At sunrise the next morning, Ronan grabbedhis only belongings from his dresser and walked straight out thefront door. Sara had been thorough enough to have his newidentification, a few changes of clothes, and toiletries deliveredin a nondescript, worn-looking backpack by “a neighbor.” Inside wasa note and a drop phone.Call me. I have instructions foryou.
As soon as the rehab facility door closedbehind him, he placed an outgoing call to the only number saved inthe phone’s memory. “What’s the plan?”
“How are you feeling? You were lucky to makeit out alive,” Sarah answered back. Her sympathy was obvious; hewas miserable enough, he didn’t want any pity.
“Feel like I’ve been shot, but I’m walkingand talking. All my parts are still attached.” He was exhaustedafter just the walk through the facility and out to the loadingzone toward the waiting taxi. “Am I heading to Heathrow?”
“That’s right, come on home.”
Hopping in the cab, he asked the driver totake him to Paddington Station, continuing with his meticulousaccent. Complimenting the song on the radio, he asked the driver toplease turn up the volume. Hated the damn song, but it wouldprevent the driver from hearing Sara’s voice through the phone. “AmI to see you again soon?”
Sara’s pause on the other end was heavy.“Only briefly. Take a look at your passport. John Clayborn will bepicked up from Dulles by a hired car service. You’ll spend a fewdays wrapping up final reports at Langley, then you’reretired.”
“But my contractual agreement…” Ronanobjected. What was wrong with him? He’d been mentally finished withthe damn CIA for months, since he’d obtained the permanentworst-nightmare mental images of civilians dead and rotting. Yethere he was, fighting to get back in the action. Didn’t make anysense.
Guess he just didn’t know what else to dowith himself. He’d wanted to be a CIA operative since he turnedeleven. Maybe if he could at least get a sense of closure on theweapons, some vengeance for those families, he could retire inpeace.
“You’ve done your service. It’s going to takea while before you’ve recovered enough to work again, if ever. And…all your covers are blown; Young confirmed what we had alreadysuspected. He was on to you for months. Pissed that you blew hisbig deal. We now know the attack on you was tied to him. Blames youfor extinguishing a 14 million dollar deal he’d bartered. You’renot safe.”
Ronan felt a black hole forming in the pit ofhis stomach. “Did he say where they went, the biologics?”
He waited for Sara to respond. “No, so far heis sticking with his story that they were lost in transit. We’llget it out of him. We managed to keep you safe in London for now,but you need to get out quick.
“We think we know the identity of theshooter: Connor Young, Peter's right-hand man and very pissed-offbrother. We’ve called for a manhunt to find him and the rest ofYoung’s team, but they’ve gone to ground. Young knew way too muchabout you; you’re not safe in the field anymore. We can only hopethey believe our story that you’re dead. You’ll be safest backhome.”
Thankfully, the cab driver was listening tohis own music, ignoring him completely. Still, he didn’t want tosay too much and maintained a pleasant face, as if chatting with anold friend. Sara continued, “You’ll be fully compensated for yourfull term, plus disability pay-”
“Bollocks. I don’t need any bloody money; I’mperfectly capable-” he argued.
“Do you want to keep working? I know you;you’ve been ready to get out for months now.”
Ronan didn’t say anything, but he gritted histeeth so tight he could feel the building pressure threatening tocrack his molars.
“You went through a hell of an ordeal. Takethe money. That’s what it’s there for. You got us Young, which is ahuge break for our continued operations in Syria. Trust me, youearned it.”
Ronan couldn’t think on it now. Voiceclipped, he ended the call, “I’m about at my stop. Talk to youlater.” He paid the driver with cash from his backpack; his tokeep, plus a nice wad for the trip, courtesy of Sara.
~
After a long trek from the cab to theUnderground to the long international flight, and an incessantdebriefing at Langley, Ronan McAllister was finally home. As helanded, a burning, hard lump in his throat formed. His fellowpassengers were happily chatting as they de-planed.
Ronan grabbed his backpack and leathermotorcycle jacket, both of which were brand new; he’d traded outhis attire several times since leaving the rehab facility. Didn’tbother shaving his beard or hair, but he’d added a ball cap once heswitched to his American persona.
At Langley, Sara handed him documents with anidentity he hadn’t seen in almost 9 years: Ronan James McAllister.His own name. It felt foreign, almost like another assumed,undercover disguise.
Trudging along at the back of the bubblingcrowd as they made their way through the airport, Ronan was glad tofind his parents waiting for him. His mother’s eyes were misty asshe struggled to hold back the tears, knowing he would hate thefuss. Emotional displays had always made him uncomfortable. Today,he was good with the tears; he was fighting a few of his own.
Last summer, he’d managed to meet his parentsin Rome for dinner, and it had been hard to leave them. Even wellbefore college, he’d pushed them away, adopting the secretive lifeof a spy long before it became necessary. Now, he knew he’d been anidiot. His parents had always been there for him, even when hehadn’t asked it of them. Even when he’d pushed everyone away, hisfamily most of all. But, his distance had kept them safe.
As soon as Ronan crossed the line signifyingthat he was now outside of the secured area, Frank, his gentlegiant of a father, stood back as his slender mother, Laura, rushedacross the sunlit waiting area and threw her arms around him.Crashing right into his injured shoulder and abdomen. With aguarded wince, he adjusted the hug, but held her just astightly.
Eyes filled with tears, she looked up at him,“Ronan, honey, are you ok? You didn’t say much, just than you’recoming home. For good… right?” Hearing his own name out loud feltlike coming home, almost as much as his mother’s weepy hug, hisfather’s proud grin.
“Yeah, Mom, I’m home for good. I’ll fill youin when we’re in the car.” He’d gotten the ok to tell his familywhere he’d been the past 9 years, but was still restricted in howmuch he could tell them, what details he could share. He held herat his side and walked out of the airport, Frank trailing closebehind.
“I’m still having trouble believing you’rereally home, like I’m holding onto a mirage,” her watery voiceshook with a gentle chuckle. As they walked, she continued to stareup at him, as if afraid he’d disappear the moment she looked away.She gently tugged on his scraggly beard, “This is a lot longer thanwhen I saw you last.”
From behind, Frank grabbed Ronan’s backpackoff his shoulder. “This all you got?”
