Sean was still driving around Dublin, numb with dread and confliction, hours after he left the hospital.  He had turned his cell phone off for a while he needed a break from its constant urgency.  He thought about going back to the hotel and telling Marcus that he wanted to come clean  he didnt want to get caught up in anything that could backfire later.  He really did think about it.   But as he sat in his car in the parking lot of a café, the pale mauve of dawns first light seeping over the rooftops, he dimly realized that he was still thinking about it, but not doing it. 

Marcus words had stuck with him.  He was a good agent, and good agents are damn hard to find.  A tidy sequence of thoughts paraded through his brain.  He made the best possible choice at the time he felt threatened it was unfortunate that she was standing there, but how close was she?  Maybe she was too close maybe she shouldnt have been there to begin with.  Or maybe I shouldnt have pulled the ****ing trigger.  Those last words were hot and sharp.  When he closed his eyes, they seared across his conscious in big, bright letters; even his conversation with Marcus couldnt erase them.  What would he tell his wife or his children?  How could he sit on the edge of his sons bed, after tucking him in for the night, and explain why Daddys on extended leave?  His fear stuck like tar on the lining of his stomach.  He subconsciously gripped the steering wheel with both hands, leaned back in the seat and thought about his family.  They wouldnt have to know, Sean thought to himself, and the guilt he had nursed just a few minutes ago began to dissipate.  She shouldnt have been there, anyway.  He was armed I was protecting myself.  Heaving a deep sigh of resolution, he stepped out of the car with leaden feet, which grew lighter with every step as he walked towards the front door of the café.

The interior was dingy with age but it was clean, with a scrubbed and polished limestone floor and plaster walls covered with dotted wallpaper.  A few wooden tables with matching chairs were placed against the walls.  The Formica counter, flanked by some uncomfortable-looking stools, held several stout jars filled with various mustards, cream and sugar.  Aside from an elderly couple in the far corner, the place was empty.

He sat at the counter and, without thinking, pulled his phone out of his front pocket.  As he suspected, there were several missed calls he recognized the numbers.  The FBI branch office in Kansas City had tried to contact him once Marcus had tried twice.  In one blithe gesture, he flipped it shut and shoved it back in his pocket.  **** them they can handle things for awhile, he mumbled to himself.

Shuffling and muffled banging came from the kitchen, and a short, bony woman with frizzy auburn brown hair stormed out and rounded the corner.  Her sharp eyes scanned the café under furrowed brows, and when she spotted Archer she softened a little and wiped her hands furiously on a nearby dishtowel.  "Mornin, love..", she gruffed, her voice a barely contained bark.  "Some brew for ya?".  Without waiting for an answer, she poured hot, syrupy liquid into a thick porcelain mug and set it before the agent.  He knew he needed to eat something - his last meal was yesterday afternoon - but his stomach was still churning with a wild cluster of emotions that he was just learning to grasp.  Wearily, he picked up the worn cardboard menu and flipped through it, barely glancing at the words, too tired to notice the two men who walked through the door.  Their footsteps were heavy and deliberate as they made their way across the cafe and sat at the far end of the counter.

"Good day for a cup o it, ay?  Good for what ails ya afta a hard night cruisin.", one of them murmured.  Archer looked up to acknowledge the men, and vaguely realized they were large enough to block the morning light that had been shining through the windows behind them.  Their faces, partially obscured, showed their nonplussed demeanor.  The waitress glanced nervously at them and shuffled back into the kitchen.  The other man cleared his throat and adjusted the sleeves of his leather coat.  "'Ey, like to have a look a that menu, if you please... once you finish with it, of course.".

Sean looked down at the menu, then in the direction of the men.  He didnt need to see their faces.  As he closed the menu, he thought about calling Marcus but knew he couldnt do it on the sly.  There was nowhere to go.  Sliding off the stool and feeling his feet make contact against the limestone floor, the quakiness in his knees pushed its way to his gut, but he swallowed it whole and walked towards the men.  Without saying a word, he slammed the menu on the counter.  "I was just leaving anyway.". 

The man on the left, in the leather jacket, was the smaller of the duo but not by much.  Narrower shoulders, shorter arms and a thatch of russet hair distinguished him from his partner, whom Sean immediately recognized from last night.  A small round bandage covered a needle prick on his thick neck, just below his right ear.  When he made eye contact with the agent, a huge crooked grin spread across his jowly face that was anything but friendly.  "Oh, no. you cant be leavin so soon.  You just walked in!  Me an' mah friend here, we'd like to offer you a cup and get acquainted, seein' as how our first introduction was cut short.". 

"By unforeseen circumstances.", the smaller man added.  His voice was soft and mellow, and Sean glanced over his shoulder to survey the room.  The elderly couple in the corner was oblivious.

"There's really nothing to talk about... but if you really wanna do this, let's go outside.".  He struggled to keep his voice low, and swallowed to soothe his dry throat.  Without another word, the three men stepped outside and walked to the back of the building, where a battered gray van with darkly tinted windows was parked at the curb.  When he saw the vehicle, he stopped short and turned to face the two men, who were walking behind him.  "Oh, I get it... I thought you punks could do better.  You're gonna try to kidnap me and stuff me in a van.  Very original.".

The smaller man crossed his arms and let out a fierce snort.  "None too bright... 'es been watchin' a lotta Hollywood films, eh?".  Before Sean could respond, he felt a prick at the base of his neck and suddenly felt dizzy and heavy.  He was barely able to turn around, only to see a gloved hand jutting out of one of the vans windows, holding a tiny white gun.

"Right back atcha... incompetent arse.", muttered the large man as he watched the agent fall to his knees.  They quickly lifted him off the ground and tossed him into the back seat, peering around carefully.  The streets in this part of town were quiet and empty, and they drove out of Dublin without a trace.