Leaving her sitting quietly, brooding on herstool, Ronan left and drove home… feeling more alone than he had indecades. Too worn out, despite the fact that the sun had yet tofully rise. He avoided parking the huge pick-up in the narrow spacein the garage for the effort it took; he parked in the driveway andtrudged in through the front door. He dragged his weary limbs intohis rental and slammed the door with miserable finality.
~
As was his habit, he leaned down to check hisodd, paranoid fishing line alarm. For the first time ever, the trapwas loose, disturbed. Had he remembered to set it when he last washere? Of course he had; heneverforgot.
Someone was in his house. Or had been in hishouse. No one but Chase had the key; that had been veryintentional. His family wouldn’t have entered without talking tohim first anyway. Staying crouched down as he stopped to listen, hecraned his ears, ready to detect even the slightest sound.
Nothing.
Making long, silent strides, Ronan checkedeach room, every potential hiding spot. Checking for any signs ofactivity. The rest of the house looked untouched. No one was herenow; he was sure of it. Still, he swept the house.
Another hour passed, his stomach rumbling.His latest drop phone—not that he needed it in any officialcapacity—remained in its hiding spot under the bedside table. Hecontinued sweeping for bugs, cameras… anything out of place.
Finally, he got lucky. Rather, unlucky, hesupposed. A tiny bug, audio only, was hidden behind his bedroomheadboard. High end, top of the line. The intruder was no amateur,that was for sure.
Studying the device, it looked like one hehad used before, but more streamlined. He took some detailed photosof it and texted the images to Sara via his drop phone, with abrief message:Someone was in my house.
Securing the place as best he could, hestuffed in a quick lunch and a shower, then climbed in bed to getsome necessary shuteye before making his next move. He’d be on therun in a few hours, once he had some usable intel from Sara.
Late that night, Ronan’s phone rang in itschipper tune, waking him from restless sleep. Not his regular cell,but the drop phone he’d texted Sara from. About time. Hopefully sheknew something about the device.
Feeling cold, body and voice stiff, he numbedhis emotions as he morphed back into the professional agent, “I’mhere.”
Sara’s voice resonated through the phone,skipping the small talk, “The timing of your text couldn’t havebeen better; I was in a meeting.”
“Where are you? It’s well past midnight.”Ronan rubbed his eyes, just making out the glowing green time onthe clock.
“I’m at Langley; it was that bad of ameeting. The bug is ours. Brand new, just approved for use by ourfield agents. I’m impressed you found it; it’s tiny and notdetectable by any traditional locators.”
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed,Ronan leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. He ran hishand through his hair, hating where the conversation was going. “Iwas trained by the best.”
She let out a soft chuckle, “That’s sweet,but I’m too tired for flattery.” Her voice trailed off; he couldhear the poorly masked weariness in Sara’s voice on the other end.“The meeting was about you, in a way. Rose is dead. She wasn’t evenon an op when she was killed. Three shots to the head.”
“Someone was making a bold statement. Why?What did she know?” Images of Rose flashed in his mind. He hadn’tknown her that well, despite working together a number of timesover the past few years.
Still, her death was a huge blow to theagency. He hated to think of losing a good agent; someone he’drelied on. She was damn smart; she wouldn’t have been easy to takedown.
“I couldn’t say for sure, but with thetiming, I’m willing to guess it boils down to those weapons. Shemust have known something… or knew how to get to you.”
Ronan rubbed his non-existent beard,momentarily forgetting he no longer had the massive thing. “PeterYoung was already sentenced, and the weapons were never found. CIAhad moved on, case cold, Connor Young unfindable. At least, that’swhat Sharpe had implied.”
Sara sounded equally exasperated. “Sharpe washere tonight; he was completely flabbergasted about the latestdevelopments. He’s convinced we have a mole. That one of our ownhid the biologics and killed Rose. Sharpe wants the weapons, andfears that Connor Young will be wanting his money.”
Seething, Ronan responded, “Now there’s amole and a merc after me. Fun times. And here I thought retirementmight be relaxing, boring even.”
Sara went silent for a moment. “There’s more.The mole… they think it’s you. Peter Young finally accepted a dealwhen we threatened extradition to Syria. Said you hid the weaponsand faked your own death to escape further investigation.”
“Fuck. That story’s pretty thin. Is anyonebuying that shit?” Ronan rubbed his hip, his wounds suddenly achingjust thinking about Connor Young.
“Sharpe is; swears by his interrogation.Others aren’t so sure. They’re blaming Connor for taking out Roseand bugging you with bugs he stole from her. That he’s after you toget to the weapons. Sharpe is pushing that you must know where theweapons are, as he can’t find them, and he has his best spooks onit.”
“Bullshit-” Ronan stood and paced, workingout the knot forming in his aching hip.
“I don’t buy it either, and I’m not the onlyone. You have an impeccable record, better than Sharpe’s or Rose’s.This isn’t over yet. The fact that anyone believes this bullshittells me they’re desperate… or it’s more than just a mole.”
“Conspiracy? That’s a pretty big word.”
“And this is a pretty big mess.”
