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Just like they remained puppeteers in the nations who were in England’s empire that wanted independence. It’s all been a key part of destabilizing Britain’s imperial rule.
As we stand, I’m not sure who was supposed to benefit. Maybe no one. Maybe everyone. Maybe just the Sparrows and these godforsaken Brothers.
After decades of war, we’re no further along than we were in the forties, so only time will tell who’s the winner here.
As far as I can see, we’re all just goddamn losers in a game no one asked us to play.
Anyway, one day, I’m waiting to kill this diplomat, and the Jorgmundgander official assigned to my task force got drunk and put on the radio.
It was a night-time special for noxxious fans, of which he was one. The drunker he got, the more loose his tongue became, and he started bragging about how he’d fucked Gerry Sullivan’s wife back when she worked with the snakes.
I dismissed it as nonsense at first—the talk of someone who’d downed too many beers. But we’d been staking out this particular embassy for forty-seven hours, waiting for this diplomat, so I peppered him with questions, my partner did too, both of us wanting to see how far he’d take the bullshit.
Casey Sullivan, he shared, hadn’t always been called that.
She’d been Galena back when he knew her.
There’d been rumors she was related to someone in the top ranks, but nepotism hadn’t played a role in her recruitment—she’d been one of the best with a kill record almost as good as mine.
Then, the Lockerbie bombing happened.
The agent claimed ‘Galena’ had spent years trying to stop it. When she realized there was still a green light on the bombing, she ran to America, he said. Started using an old handle and took up with the CIA. Got with Gerry fucking Sullivan. Married him. Had a kid.
He even said that he was sure a tip-off to the authorities about the threat came from her.
His story was ludicrous.
Goddamn insane, but I was bored.
Then, the following day, that agent died.
Suddenly, his story didn’t seem so ludicrous.
I wasn’t so bored.
A couple of weeks later, I’m staring down the barrel of a gun and Casey Sullivan’s in my sights.
You can take this however you want. You can believe it or you don’t have to. At first, I didn’t. But then, Faraday died of ‘natural causes,’ a guy who popped vitamins and worked out religiously, who got drunk on two bottles of beer and ate bags of iceberg goddamn lettuce as a snack. Heart attack, they said when I asked.
Heart. Attack.
I never saw my partner again and figured he shared Faraday’s gossip with the top brass. Not that it got him anywhere. He was on the end of my scope a month after your mom. If my rep wasn’t what it is, I don’t doubt they’d have killed me off too.
Not that they didn’t try in New York, but that was another sin. Christ, I’ve committed so many that they’re difficult to keep track of.
Maybe this brings you closure, maybe it doesn’t. I figured you’d want to know—I would. Should have told you that day we met at the black site hospital, but you know how it goes—we don’t share; we hoard intel.
Aoife’s not letting me get away with that and seeing as you’ve been so good with her and seeing how she considers you to be one of her best friends, I wanted to share what I knew.
Your mom wasn’t a good person if she worked for Jorgmundgander, but she tried to stop a bombing where two hundred and seventy innocent people were killed. I think that makes her a hero, especially as she paid for it with her life.
I doubt that’s any consolation to you, Star, but it would be to me.
All the best,
Dagda
NEW INSIGHTS REVEALED INTO LOCKERBIE BOMBING
