the bomb and placed it inside a heavy-duty cardboard box. He did his best to keep it level, and Mercer couldn’t help but wonder how stable the explosive was. “And if he does notice, he’ll believe it’s nothing more than a late delivery. Either way, by the time he realizes, it’ll be too late.”

  Mercer held the top of the box while Flynn taped it. “It’s set to go off around the same time Kevin’s wake begins.”

  “Wake? So soon?”

  “No need to waste time. As soon as the bodies are prepared, we tend to our dead and celebrate their lives. No reason to delay. Plus, it’s the perfect alibi.” Flynn smiled wickedly. “You should go. The clock’s ticking.”

  Together, Mercer and Flynn carefully carried the box up the steps and placed it in the back of a white SUV. Mercer wasn’t sure if it was Flynn’s vehicle or if it belonged to one of his men, but he didn’t bother to ask. The vehicle had a GPS. Flynn would know if Mercer detoured from his route, so Mercer couldn’t take any chances. He’d just have to figure it out as he went.

  Twenty-nine

  The SUV might be bugged, and if not, the bomb’s detonator might be sensitive to radio signals. Mercer just hoped cell phone use wouldn’t be a problem.

  Driving one-handed, Mercer sent a text to Hans. Since the rest of the team was otherwise occupied, Mercer hop
ed the reconnaissance expert was up for this. Keeping an eye on the road, Julian sent an update, along with the location for the first pressure cooker bomb – the bomb he was set to deliver. It had to go off. If it didn’t, the trust Mercer had worked so hard to earn would be lost. He couldn’t let that happen. He just needed to make sure the pub was empty.

  Time? came Hans’ response.

  Mercer glanced at his watch. Twenty-seven minutes.

  Detonator?

  Timer with an added cell phone trigger.

  He might intend to light you up.

  Mercer didn’t reply. That was a possibility. If Flynn was monitoring the GPS signal coming from the vehicle, he might detonate the device once Julian was in range. It’d be one way to clean up the mess and pass the blame, but Mercer was confident Flynn wanted the credit. In fact, he was betting his life on it.

  The phone buzzed again, and Mercer read the street names of a nearby intersection. Ten minutes.

  Julian eased his foot off the gas. His teammate was en route. He just needed to slow down to give Hans time to catch up. Since he didn’t know Hans’ precise location, he wasn’t sure how this was going to work, but his teammate would be at the coordinates. Perhaps, Hans could remove some of the canisters containing the explosive projectiles. It would limit the range of the weapon and decrease the blast radius.

  For the next ten minutes, Mercer continued at a crawl. He’d accelerate and slow, attempting to mimic heavy traffic patterns even though his erratic driving was the cause of said traffic. Idly, Mercer wondered how things had gotten so screwed up. This was supposed to be a simple recovery. In and out. But nothing was simple. Bloody terrorists, he thought.

  He pulled to the curb at the designated intersection. Immediately, Bastian and Hans jumped into the back seat, and Mercer continued on his way before the rear door even closed. No one spoke until Julian turned the radio up to an ungodly level on the off chance Flynn had hidden a listening device inside.

  “What are you doing here?” Mercer asked Bastian.

  “Don’t worry about that now. What’s going on?” Bastian asked.

  “It’s in the cardboard box.” Mercer glanced at them from the mirror. “It’s good to see you.”

  “I’d prefer if these reunions didn’t center around being blown to smithereens. Don’t get me wrong. I like getting some action,” Hans grinned, “but not like this, mate.”

  Bas flicked open a knife and carefully cut the tape. “Bloody hell.” He climbed over the seat, and Hans followed. “Jules, what kind of liquid is this? VX is amber-colored in liquid form. This is too red.”

  “It’s not VX. It’s rat poison,” Julian replied.

  “Sick fuck,” Hans said. “As if maiming wasn’t bad enough, he wants them to hemorrhage to death.”

  “You can’t deliver this,” Bas said.

  “I don’t have a choice. Flynn trusts me.” Mercer swerved to avoid a pothole, and Hans cursed.

  “Might you hold it steady? This thing is highly volatile,” Hans cracked a smile, “kind of like you.”

  After some careful consideration, Bas stopped fiddling with the device. “It’s a closed circuit. I can’t disassemble any of it without triggering an explosion.” However, the analyst had activated a cell phone jammer to prevent a premature detonation.

  “Plan B.” Hans climbed over the seat while Bastian resealed the box. “Donovan and I have been known to clear a place out. Drop me at the next stop, and loop around the long way. I’ll have it taken care of by the time you arrive. How’s our timetable?”

  “Fifteen minutes.” Mercer frowned. “Is Donovan protecting the girl?” A morbid thought entered his mind. “Did something happen to the captive?”

  “No. Donovan’s keeping watch,” Bastian said. “It’ll be slow going. I don’t expect we’ll get results this way.”

  Mercer’s gaze flicked to Hans. “Are you field ready?” Mercer had his doubts, but now wasn’t the time to pick a fight. Hans proved himself last night, plus clearing an area and dealing with a bomb shouldn’t require any shooting.

  Hans winked. “Don’t worry. I’m right as rain, and just in time to pick up your slack. It’s nice to know you didn’t get your brain scrambled or go over to the dark side.” He tapped Mercer on the shoulder. “Drop me off here. I’ll get the bar and surrounding area cleared before you arrive.”

  “It can’t be obvious,” Mercer warned.

  “It won’t be.”

  Mercer slowed at the next red light, and Hans jumped out of the car and raced toward their final destination.

  Bastian slid into the back seat, analyzing Julian’s appearance through the mirror. They could barely hear each other over the blasting radio, but it was necessary. “Lara’s letting our captive stew. She’s a firecracker and too bloody creative with the torture techniques, if you ask me.”

  “She’ll do anything to save her brother.”

  “Reminds me of someone I know.”

  “Bas, don’t.”

  “No, I think I bloody well will. You do realize our friends at MI5 will not see this as a necessary act. In fact, it’s probably enough to get you placed on a watchlist or even a most wanted list. What are you doing? Do you want to spend the rest of your natural life locked in a cage or on the run? You are about to deliver a bomb to a pub. Think about it. What are you doing, Jules?”

  That was a good question. Julian had become so focused on the mission objectives, possibly even blinded by them, that he was acting erratically, even by his normal standards. “Two nights ago, we sold half a million in weapons, mostly MAC-10s, but I know Killian sold something else. Something larger.”

  “Something like a few of these pressure cooker bombs,” Bastian asked, “or the VX?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Two of Flynn’s men ended up dead, and Killian was taken. Are you sure Flynn trusts you?”

  Mercer slowed when the pub came into view. “We’ll find out, won’t we?” Swiveling in the seat, Mercer turned to face his friend. “Get out of here. I’ll handle this. And if I can’t, it’s up to you to stop Flynn and find Shepherd.”

  Bastian opened his mouth to say something, but one look from Julian silenced him. Instead, he tapped his ear. “We have radios for a reason.”

  “Not with that device.”

  “After. We stay in contact. Things are about to pop off. I can feel it.”

  “Me too.” Julian looked at his watch. They didn’t have time for small talk.

  Bas nodded. “Don’t get yourself blown up. I don’t have a spatula handy to scrape you off the brick.”

  While Julian unloaded the heavy box, Bastian disappeared down the street. Mercer glanced around as he moved along the sidewalk. A few people were eating at the bistro across the way. He’d have to find something to block the nails and other projectiles from traveling that far. Based on the amount of explosive in the pressure cooker, the device had a fairly large blast radius. For a moment, Mercer reconsidered his actions. If this went wrong, a lot of innocents would be killed. That would be blood he’d never wash off his hands. He would be entirely to blame.

  Mercer pushed his back against the door to the pub. Murphy’s frosted the glass in perfect italics. The door was constructed of a solid, thick wood that went to waist height before clear glass replaced the sturdy construction, boasting the hours of operation and the name stenciled above. Despite Hans’ insistence that he would clear the bar, Mercer was still surprised to find it nearly empty.

  Placing the bomb on the floor next to the hostess stand, Mercer cautiously moved through the establishment. Perhaps he should shove the bomb inside the walk-in freezer. At least in there, it would be less likely to result in casualties, but the lack of destructive fallout would be obvious. What to do?

  As Mercer pondered this, he heard voices coming from the back room, one of which he recognized. He ducked behind the bar, checking the time. They had less than five minutes.

  “I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” Hans’ voic
e grew louder. “Gas leak. You know how dangerous they can be. We’ll get you sorted, and you’ll be up and running in no time.” Hans handed one of the men a business card. “If you have any questions, that’ll get you connected directly to the main branch.” Hans ushered the workers toward the rear door. “The sooner you clear out, the sooner we’ll get this checked.”

  Before the rear door even closed, Bastian came through the front with four cinderblocks stacked in front of his chest. He eyed Mercer, who was still hidden behind the bar. “Want to give me a hand? You made this mess.”

  Julian glanced back at the door and jogged over, grabbing two of the blocks from Bastian. “I told you to leave.”

  “Pish.” Bastian placed two of the cement blocks in front of the cardboard box and stacked the next two on top. “Since this is how you chose to conduct an op on your own, I’m going to have to take over this mission.” His eyes sparkled, and he called to Hans. “Grab the other four blocks.”

  “Aye.” Hans dashed out the front door.

  “Where did you get these?” Mercer asked as he entered the kitchen. Refrigerators were notoriously well insulated. The door would do nicely. He examined the hinges and reached for one of the metal implements on the counter.

  “A nearby construction site.”

  “Convenient.”

  “Sheer luck,” Bastian corrected just as Hans returned with more blocks. “If that hadn’t worked, I was prepared to steal a car and park it on the sidewalk right out front. Figured it might be large enough and sturdy enough to block the flying nails and debris.” Bastian placed the other four blocks along the side of the bomb, walling it in on two sides while the third side remained flush against the hostess stand which was propped against a row of wooden booths. By leaving the fourth side open, facing into the pub, the blast might act more like a shaped charge, the energy and force moving in the direction of least resistance.

  Mercer returned to the front with the refrigerator door. He propped it against the stand and placed it in front of the cement blocks. The pub would be lost, but lives would not. At least, he hoped not.