Ciara and Connor sat together on a park bench, looking down on the Italian Soldier Connor's father had stopped.  Both had mirthless expressions as they interrogated him.  "Ya work for Don Algo Cassini?" Connor ground out, the dangerous tone in his voice belied by his outer calm. 

            "I'll talk to her," the soldier returned, looking at Ciara. 

            "Then talk.  Me friend's not leavin'," she said, arms crossed. 

            "Ciara, you know me.  I'm not a bad person.  I just work to pay my bills.  I have a wife and family. They've threatened to kill my daughters more than once."  Ciara nodded.  Obviously she knew him from somewhere, for she seemed to agree with his story.  Connor wondered who he was as he started spilling details of what had happened since Algo Cassini's death.  How his brother had taken up arms against her and all she loved to avenge him.  The man's dark hair fell across his eyes in soft curls, hiding the lines of age which crossed his brow.  Connor saw the fear in his eyes.  It was genuine. This man was no ordinary soldier.  "I could lead you to them. For immunity.  Get me and my family out of here, and quick." Ciara nodded, touching Connor's arm to silence him as she knelt before their prisoner. 

            "I have the money to send ya where ya need to go.  But ya have to give up this business forever.  Swear it." 

            "I swear."

            "Done," she replied, looking meaningfully at their captive.  "Let this man up.  He's good as his word."  She watched as Smecker waited for Connor's approval before cutting the man's bonds.  He outlined a map on a piece of paper for them, including look-out spots and times when the guard changed.  The place he had described was a moderate-sized house, but it may as well have been a fortress the way it was guarded.  He sketched a brief working of the basement, where they held captives.  He hadn't been down there more than once, so his account was slightly hazy.  He finally wrote down his account number at Ciara's request for her to transfer money for his escape.  Connor watched with slight disappointment as the man was allowed to walk away unscathed. 

            "I dinna make plans ta bargain wi' the enemy," Connor told her, hiding his disapproval. 

            "He's a driver, nothin' more.  I seen his house an' the way they treat 'im. 'E's no more than a paid employee.  An' they 'ave threatened his family.  And asides, I owe 'im more than that.  He saved me life."  Before Connor could question her further, she changed subject to the plan for their rescue.  Connor hoped like hell that Murphy and Kiley would still be alive when they found them, and that Ciara wasn't mistaken. 

Kiley awoke to the room spinning like a top.  As she slowly became aware of her surroundings, she realized she was tied to a chair by her wrists.  Blood flowed freely from a jagged cut across her forehead, and her limbs ached in places she never knew existed.  Still, she was alive, and as far as she could tell, still held her virtue.  Cinder-block walls made drab décor.  The floor was concrete, and had nothing in the way of carpeting.  She realized during her visual tour of the room that Murphy was on the ground at her feet.  She held her breath and watched him for a moment.  He was still breathing, but unconscious.  She nudges him with a foot, hoping to stir him to consciousness. 

            She briefly remembered the last effort he had made to break free before they had knocked him out cold.  He was covered in cuts and bruises from the encounter.  A jagged slash ran across his back from shoulder to shoulder where one assailant had used a knife.  He had a huge bump on the back of his head.  Kiley was certain he'd have a concussion.  She assumed that Connor and Ciara had either escaped, or died fighting.  Either way, she felt terribly alone.  What if she never saw them again?  The thought was more than she could rightly bear.  She heard Murphy moan through dry lips at her last nudge.  "Murph!" she hissed under her breath.  "Murphy!"

            "I'm alive," he grumbled, still not fully aware of what was going on. 

            "Can ya move?" she asked him more urgently.

            "'M tied up," he replied with a slight slur.  "Think m' ribs're bruised, too."

            "Ya took quite the beating," she told him.  "How's yer head?"

            "Worse than any hangover," he replied, rolling over as best he could to meet her eyes.  He managed a crooked MacManus smile.  His teeth were crimson with blood from his bitten tongue. 

            "Think they'll come for us?" she whispered.

            "Knowin' those two? Surely," he replied.  "If they can agree." 

            Ciara glanced crossly at Connor, arguing with his plan for the fifth time in as many minutes.  "I'm lighter.  Let me in through the window.  Ya can take Agent Smecker wi' ya an' meet me in the middle.  Yer da can man the getaway car."

            "I don' wan' ya in danger."

            "Oh, an' it's okay fer you ta get into messes, but not me?  I'm alive, an' of my own accord," she snarled.  "This is my fault, an' that's my sis an' my fiancée in there.  I've as much reason as ya do ta be there."  She shook her head, trying to regain her calm.  "I promised Ki I'd always take care o' her," she explained more quietly. 

            Connor's expression softened.  "Yer right.  I am just worried is all.  I wonder if I'll ever see Kiley and Murph again."  Both gave into their fears for a moment, sitting side-by-side in silent contemplation.  Ciara burst into tears.  It was the first time he had ever seen her express anything other than anger.  He gathered her in his embrace, fighting the urge to cry himself.  They were so much alike.  Maybe that was why they had never taken time to get to know each other.  "Okay.  Ya go in through the window," he said after a moment.  "I'll take Smecker in wi' me through the front door.  Yer goal is to clear the house from the back an' get to the basement while we distract 'em.  I wan' ya to get them an' get out.  Got it?"  Ciara nodded, eyes hardening.  The saline trails of her tears ran soft fingers down her throat.  Connor wiped them away with shaking fingers. "An' promise me somethin', Ci."

            "What?"

            "We'll make time ta get ta know one another after this mess is over."

            "Ya got it," she said, managing a smile.  The smile lit up her face, making her seem so much like her sister.  Connor smiled back before leaving her to share their ideas with the others.

            Connor waited around the corner in the bushes, looking the house over for the security points the driver had told them about.  He could see the large shadows of guards in the window, and two sitting out on the front porch with a pack of cards.  The street that the house sat on was a relatively quiet place in a respectable neighborhood.  Connor wondered if any of their neighbors had any clue what went on in the house.  It seemed nice enough, with a garden and well-tended lawns out in front. It was just the icing on an operation of Italian force. 

            He watched as Ciara made her way around the back of the house to find a window.  He noted her slight limp, but could hear nothing as she stalked across the road, over the fence, and out of sight.  He had to admire her ability to move silently.  He hadn't expected such a wonderful partner in crime.  Papa MacManus waved from the car that she had found a window.  That was Connor's cue.  He glanced back at Smecker before checking his loaded weapons.  He had two guns and loads of extra clips.  Smecker was armed with his 9mm, police-issue Beretta and was prepared with two other guns.  He would fire his clip, then keep reloading for Connor while he carried out the rest of the shooting.  Smecker loosened his tie before giving the okay signal.  They strode toward the front gate, bold as brass in broad daylight.  They were either very foolish or very brave, Connor wasn't exactly sure which. 

            Ciara made it into the second-floor window by climbing the drain pipe.  She crouched behind a bed, holding in her breath.  She sniffed disgustedly at the over-priced décor in the bedroom, stifling a laugh as she looked back at the tacky curtains.  No one had noticed her.  Now all she had to do was wait until she could hear Connor…

            "What are you doing?" Connor heard the challenge, but said nothing.  He raised both weapons and fired them into the faces of the enemy.  Both collapsed in nearly soundless death.  The use of silencers in a private neighborhood had been a wise call on Ciara's part.  Connor sneered in satisfaction as he made his way past the lifeless bodies and kicked the front door open with a bang.  Smecker followed him, flattening himself against a wall, gun cocked. Connor peered around the corner, firing immediately.  Smecker leaned around the corner just long enough to take aim at one of four men blocking their way.  Connor could hear shouts of dismay from the enemy as he continued his grisly task.

            "I think I 'ear guns," Kiley said quietly, struggling against her bonds.  No one had been in to interrogate them.  Kiley wondered what was happening above as the loud crash overhead signaled the collapse of a china cabinet.  She was about to say something else when two soldiers burst into the room, loaded guns pointed at their heads. 

            "You've served your purpose as bait.  None of you will leave alive," one laughed maniacally, terrified light blazing in his eyes.  Murphy heard the shot fired from the first gun.  He somehow managed to leap to his bound feet, throwing himself in the path of the missile as it flew at Kiley.  She let out a frightened scream as Murphy grunted in pain and surprise.  The bullet had hit him in his gut.  Still, he rolled over and crawled toward the men, cursing them in all manner of languages as he fought against the darkness overcoming him.  Kiley heard the click of the hammer from the enemy guns, closing her eyes as she summoned her courage.  She threw herself back with a cacophonous clatter of steel on concrete, saving herself by hitting the floor with so much force the wind was knocked from her lungs.  She rolled over, kicking out violently.  She was waiting for the shots that would end both of their lives when they heard an angry challenge from the top of the stairs, and watched in shock as their captors collapsed in lifeless heaps. 

            "Kiley?" an unmistakable voice called out.  It had to be Ciara.  Kiley was frozen for a moment before shouting back.

            "Ci!  Quick! We're tied up!  Murphy's been shot.  I don't know if they hit anythin' fatal."  Ciara's light footsteps changed to thunder as she charged down the stairs.  She pulled her knife from her boot and cut her sister free, then loosened Murphy's bonds and laid him out flat, paling at the sight of his blood running in a great pool from his abdomen.  She was afraid to move him, but knew they would all risk death if she didn't.  She lifted him with a grunt, passing Kiley a loaded gun. 
            "Cover us," she ordered urgently, leading the way back up the stairs.  Through the kitchen doorway, Kiley could see men falling left and right, hear the insane laughter of Connor as he sent the men to hell.  She met Smecker's eyes briefly before tearing out the back door after her sister.  Ciara urged her over the fence, and she struggled to hold Murphy's dead weight while Ciara climbed over.  They lifted him between them, sliding him on the back seat of the car.  The door was still thrown wide as Papa MacManus peeled off around the corner to hide from the sirens of the police.  They were coming to stop the fight.  Kiley watched in horrified fascination as the police snuffed out everyone who left the front door.  She saw Connor and Smecker clearing the fence. 

            "Righ' there!  I'll tell 'em where ta go.  Ya get Murphy home.  We'll see ya."  Kiley jumped from the car before her sister could protest.  Ciara looked helplessly down at Murphy for a moment, wondering if she could save him at all.  Her urge to heal finally took over, and she went to work. She cut Murphy's shirt from him with her knife, unbuttoned his pants, and finally managed to locate the wound by wiping some of the blood away with the shirt.  It was low on his abdomen, below the major organs.  Her only concern was the lower spine and the bleeding.  Probing the wound with her fingers, she found the bullet lodged only an inch inside.  It had been slowed down by something.  The blood loss was all she had to deal with.  She relaxed a little, pushing down hard on the wound with the shirt to slow the blood flow.  She would dig the bullet out when they got inside the house.  She watched Il Duce lift his son and carry him inside.  They lay him out on the kitchen table, and she prepared her instruments by heating them over flame.  She washed her hands thoroughly and put on gloves.  Digging around for a few moments, she came out with the bullet, glistening with Murphy's blood. 

            Ciara shoved gauze into the wound, cleaning it out.  Then she took a flame-heated tool and used it to cauterize the wound as best she could.  Finally, she bandaged it.  Disgusted and light-headed, she banged open the back door and retched in the grass.  Papa MacManus eyed her sympathetically.  "He's got to stay covered.  There may be fever from infection," she told him, salivating before vomiting again.  He nodded, carrying Murphy to the couch and covering him up before coming back out to her and patting her back. 

            "Yer a tough woman, Ciara.  Yer da'd woulda been proud o'ya."  She smiled ruefully. 

            "Would that 'e were here right now.  He'd ha' stopped my foolishness," she said, sighing.

            "Ci, yer da woulda done just as you had.  Yer mam never told ya where he went, did she?"

            "No."  Ciara crawled onto the back step, elbows on her knees.

            "Yer da fought wi' me.  Bravest man, fought like a thousand wildcats.  'E believed we were makin' a difference.  Any'ow, he was captured.  I tried ta rescue 'im, but foun' him already dead.  'E had killed 'imself, rather than letting them torture him.  Yer da wanted me safe.  Good man.  Yer da saved me life."  Ciara nodded slowly, wondering why the old man was telling her that.  "Ciara, if I tell ya somethin', will ya swear not ta tell another soul?"  She furrowed her brow, wondering what was such sacred information that she alone would know it.  Still, she shook her head yes, settling down next to him.  "I'm dyin'.  Of lung cancer.  I know damn well I am too far gone ta seek treatment.  I knew ya'd know first time ya saw me 'ave an episode, bein' a doctor an' all.  I wan' you to swear ya won' tell me sons what's happenin'."

            "I promise," she whispered, not daring to meet his eyes.