As morning broke in Northern Ireland, word quickly spread about the murder of Brendan McGann by government agents. Although most members of Sinn Fein wanted to plan revenge, there were three people who had different thoughts.

Martin, Charles and Gladys sat around the kitchen table discussing their next moves. Martin had checked on the situation in the barn frequently and although now unconscious, their guest was still alive. However, given another day or so she probably wouldn't be. So, the discussion centered around what to do.

The only paper they read from was an early edition that had gone to press before McGann's death had been announced, but it had the details of the firefight that had occurred outside of the so-called safe house.

Gladys expressed her concern. "You know them government people are smart. Sooner or later, someone will talk and this house will become known. We've had too many guests here for it to remain safe too much longer. I for one don't want to end up like O'Malley and Watson. They were good men and then they were cut down like dogs. I don't want to end up like that. I have some money saved and I can leave and find a different place and be of service elsewhere the government can't find me. You boys have some money too. You've been paid well by McGann. But the problem is that woman out there. Do we leave her here to die or do we take her someplace where someone will find her? She doesn't know where this place is so she can't lead anyone here and by the time she's conscious, we'll be long gone anyway. That is, of course, if she doesn't die before that. What do you think?"

Martin smiled. "She was a real good-looking lady. And kind of nice. I would hate to see her waste away here. And then turn into meat for the rats and vultures. Be a shame. Charles?"

"I don't give a shit. She's like all the others. Just trouble. I could go in there right now and leave my seed in her. She would never know it. She's almost gone anyway. Why should we care about her now?" What the others didn't know was what he had been doing to her every chance he had had to slip away from them.

"Charles!" Gladys corrected the man. "We care about her because, for once, Brendan brought us an educated, refined LADY. First one in a long time and it's a shame to let her die. That's why we should care about her now. He's no longer here so it's our decision to make. I say we take her to Belfast and dump her some place where she would be found. Let the police make the decision on what to do with her. If she dies, then we won't be charged with murder. Martin, do you agree?"

"Yes."

"Charles, doesn't matter now what your choice is. Decision is made. Go start the truck and back it into the barn. We'll load her up and take her. It's at least an hour's drive. If she survives the drive, or even if she doesn't, at least she'll be someone else's problem. Alright, let's do this."

In a Belfast hotel, Ron hadn't slept all night. He had spent it thinking about the next move. And how he was going to face the President. First, he was going to have to explain the secret trip to try and locate Abbey, and then their failure to do so. He had faced the anger of the President on several occasions. But to face the rage as well as the disappointment of a man he so respected and loved was going to be personally devastating.

He remembered the late-night phone call to Leo that the trio had finally made after they had gotten something to eat and decided how to break the news to the third member of the team. It had been heartbreaking to hear the disappointment in Leo's voice when they had to tell him of McGann's death and the subsequent failure of the mission.

"Leo, McGann died before he told us where Mrs. Bartlet was located and whether she was alive or dead. So, we are at the end of our mission. We have no further leads. The men that were with McGann are either dead, or they were not part of the final part of his plan."

The interminable silence on the other end of the phone seemed to go on forever. When Leo did speak, it was with a very sad voice. "Well, I guess that's it. Sounds like there's nothing else for you to do. Thank Lord John for his assistance and fly home commercial. There's no need for you to borrow his plane anymore. I'll wait until you two get back to brief the President so he can ask you any questions he might have. I know he will be sad that he won't have any definitive closure, but eventually he'll be okay. I'll show him the pictures and maybe he'll accept them in lieu of having her body. At least I hope he will. And then move on. Thank Nancy for her work. And especially Lord John for all of his assistance. Let me know when you are back. Bye."

Ron hit the bed hard with his hand. "DAMN!"

His cell phone rang, He saw it was Cecil calling, but didn't really wanted to answer it. He flipped it open anyway.

"Cecil…"

"Ron, I'm at Belfast Medical Center and the police just brought in a woman they found in a park in the Belfast suburbs who looks a lot like Abigail Bartlet. I have a car waiting…"

Ron didn't hear anything else. He ran out of the room and headed for the stairwell. Ten flights later he flew through the lobby and met Nancy heading out the front door of the hotel as well. They both jumped in the running black car which sped away. Siren blasting, the car weaved through traffic and arrived in front of the Medical Center where Cecil greeted them.

"Come with me."

He led them to the Emergency Room and then pointed out the exam room when the woman lay.

Ron slammed open the door, and stopped. Nancy slammed into him and started to apologize until she looked around him and saw the woman as well.

"It sure does look like Mrs. Bartlett. Her face is bruised and much thinner but it seems like the same facial structure." Ron approached the bed, as the doctor looked at him cautiously.

"Can I help you?"

Ron pulled his credentials from his coat pocket. "Ron Butterfield, United States Secret Service."

"Can I ask why you are in this particular room?"

"Because this patient may be the missing First Lady of the United States of America, Abigail Bartlet."

The doctor looked at his patient, and then back at Ron. "I heard that Mrs. Bartlet died."

"She might have, but her body was never recovered. Now, it's my turn for questions. Have you typed her blood yet?"

"No, that's not routine."

"Please draw a tube please and run it stat."

"Okay, Nurse, please."

"And, could you get some dental x-rays so we could have some comparisons?"

Ron looked at Nancy, who was still in the doorway.

"Yes, I'll get them faxed here right away." Nancy left.

The doctor replied to Ron. "I guess so. Nurse, please call Radiology and get a portable machine up here."

"Now, I need to examine the patient in a private area. You can stay, but I will definitely need your nurse to stay."

The doctor slammed the chart shut. "No. I will not allow you to violate the privacy of this patient. This is ridiculous and I'm asking you to leave right now."

"I'll leave, but I will be back with a court order."

"You do that. Until then, stay out."

Ron turned and left the room. Cecil was outside, waiting for Ron to come out.

"Well, is she Abigail Bartlet?"

"I'm pretty sure. She's lost a lot of weight, but her facial structure is the same. I have to wait to know her blood type and look at her dental records. Then there's another check, but the doctor won't let me do it. I'm going to need a court order."

"Tell me why."

"When a family enters the White House, the Secret Service asks each individual for any markings on their bodies that only they or their spouse or family knows about. We would use them only in case of identification or in cases we think people have been switched. Mrs. Bartlet has such a mark, but it is in such a location that I have to have a female to watch me check. Get my drift?"

"Yeah. You'll have your court order in fifteen minutes."

"Thanks, Cecil. You're a good guy after all."

"Ron, coming from you that means a lot. Now let me go."