GREENING OF BELFAST

2030. That was the year my life took a really nasty turn. But I might be getting a wee bit ahead of myself here. Everywhere you looked you saw plain ugly bad afoot. What do I mean? Well, for starters, a serious drought was spreading like wildfire. It was rife in places you might not imagine folks would find it.

About roughly six months ago, an eco-terror group founded by six former card-carrying IRA carried out a bio-weapons attack on the city of Belfast. Whatever green remained had turned to unpleasant shades of brown. Some parts of the city had lost all semblance of vegetation. It was pretty much in the starting stages of becoming a desert wasteland. While that was bad, it wasn't even the worst of it. I got my hands on some reliable intel relating how Dagda--that was what they called themselves, fancying themselves as the hands of feet of the ancient Irish earth god.

Where was I? Oh, yes, these Dagda eco-terrorists were trying to lay their hands on some nuclear device to try to step things up even more. I couldn't stand by and let that happen. You're probably asking who I am and what could I do about eco-terrorists trying to land their grubby hands on a nuclear weapon. I'm Sean Donovan, British SAS, more specifically a captain in E Squadron. So, I'm the right bloke for the task.

My smartphone vibrated.

74 Upper Braniel Road

Ciara did not disappoint. Then again, I never doubted she would. The first meeting point was on. I Googled the address. Sinnamon Bistro. Folks used to have a real whale of a time back in the day—you know, before the drought. If I had to guess, it had been at least seven to ten years since even being within earshot of the coffee and bistro. Should be able to make it in less than 20 minutes.

***

Sinnamon Bistro had seen better days. Amidst the peeling paint and brown shrubbery desperately clinging to what insignificant life remained in them, I could make out a ragtag fellowship of the diverse, acting as if life was still normal. Part of me admired their refusal to be deterred by the hellish turn of local and global events. Aye, I'd drink to that. Well, I would have if I had a drink in my hand.

Hot Matcha Latte with a kiss of cinnamon.

Of course, she would make me say that out loud. I texted back:

You're properly wicked.

I opened the French door handle and entered the bistro, making my way casually for the coffee bar. There was this easy on the eyes, skinny red-head with just a few streaks of black worked into her shoulder-length hair. Her name tag read Siobhan.

Placing my order I said, "I'll take a Matcha Latte with a kiss of cinnamon." Yes, I said the thing. Sometimes dignity had to take a dive for the mission.

"I'll whip that right up for you," she sang in a soft soprano.

I started to open my wallet, but she waved her hand. My wallet quickly found its way back into my pocket as she passed me a napkin with writing on it which read:

It's on the house. Just remember it's bottoms up XOXO.

I simply nodded.

"What's your name, love?" she chirped as she picked up a paper coffee cup.

"Brody," I told her, using my cover name.

While I waited for Siobhan to make my drink, I walked around, picking up several mundane conversations. A man and a woman were enjoying their first date, all googly eyed with each other. A business executive on his cellphone chattering away, trying to seal some sort of deal or sale. Some teenagers trading stories trying to one up each other with their tales of finding the perfect high. Interestingly enough, not one conversation about the 800-pound gorilla in the room—this bloody drought which wasn't letting up one bit.

"I'll take a Matcha Latte for Brody," the barista called out.

I thanked her and grabbed my drink and headed out the door. Once outside, I dumped the greenish beverage in a nearby trashcan, peering at the bottom of the cup. Tapped to the bottom was a small piece of paper. Well, what have we here? I thought to myself. I pulled the paper from the bottom of the cup, tossing the now empty coffee into the trash receptacle. As I unfolded the paper, I found a message written in pink ink:

Falls Park 3:33 p.m.

Onward to the park it was.

***

Falls Park used to be a beautiful verdant hot spot for all stripes to enjoy. On most days, you'd be hard-pressed to steer clear of the infectious laughter of children playing, while adults discussed the ins and outs of their daily routines. A bloody shame. Now the grass was all dead, given to a listless sandy and in certain places hard and stony soil. The air was mostly silent except for a few dry-throated ravens letting out raspy gurgling croaks.

I viewed my smartphone.

3:33

Okay. Now what?

Straight ahead, there are 3 park benches.

"They've seen better days," I muttered.

Sit down on the middle bench.

I saw down on an overly rusted bench. It creaked a wee bit as my weight pressed down on it.

Good boy! Now on the underside of the bench is a manila envelope.

I reached under my seat with my right hand and felt around until I could feel something papery. Eureka! I tugged it through from the underside of my seat and lifted it up, planning on opening its contents.

DO NOT OPEN IT!

I stuffed the envelope into my leather jacket's inside pocket. As I scanned my surroundings, I realized the only human soul around apparently was me. I shrugged my shoulders and headed towards the street towards Whiterock Road. When I reached the road, I felt my smartphone vibrate.

STOP! A black SUV will stop in front of you in three shakes of a lamb's tail.

Sure enough, a black Range Rover stopped mere seconds later. The rear passenger door swung open.

"Hop in, mate!" a male voice rang out.

I hopped in, closing the door behind me.

"So, going my way?" I asked in jest, trying to break the ice.

The driver punched the accelerator, and we were off.

***

"So, tell me Mr. Bligh, are you ready to make a difference?" the man seated next to me leaned in waiting for my answer.

"Ready, willing, and able." I bubbled with as much enthusiasm as I could muster without sounding like a total suck-up.

"Perfect. Then why don't you go ahead and open the little gift we left for you?" He let loose a wide grin, revealing a mouth that had received its fair share of dental work.

I reached into my jacket pocket, pulling out the Manila envelope. Using my index finger, I slowly unsealed the adhesive and pulled the contents free from the envelope. I read the contents and was pissed a little at what they'd put in my hands. It had all the earmarks of a textbook stall him while we do more background checks.

"Okay, quit, with all the bullshit already. You didn't bring me in to go plant some trees that will end up dying like everything else around us." Disgusted, I ripped the papers. "Now, what do you truly need me to do for you? You know, so I can make a bloody difference."

"It seems," he stated with a twinkle in his eyes, "that Evie was dead on the money about you, Mr. Bligh."

"Pleased to see that I'm living up to your expectations."

"Indeed, you are. Indeed, you are," he replied. "Now, we could make much better use of your special set of skills. There's a train due to stop at Titanic Quarter tomorrow at 2:45 p.m. Irish Rail number 3054. There's a British scientist who's transporting a component that we need. Dr. Benjamin J. Weatherford is his name. Our sources say that Dr. Weatherford is carrying a briefcase with the necessary components. We just need you to convince the good doctor to do the right thing and hand the briefcase over."

"How convincing should I be?"

"I won't lose any sleep if you gut him like a pig," he chuckled. "But feel free to use your own judgment. So long as you retrieve the briefcase and its contents."

"I'm in," I responded with minimal enthusiasm.

"Oh, one last thing. You'll won't be going in alone." And here comes the curveball. "I mean, if you cockup the mission, who's going to tell me the full details of what went wrong?"

"Great, so you're sending me in with a babysitter." Not wanting to flat out and tell me him oh hell no, but still making sure he noted my disapproval.

"If you want the job, you're taking the 'babysitter' with you." Before I could offer any further objections, he cut negotiations short. "This isn't up for debate. We good?"

"Well, since you put it that way," I acquiesced. "Sign me up for adventures in babysitting."

"Excellent," he said, beaming from ear to ear. "Now this is where we part ways for the time being."

The Range Rover came to a stop. I let myself out.

"Hello, Brody," hailed on all-too-familiar feminine voice.

"Wait--you're my babysitter?" Shock apparent upon my face.

"I prefer the term handler, thank you much," she said in a tone of melodramatic woundedness. "I'm Evie."

"I'm famished from all this running around," I said, regaining my composure. "How about we grab a bite to eat?"

"Sure, but only if you're paying, mate." She let out a cheerful laugh.

"I'm game. Lead the way, Evie."

***

We had dinner at ma and pop café that was known for having the best lamb chops for your Euro. The cook was on his game tonight. The food was exquis.

"That man with the perfect goatee and Black Watch ascot has been staring at us with laser precision." Evie dipped her lamb chop into the mint herb sauce.

"Where?" I mumbled through my food.

"In the booth flat against the far wall behind you," she said in a low voice.

I turned my head —

"Don't look at him," she scolded in a harsh whisper.

"So, I'll pay the check and you go powder your nose," I suggested.

"That has its merits," she allowed. "Don't dash off without me."

She made her way to the loo with all the poise of a runway model. I waited about five minutes and then made my way to the cashier. I glanced over my shoulder but couldn't catch a glimpse of ascot-guy anywhere. My heart started pounding. The loo! I paid the check, walked by our table and dropped a few Euros for a tip and booked it to the women's loo. I swung the door open and found ascot-guy with his hands around Evie's throat. She swung her leg and kicked him. He lost his grip and went sliding across the bathroom floor. He looked at me, then back at Evie, deciding which target to attack. Evie was his choice. However, Evie was ready for him. She had a switchblade in her hand and gave him a close shave on the cheek. He winced for a second, before trying to grab her arm. Evie put his face into one of the stall doors. He shook his head, licking the blood trickling from his lip.

"Feel... free... to... lend a hand... anytime," Evie huffed.

I pulled a pistol from my jacket. "Okay, ascot-guy," with a Dirty Harry cadence. "Stop embarrassing herself with the lady. No, means no."

He stopped. Saw my gun and raised his hands.

"Yes, much better," I encouraged. "Now, what the hell do you want?"

"Look, I used to be Dagda," he began, almost but not quite stammering. "But once they decided to go down this road of we have to save the earth be killing the earth. That's nuts!"

"Look, we don't have all day," I growled.

"Okay, okay," he said, as his face flushed. "Alright, once Dagda got all obsessed with nuclear devices. I knew I had to do something to stop them. I got contacts. Not everyone in Dagda is mad as a hatter, you know."

"What's any of this got to do with attacking a lady out for a bite in women's room?" Evie pressed.

"Oh, c'mon, mates. You both know that this is just all foreplay before you go after Dr. Weatherford. I'm ain't stupid, you know."

"Well, that's debatable," Evie chided.

"What he is," I chimed, "is a man who knows too much."

"Your call," I said, looking straight at Evie. "What do we do with him now?"

"I don't suppose you brought the lobotomy kit with you?"

"That's not funny," he gasped.

"It was kind of funny," I teased.

"Well, since lobotomies are out of the question." In a seamless motion she took her blade and slit his throat.

"What the hell!" She was off the rails. Why escalate things and leave a trail of corpses?

"Ciara," I slipped up.

"The name's Evie," she hissed. "And you should thank me. Taking out a traitor should put you in real tight with the higher ups in Dagda."

"He was working with others. Now there's no chance of finding out who they are," I said as I shook my head in dismay.

"Oopsie." She moved the body into one of the stalls and shut to the door. She stared at me and said, "Given our new set of circumstances, might I suggest we make a hasty retreat out that window?"

Pointing at the window at the back of the room, she identified our escape route. I took her cue and put the bun back in its holster and instead retrieved a carbide glass cutter from my jacket. I made quick work of creating an opening large enough for both of us to jump through.

"Ladies first," I said with a wave of my hand.

Evie jumped through the window. I counted to five and followed suit.

"We need to regroup and map out our strategy for Dr. Weatherford's chance encounter with us." She shook her auburn hair and used a hair tie to twist and pull her hair into obedience.

"We're not honestly giving some nuclear whatsit to Dagda, are we?" I was trying to gauge just how deep down the rabbit hole Evie had gone.

"Of course we are," she said without even giving it a second thought.

"I thought the plan was to stop a nuclear attack or fiasco," I questioned further.

"That was the plan," she admitted. "But plans change. You know what they say? It's a girl's prerogative to change her mind."

"Good Lord, what is this you've gotten me into?" I could almost feel the lines of worry appear on my face.

"You need to check yourself," she snapped. "This may be our one and only shot. So don't go all chickenshit on me now."

"Fine." I took a deep breath. "We play it your way." For now, anyways. For now.

***

Titanic Quarter was remarkably not busy. Not exactly what I had expected. Sure, the drought had put a damper on the greater extent of hustle and bustle these days. But shouldn't there at least be some hustle or bustle? Irish Rain 3054 arrived right on time at 2:45 p.m. on the nose. I turned to Evie.

"Can I take a gawk at that pic of the target again?" I whispered softly.

She flashed her smartphone in front of my eyes for a few seconds. Dr. Weatherford looked like a good egg. I felt genuinely bad for what was about to befall him. Sure, appearances can deceive, but I think it was plain as day who was wearing the black hat in this shit show.

"There he is," Evie pointed out.

Dr. Weatherford had graying dark blonde hair--in fact, his sideburns were completely gray. He wore a graphite commuter coat with navy chinos. In his right hand he carried a khaki tactical briefcase. No doubt that was where he kept the nuclear commodity that Dagda was licking at the chops for. Before I could so much as flinch, Evie had come up from behind of Dr. Weatherford, holding him by his left arm and a switchblade edging too close for comfort to his throat.

"I'm sorry, doctor, but we're going to need your baggage," Evie intoned menacingly.

"Take it! Take it!" Weatherford shouted in a panic.

I took the briefcase and Evie released Weatherford and patted him on the shoulder patronizingly.

"Smart man, mate." She returned the switchblade to her jacket pocket. "Fortune is shining on you today. I'm feeling generous. Now scoot along before I change my mind."

Weatherford quickly ran off, not looking back once.

"See, I'm not such a bitch after all, am I?" Evie said, her words laced with irony.

"So, it would seem," I agreed in a monotone.

***

We got back to the safe house that Evie had set up on the edge of Belfast. She opened the briefcase.

"Son of a bitch!" she shrieked.

"What's wrong?" I figured maybe a part or two had gone AWOL.

"That duplicitous doctor gave us a briefcase with nothing but his change of clothes and toiletries." She was perfectly livid now.

"Well, that's why you always check the cache before the target leaves or is neutralized." I couldn't help rubbing a little salt into the wound. "Wonder how your Dagda mates will take that news?" I mused.

"I need to disappear for a bit," Evie said her tone reeking with fear. "They'll have my head for this blunder."

I thought to myself, maybe we'll live to see the greening of Belfast after all.