Connor didn't sleep that night. He stayed in some twilight zone, keeping the connection with Murphy stable, letting him draw from his strength. He tried to soothe his brother's aching muscles by stroking the aggravated nerve connections, tried to give him the energy to breathe more deeply. He held on for dear life when the nausea returned, twisting Murphy's guts in agonizing cramps, making him retch even though there was nothing left to bring up.
Murphy drifted in and out of consciousness, clinging to Connor through the fragile connection when he was aware where he was, thrashing about in darkness when he lost track of things. Connor could tell that he was getting weaker as the hours wore on, and that they had to do something, and quick. He knew that a fever had settled deep into his brother, sapping him of more strength.
He came round to the here and now every so often to check on Jon who was constantly on the phone, or the bank of computers that were set up on the far side of the room. He'd told Jon what Murphy had found out about Marco and his twin, and the way Jon had looked at him had told Connor that a connection had just opened up in the man's brain.
"You concentrate on Murphy now. I have to make some phone calls," he'd said, already half across the room. "I'll tell you what I know as soon as I can."
The safe house they were in now was different from where they'd spent the night after the attack. They'd traveled there in the back of a van, under cover of darkness. Nobody had bothered explaining to Connor where they were exactly, but there were now dozens of people rushing around, in and out, bringing things and conversing in low voices with each other.
Connor had curled up on a sofa in one corner, closed his eyes and dedicated all his energy to Murphy. He'd stayed like this for hours, not moving, not aware of the room full of people, the bustle and activity.
-.-
"Connor."
There was a light touch on his shoulder and he was back with a snap. He opened his eyes and saw Jon leaning over him. Connor sat up and rubbed his eyes.
"Are ye ready ter talk ter me, den?"
Jon placed a cup of coffee on the small table in front of Connor. "You look awful. Did you sleep at all?"
Connor shook his head. "No. I was plugged into Murphy, trying to help him stay strong." He looked at Jon, putting all the urgency he could into his voice. "We have to get to him, we have to. He's so weak, I don't know how long…" He could not go on.
"We will, very soon. That's why I woke you up. We have figured it out. Well, some of it. Drink this," he indicated the coffee, "and I'll tell you everything."
Connor picked up the cup and took a sip. The warmth of the coffee spread in him like a blanket. He hadn't realized how cold he was. No, he thought, it was Murphy who was cold. He was almost unconscious now, only barely aware of Connor, not aware of anything else. Connor imagined stroking his hair, whispering to him. He knew Murphy could still feel this kind of touch, but he also knew that it was a matter of hours now before they'd be too late.
Jon was now sitting opposite him, and Connor tried to focus some attention on him. "We found the brother, Marco's twin. It should have been obvious, they look so alike. More alike than you two. But we just never thought of it…
"His name is Travis, and he's nominally in charge of the Krays. That's what's brought these two gangs together. The brothers managed to infiltrate not one, but two London Firms, and now they are in charge of crime in the north and east of the city.
"We know next to nothing about Travis. He's much less visible even than Marco, and since we haven't been keeping an eye on him we don't know shit about what he's been up to. We do, however," and now Jon's eyes were gleaming, "know where he is now, and where he's headed."
He leaned closer.
"Connor, we think he's going to lead us straight to Murphy, right now."
-.-
As soon as Jon had mentioned that lead Connor had gotten up and Jon, knowing instinctively that nothing was going to hold him here now had just followed. He'd grabbed a bag on the way out of the door and was on the phone again before they were outside.
"Get the van out front, now. Conn, hold up," he called after Connor who was halfway to the next corner already. "Our ride will be here in a minute. You don't have to walk there, and anyway, you still don't know where we're going."
Connor retraced his step, accepting the logic. He was feeling like he was walking around in a nightmare. With no sleep and the constant, desperate worry he was not in his best form. The link with Murphy was very weak now, he could not elicit a response from his twin any longer. He was just holding on, focusing all his strength on keeping him breathing, keeping his heart going.
We're coming, Murph, I'm almost there, just hold on a little longer. A dhuine mo ghaoil…
In the back of the van Jon was talking rapidly, filling Connor in on the details.
"Our tail has tracked Travis to East Ham Industrial Estate. I just had confirmation that he's arrived. We'll be there in fifteen minutes max."
He handed Connor a gun from his bag. "Here, take this. But please, stay back until I tell you it's safe. This is still a trap. We don't think Marco knows how big an operation we were able to muster, and that we've found him so quickly, but he will be prepared for us to try something. Connor, are you listening?"
Connor focused on Jon with difficulty. He knew that he was right, they had to be careful. If something went wrong now Murphy would surely die. Marco would kill him if he thought he'd been outmaneuvered, Connor was sure. But every cell of his being was screaming for action, for revenge on that man. Eventually, though, he nodded.
Jon looked relieved. He opened his phone again, pressed a few buttons, then listened. "ETA two minutes," he said. "All systems go."
The van came to a stop, and both men stared out the front window past the driver at the dark, twilit shadows of a jumble of buildings. The driver handed Jon a walkie talkie, and Jon switch it on. There was static for a moment, then indistinct voices. They could hear running footsteps, someone swearing, then gunshots.
"We have about thirty men in there and around the perimeter. I just hope it's enough." Jon sounded tense. Another minute passed.
And suddenly, without warning, a blinding, searing pain was shooting through Connor. It filled every inch of him, burning, freezing, burning again. He went rigid, lost track of where he was.
Marco had him by the throat. Two men were holding him up, agony on his injured shoulders, but he had no strength to stand. Air had rushed out of him when they yanked him off the floor, and now, in the iron grip, he couldn't draw breath. One of the goons was squeezing his broken hand, but that was not the pain that was shooting along the wires to Connor.
It was Marco's mind, stabbing, penetrating, violating him. Frustrated beyond endurance, Murphy knew, he had decided to try something that might kill them both. Force his way in, batter down Murphy's weakened barriers, take advantage of his broken state.
Again and again Marco hurled himself against what should be an impenetrable, sacred threshold, only crossed by invitation. Connor could see the hatred, the madness on the man's face, blurred and unfocused through Murphy's eyes.
And then the shutters came down. Murphy had locked him out, he could feel it. Connor opened his eyes, wondering for a second why he was on the floor of the van, Jon leaning over him with a worried face.
"Conn, what was that?"
But Connor had no time for explanations. He hauled himself up and had one hand on the door handle before Jon could even react. He was half out of the van when Jon managed to grab his shoulder.
"Let me go," Connor snarled and tried to get loose.
Jon only strengthened his grip. "Not until you tell me what's going on."
Connor looked back at Jon, and it suddenly hit him. This man was a killer himself, but he was on his side, and determined to help. And Connor needed any help he could get now. He took a deep breath.
"Jon, Murphy is dying. We need to get to him, now!"
