Logan MacGregor

Franklin almost choked as he looked at the red telephone. It rang a second time, and Logan was unable to suppress his grin.

Olson's eyes were as wide as saucers as he tried to extricate himself from the tangle of chairs.

Slowly, the Commandant reached a twitching hand out and lifted the receiver midway through the fourth ring. "Yes?" he asked hoarsely. "They did. I see. He is. Yes, sir. I agree completely, sir." Major Franklin slowly hung up the phone and stared at it for several seconds.

"Well, sir, don't leave me..." Logan looked up meaningfully at the rope looped over the gibbet above him.

Logan broke into a broad smile as the Commandant slowly walked over to wait at the bottom of the stairs.

"Key." One of the marine guards produced a small metal handcuff key from his pocket and handed it to the Major as Logan slowly walked back down the steps.

"Wasn't expecting to make the trip down this slowly", he quipped as he reached the floor.

The sniper was only too happy to comply, and gratefully rubbed his wrists, then his neck once the man removed his cuffs. "I think I can guess what the message was, then."

"Logan MacGregor, by order of the Prime Minister and with the sanction of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, I am authorized to inform you that you are hereby...." Franklin's face was growing redder with every word. "Pardoned, of all crimes and misdemeanors heretofore committed."

"In the interest of the seriousness of the situation", Logan replied through a smile he couldn't control, "I will refrain from excessive celebration, and remove myself from your presence forthwith."

"There is one condition", Franklin stated flatly. "You will be escorted to the border of Ireland, and you are never again to enter any territory or possession of Great Britain. If you do", the major's eyes glittered. "Your sentence will be re-instated."

Logan nodded his understanding. "Well, with any luck, the peace accord will hold, and I'll have no need to return." He winked at the Major, whose expression grew even darker.

Franklin turned away, stormed over to the single door and threw it open. Doctor Kennedy looked up in surprise from his position just beyond, then did a double take as he caught sight of Logan limping towards him.

Logan could hear the murmur of voices from the inmates in the cellblock as they noted the disturbance, and his grin grew even broader.

Logan simply leaned against the wall, just inside the doorway, and rubbed his leg with one hand. "Give me a bit of time, will you. Those steps took more than I thought. Wasn't expecting to have to brave my way down them as well." He let out a labored sigh and looked over at Kennedy with a mischevious grin. "Could someone bring my cane?"

He shot an inquiring look at Dr. Kennedy, who allowed himself a small smile. "I think it would be best for him to use a cane. The only reason I didn't insist you let him use one on the walk to the scaffold is that any permanent injury was rather moot."

Franklin snorted. "Oh, very well. Simonds, go get the cane from his cell, it should be with his other effects."

One of the marine guards saluted, then hurried out through the door for the stairs to the second level. Logan could hear the murmuring from the other prisoners increasing now. They obviously knew something unsual was happening, and he could only imagine the rumors that would start flying when Sergeant Simonds returned with his cane.

It took the marine only a couple of minutes to return with the cane. He had slung his rifle over his shoulder and carried a small bundle under his other arm. "I went ahead and brought his other effects, sir", Simonds reported.

The marine passed over the bundle and Logan arched an eyebrow. "Looks a little small to hold an M82", he said.

"Your rifle was sent down for scrap", the Major replied flatly. "As should you have been."

"Can't have everything we want, can we?" Logan opened the parcel and snorted as he found the bloodstained clothing he'd been wearing the day of his arrest. "Hopefully I'll not have to wear this when I leave."

"Of course not", Franklin replied evenly. "You're perfectly free to walk out of here naked."

With a roll of his eyes, Logan unzipped the orange prison jumpsuit he wore and stepped out of it. He shivered a bit as the chill airblew across his naked body but faced the Major evenly. "If you insist."

Kennedy covered his mouth to hide a smile while the Commandant sighed. "Oh, very droll. Put the clothes on, will you."

"As you say, Major", Logan replied with a shrug. He pulled the bloodied black tshirt over his head and stepped into the blue jeans and buttoned them up. "At least they got the run through the wash." He slid the fabric of the tshirt around from his back and stuck his finger through the ragged bullet hole. "Could have gotten a seamstree to patch it, though. Never mind, it'll make a nice conversation starter. Shall we?"

The murmuring had become shouts across the ceel block at this point, and Logan could hear the occasional mention of his name. "It's time to meet my adoring public." With that, he let his weight rest on the cane and stepped into the open doorway with a smirk. Instantly, a cheer rose from the assembled convicts despite the shouted warnings of the guards. He stepped out into the main hall a few paces, bowed, and gestured for Franklin to lead the way through the secure zone.

20 September, 1998

Logan sat back in the comfortable leather backseat of the Bentley and grinned at the man who'd come to pick him up. Maxwell Sullivan smiled back.

"Good tae ha'e ye back among the free, Dúnta", he began. "I assume the clod told ye the conditions o' yuir release?"

Logan nodded with an amused expression. "Not that I expect it to be much of a deterrant", he smirked. "Just say the word and I'm back to work."

"Nay, lad, tha's why I'm here. They, and I know ye dinnae need me tae explain who they are, are serious abou' wanting this peace tae stick." Max shrugged. "Yuir work was greatly appreciated and admired, bu' ye ha'e tae obey the terms."

"Deadly, if ye know wha' I mean." When Logan nodded his agreement, Max continued. "Wha' ye do from here is up tae you, bu' ye cannae be associated wi' the IRA. Or wi' Sinn Fein, for tha' ma'er.

"Look, we know yuir da' and brother lef' for the States. We can try and pu' ye in touch wi' them..."

The newly released sniper turned to look at the rolling countryside outside his window.

"Yuir welcome tae stay in Eire, lad, bu'..." Sullivan sighed. "I' would be be'er for the cause if ye were nay seen there again. Ye did good work for us, bu' yuir presences reminds people o' the old ways o' doing things', and i' undermines e'erything we're after trying for. Ou' o' sigh', ou' o' mind."

Max sighed. "Look, we did wha' we could for ye. Yuir still alive, are ye nay? Go find yuir da'. Make a new life."

The two men passed the rest of the ride in silence, until the Bentley pulled up at the curb of Dublin International, and Logan arched an eyebrow.

Max reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a thick black leather folio. "Passport", he said in a tone indicating there was to be no argument. "Ticket to Atlanta - first class, mind you. A few hundred quid, plus a banking card. The code is 4327, and I think you'll find the resources quite generous."

Logan looked over and slowly took the folio. He flipped it open and saw a younger version of himself staring back from the passport. Had it really only been three years?

"We thought you could use a fresh start." Max offered his hand. "Farewell. I'm sure you understand when I say I'll be very sorry if I ever see you again."

Logan nodded. "Aye. I understand", he replied softly. If he ever returned to Ireland, then someone who had stepped up to fill his vacancy in the ranks would be targeting him.

The ex-sniper stepped out of the vehicle and walked into the terminal without another word.

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Last Updated: January 28, 2004 by Blake Sorensen