"What the fuck is this?"

The banter and laughter around the table came to an abrupt end. Catherine hoisted Sean off her lap, quietly telling him to rejoin his brother outside with Seamus. The sixteen men from Crossmaglen simultaneously looked to their brigade commander, who leaned back in his chair. Dessie crossed his arms over his chest, an expression that dared Jimmy to say something to him was glued on his face.

At the moment Catherine greatly appreciated the help, though now it seemed like a major mistake. She knew better and should have shooed them away. She worried Jimmy would come up with a colorful way to punish them for their good deeds.

"It's my fault," Catherine spoke up. "I asked for their help."

Dessie shot her a shut your goddamn mouth kind of look, then turned back to Jimmy. "No, she didn't. I saw her workin' alone an' ordered my guys to help."

"Aye. That's what happened, Jimmy. Didn't mean any harm." Rory Quinn backed up his OC's claim.

Jimmy turned his attention to Catherine. Her features softened, while he remained rigid. He knew the men were lying right to his face but there wasn't a single thing he could do about it. Well, he could make all of the units do some menial labor, however, all that would do is make him appear jaded and petty.

What the hell changed during the weeks he was in prison?

Now he was starting to second guess his decision to demote her. Jimmy genuinely worried they'd all turn against him if they found out she was no longer part of the leadership.

This wasn't a battle worth fighting. Strutting to the table, he kicked Catherine out of her chair and occupied it. Dessie offered her his seat but she refused, opting to rest her back against the wall with the others.

"What's the plan for tonight, Dess?" Jimmy asked.

"Same plan of action as the other day. Jack and Aidan, youse are in charge of gettin' the vans to the timber yard. As for the rest of ya, just make sure you get there before six." He snapped his fingers then pointed to Catherine. "You're drivin' down to Dublin with me, Jimmy an' Donny'll follow to help keep an eye on the lorry an' make the container makes it the yard."

If she were taking over Liam's old responsibilities, then she had no business driving down to Dublin. She would be the scout driver-getting the vans safely over the border and to the farm in Forkhill.

"Jimmy said-"

Jimmy stopped her before she could repeat what he said last night. "It's Dessie's call. He wants ya to drive down with him, you will."

Plus it would offer the perfect chance for him to see how they interact with one another.

Dessie wished Catherine and Jimmy would find a new sort of foreplay. It was painfully obvious they were back to screwing around, and the way they bickered, purposely creating sexual tension between was making everyone in the room uncomfortable.

He cleared his throat and glanced at the clock on the stove. "I gotta reach out to my contact at the port an' get an ETA on the cargo ship from Boston. How about we break for lunch, then come back an' hammer out a route to Forkhill?"

At the mere mention of food, Catherine's stomach rumbled. Feeding nearly twenty insatiable Irishmen would get her mind off Jimmy for a bit.


Eamonn and Sean were in the living room watching cartoons, while Catherine washed the dishes from lunch. Jimmy sat at the table flipping through that morning's issue of the Times, while Dessie and his crew were outside swapping license plates on the cars set to be used for the transport.

Closing the paper, he stood and quietly pushed in the chair. He walked up behind her, reached over her shoulder, snagging the wet plate from her hand.

"What are ya-"

"Stop talkin'," he ordered, dropping the plate into the sink and shutting off the water. He pushed her hair off her neck, then brought his lips close to her ear. "Do you trust me?"

Catherine felt sick to her stomach. She hated these mental games Jimmy was playing with her and wished he'd just beat her bloody and call it a day already. Her gut was telling her to get away from him, but he pressed himself against her as well as placed his hands on the counter so she was essentially trapped.

Silently, she prayed one of the boys would walk in, forcing Jimmy to derail whatever plan he had in mind.

When she didn't answer fast enough, he asked again, "Do you trust me?"

This time, his words were lower, more drawn out.

Catherine's veins pumped ice.

She muttered, "Aye."

"Dead-on."

In swift motions, before Catherine even had a chance to register what was happening, Jimmy tightly wrapped his hands around her wrist. He forced it onto the counter. Next, he dug into the pocket of his trousers and held a switchblade in front of her face. His thumb pressed the black button on the matte blue handle, causing the sharp blade to spring to life.

"Spread your fingers."

"No...no," she stammered. "Your son is just in the other room, so he is."

"He's fine. Now, spread your goddamn fingers."

When she started to writhe, Jimmy pressed himself even closer against Catherine to keep her still. He understood her apprehension; he'd been just as fearful the first time something like this happened to him. Expect, he was going easy on her. When he first joined the Republican Army, trust-building exercises weren't as tame - the chemical burn on his back was evidence of such.

Maybe if he had forced her to endure the torturesome pain of a lye burn when she was a recruit, she never would have two-timed him.

"I thought you trust me, a chuisle. Or were you just lyin'?"

"Why are ya doin' this? Why not just take my beret and let that be the end of it?"

"Because I don't wanna take your beret. A lot of people have been tryin' to turn you against me for a very long time now, so I can't blame you for cavin' under their manipulation. What does worry me though, is that you've lost trust in me, and I can't trust you if you don't trust me. In our world, ya know exactly what happens when there's uncertainty. For our boy's sake, neither of us can end up in jail or dead."

"I'm sorry, I'm so fuckin' sorry for what I said to the council, and I do trust ya, just as I promise ya you can trust me."

"Then relax." Jimmy tenderly kissed her temple. "And prove it to me. Spread your fingers, Catherine; I promise I won't hurt ya."

She was so desperate to once again be in Jimmy's good grace. If this is what it took to get there, this was exactly what she'd do. Taking a shuttering breath, Catherine tried as best she could to relax against him. She uncurled her fingers from under her palm and flattened them out so there was ample space between them.

With his grip still tight around her wrist, Jimmy readjusted the knife in his hand. "Just relax and most importantly, breathe."

Yeah, okay, Catherine thought. That was far easier said than done when all she kept thinking about was that knife slipping and stabbing right through her hand.

He started slowly, moving the knife side-to-side between her fingers. Catherine watched fearfully as he sped up, his pattern becoming random and unpredictable. Jimmy could feel her trembling against him and refused to allow her nerves to distract him—he was so focused on not fucking up, remaining in control.

God forbid he did puncture her, she didn't want to see it coming. Yet for some reason, she couldn't tear her eyes away.

From the living room, she could hear the cartoons the boys were watching. From the open window, she could hear the guys goofing around outside. But the only sound she focused on was the tip of the blade hitting the countertop.

Her heart pounded so hard, Catherine started to see stars.

The longer it went on, the closer to tears she became. Adrenaline was running so high in her blood, an anxiety attack was bubbling to the surface. She wanted to scream out and tell him to stop, but she was afraid if she did then he'd lose his edge.

Only when Eamonn's sweet laugh carried into the kitchen did he stop. Dropping the knife on the counter, Jimmy also released her wrist. He wrapped her tight in his arms as she turned around and buried her face into his chest.

Over and over she apologized, her tears starting to dampen his black shirt. Jimmy was still so numb to it all, he wasn't sure if he could believe her words.

"Am I interruptin'?" Donny roared from the doorway.

Catherine pulled her face from his chest, pushing her hair behind her ears while sniffling. She turned on the water again so she could splash her face with cold water.

Jimmy grabbed the knife, closed the blade, and slipped it back into his pocket. "Not at all. What's up?"

"Paddy's on his way to the safe house to stay with the boys. We should be headin' over there to drop 'em off and change."

"Ya wanna come with, a chuisle? See your da."

She shook her head. While she would like the chance to see Patrick, she needed some time apart from Jimmy. "No, you go and take the boys. I'll stay back and help Dessie; haven't done this in so long I'm afraid I'll be rusty."

Jimmy found himself wishing he hadn't asked Eamonn and Sean about Dessie spending time with Catherine. The second she said his name, all Jimmy could imagine was Dessie pounding her quick and hard in the bathroom once he left. Those images left him feeling lightheaded and heartbroken. He had to convince himself his imagination was wrong; she was telling the truth and when he arrived back he'd find her loading duffles with rifle magazines, sans post-orgasm flush.

Drying her hands, she weakly smiled. All she wanted was to hug her boys and smother them with kisses. She always dreaded saying goodbye to them.


The Dublin port was a well organized and heavy-duty logistics enterprise. Green, blue, yellow, and orange shipping containers were stacked four high with the help of automated cranes that ran nonstop in the terminal.

Across the road from where the never-ending parade of trucks carrying those containers came in and out of the port, sat two sedans. A rusted chainlink fence separated them from an oil tank field and a collection of peeling, rundown industrial buildings with smashed windows and weather-beaten fascias.

In the driver's seat of the second Ford Focus, Catherine popped her bubblegum as she flipped through the pages of the Cosmopolitan magazine she picked up at a petrol station in Drogheda. Ahead of she and Dessie, was Jimmy and Donny, who undoubtedly kept their eyes glued on the port's gates, anxiously waiting to spot the truck carrying the container filled with illegally imported cigarettes.

And, a brand new Barrett rifle.

They had no idea which container their shipment was in, but they did know which truck it would be on. So, they did what they always did; sit tight and wait then follow the truck to a timber yard near the border.

Unfortunately for all involved, it was a drawn-out undertaking, requiring lots of coffee and music to keep them awake and alert. Four hours after the cargo ship had arrived in Dublin, there was still no sign of their goods.

"When it comes to sex positions, you: sometimes try different things, sometimes stick to classics. Tend to stick to a couple'a favorites or what he suggests—you're not keen on doin' anythin' too out there. Change it up every night."

"Gotta change that shite up," answered Dessie, smoke wafting from his mouth and nose.

"Last question. You're goin' down on a new guy, and he is just not into it. You: Try to switch it up—if it's still not happenin' you ask for direction. Just call it; it's not your favorite thing to begin with. Or, keep goin' and hope he gets off eventually."

"Well, seein' as to how I'm not a selfish lover, I ask for direction."

Catherine tallied up his score. "Congrats, Dess. You're pretty damn good in bed."

"I didn't need some brain-meltin' broad magazine to tell me that."

Tossing the Cosmo into the backseat, she then lit a cigarette. Looking to her left, she saw Dessie staring at her with a sort of smug grin on his face.

"Oh, so I don't get to see how good you are in bed?"

"Don't be a pervert." She smiled and rolled her eyes. "Besides, you mean to tell me, Jimmy or Darragh, never once let it slip how I am in bed? Isn't shite like that what youse blabber about anyway?"

He snorted. "Please, Jimmy is about as tight-lipped as they come; never said a bloody word no matter how drunk we got him. Darragh did let slip that bein' with you is like takin' a trip to Brazil, though."

Her jaw nearly fell into her lap. "No, he didn't!"

"Aye, and considerin' I found that to be true," he took a quick drag from his cigarette, "that must mean it's also true you've a wee tattoo on that pretty arse of yours."

"He told you about that, too!"

"No, Doherty ratted ya out on the ink. Which brings me to my next question: why were ya showin' your arse to the likes of Seamus Doherty?"

Catherine covered her face with her hands. She was so embarrassed she wished she could implode and escape from this conversation altogether. Though, she did make a mental note to give Seamus a fat lip the next time she saw him for blabbing his mouth all over south Armagh.

Nor was she happy Darragh told God knows how many of her fellow volunteers about her grooming habits. Considering gossip among them traveled faster than in an all-girls grammar school, the likelihood of all six counties knowing as well, was highly probable.

Catherine decided she had no other choice but to leave Ireland to escape further embarrassment.

Firstly, she had to make something very clear. "I didn't just show him my arse if that's what he told ya. I was in Dundalk to be debriefed and we were sloshed playin' strip poker. I do have a wee tattoo of a heart on my arse, which he only saw because I was wearin' these cheeky knickers that didn't cover my bum all the way." She saw Dessie open his mouth and she was privy to what he would say. Holding up her index finger, she scolded, "I'm not showin' it to ya, so don't even ask."

"I'd never forgive myself if I didn't at least try," Dessie chuckled. "Not to bring up a sore subject or anythin', but are things good with you and Jimmy? Sounded like things got kinda heated between youse last night."

She drummed her fingers on the top of the steering wheel, staring straight ahead to the car Jimmy was in. Struggling to find the words to answer, Catherine wondered if they ever would be okay again. The guilt she felt for selling him down the river was immense and she promised herself she'd make it right again. Whatever it took, she'd do with a smile on her face.

She couldn't tell him the real reason why they were fighting. "Aye. Things are just…complicated right now. My brother accidentally let it slip around Sean that Jimmy is Eamonn's da so now Eamonn knows and we're just tryin' to figure out how to make it work."

"Shite. Is it hard for you havin' Jimmy around more often? Considerin' what happened between him and Darragh."

"T'was at first, especially for like the first couple'a months after the funeral. After two years of not seein' each other or speakin', there was still a lot of built-up animosities, ya know? A few long nights of difficult conversations and a lot of brandy and tears, we were able to just get everythin' out in the air and move on. I know I had tremendous help from my parents, my brother, hell even Fiona. But honestly, I don't think I would have been able to survive as I did without Jimmy. Or you. You were the only one who didn't turn their back on me when I stepped back and joined Sinn Fein."

Dessie placed his hand on her meaty thigh, giving it a warmhearted squeeze. "They're still bitter over the Good Friday Agreement an' think every ounce of blood spilled durin' their time with the Provisional's was for nothin'…can't say I don't feel the same. What some of the fellas like Jimmy, an' even your da forget sometimes is that ya were still in nappies durin' the height of Na Trioblóidí, so they can't understand why you'd take a diplomatic approach instead of solvin' everythin' with some bullets an' gelignite."

"Do you think I'm makin' a mistake by turnin' down their offer to overthrow the Kings and Jimmy?"

"Nope," he said, not the slightest hint of hesitation. "Darragh had a brilliant plan—cause just enough chaos on the street-"

"The public outcry'll force the Real and Continuity armies to put pressure on us for a leadership change."

"Aye."

"Goddamn do I love that man." She smiled, but it quickly fell. "Oh shite; that means he wasn't gettin' more radical, does it? The car bomb, pipe bombs and mortars…those-"

"Those were all ploys."

Catherine rested her forehead against the steering wheel and squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted to scream but she kept it locked away because she couldn't tell him what the Kings did to Darragh.

The south Armagh shipments of cigarettes and petrol provided the cash to fund the arms trade up north, so she needed Dessie's mind focused on this and only this. Once she told him, there wasn't a single doubt in her mind that's all he'd be thinking of. Considering Dessie had been part of that campaign, he deserved to know; there was a chance he'd be next.

Their attention was drawn to the fresh batch of trucks pulling out of the port and slowly moving in the direction of the motorway.

"That's the lorry," Dessie said, tossing his cigarette out the window. He rolled the window up as he popped open the glove compartment to pull out a Glock for her and his Browning pistol.

Catherine carefully took it from him, placing it in the door compartment next to her. She wanted it to be within arms reach. After starting the engine, she pulled into traffic behind Donny and Jimmy.

About a mile up the road was the container they were looking for. When they reached the tangled mess of major road junctions near the airport, where the M50 and M1 merged, they managed to close the gap and followed close behind.

Heading north, traffic thinned out significantly since they made the trip down. Catherine was grateful as it allowed them to keep the rusty green container in their sight.

"Be honest. What are ya gonna do with the Barrett?"

Catherine cheekily smiled. "Who said it's for me?"

Dessie lit a cigarette. "Please, there's only one person in the Ra who I know prefers the bolt-action Barrett over an automatic."

"I know you're not talkin' about me then because I'm not part of the Republican Army."

He was impressed by her ability to keep such a straight face. There was no sly grin or wink. Claiming no involvement was a lie Catherine was fully committed to. Dessie wasn't aware her skill of remaining stone-faced was beaten into her.

Getting off at the next junction, they continued for another three miles to an industrial park, which eventually turned into a timber yard.

The owner of Gavin's Timber International was on the payroll of the True army. A long-time supporter of the cause, old man Gavin enjoyed the kickbacks he received by allowing them to use his space to facilitate the cigarette trade. It also made the importing process a hell of a lot easier because when containers were marked for drop off at the timber yard, its contents was hardly ever inspected.

In the half-full parking lot beside the loading docks, Catherine backed into a space and Donny did the same. All four of them got out of their respective cars, watched as the truck backed up to a raised loading bay. Beside the truck were two unmarked white vans, their rear doors open and ready to be loaded. This shipment was considerably smaller than the usual haul; considering it was meant to help cover the costs lost to SAMCRO's warehouse burning down.

"Bet ya didn't miss this one bit, huh?" Dessie casually tossed an arm over Catherine's shoulders, pulling her closer to him as they walked.

Not thinking anything of it, Catherine wrapped her arm around his side. "Haulin' beams out of the container, not so much. But I did miss workin' with youse; never a dull moment with the south Armagh fellas."

"My offer still stands for you to join us down in Cross."

"Ya know, Dess," she chuckled, "I may just take ya up that offer one of these days."

Strolling behind Catherine and Dessie, Jimmy rolled up the sleeves of his black Aran sweater. His eyes bugged when he saw Dessie throw his arm around her, but what made him almost drop of a heart attack was how she adoringly curled her arm around him. Watching Dessie's tattooed fingers coil around the ends of her curls and by the fact she did nothing to stop him, was all Jimmy needed to convince himself what he already believed was true.

Donny slapped Jimmy on the shoulder and pointed to the sight in front of them. "You think anythin' is goin' on between 'em?"

"That girl has so many daddy issues, it wouldn't surprise me."

"At first I thought it was just a rumor, but some of the fellas from Cross said she's spending a lot of weekends down there with the boys. And durin' the week Dessie's makin' more trips than usual to Belfast."

"Funny," Jimmy said, tucking a cigarette into the corner of his mouth, "Eamonn told me the same thing."


There were twenty of them working in groups of four. They hauled the beams out of the container, stacking them under a covered area not too far from the loading bay. Halfway through, they stopped to take a break, many of them stripping down to their t-shirts despite the cold.

Sweaty and near exhaustion, Catherine shrugged out of her coat before pulling the sweatshirt over her head. As she tossed them into the pile on the ground, Jimmy tossed a critical glance in her direction. She guessed he didn't approve of her choice to wear a pushup bra with a fairly deep v-neck t-shirt.

Brushing it off, Catherine thanked Dessie for the cigarette after he lit one for her.

After their break, they got back to work. It took them just under a half-hour to finish with the beams before they hit the jackpot. Wooden crates stacked four wide, three high, two deep.

Catherine and Dessie grabbed the first one, hauling it out. They dropped it on the dusty ground just outside of the container and one of the guys handed Dessie a crowbar. He jammed it under the lid of the crate, forcing the nails free. With the help of a few other guys, they were able to free the lid.

Setting it aside, Dessie knelt and started rummaging through the hay looking for the cartons of cigarettes. Confused, he pulled the hay out.

The crate was empty.

He pointed to two of his men. "Grab another one."

As they scrambled back into the container, Jimmy, Dessie, and Catherine ping-ponged glances. While the trio was thinking the same thing, they didn't let their concern show on the surface.

When the men brought Dessie another crate, he wasted no time peeling off the lid. When he pulled the hay out of this one, it wasn't exactly empty.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," Donny blurted, "Is that a goddamn finger?"

Jumping to his feet, Dessie whipped the crowbar and kicked the crate containing some poor bloke's pinky finger. He screamed, "Fuck!"

"Ya think it was UVF or UDA?" asked Rory.

Catherine shook her head and looked to Jimmy. "Real army; has to be. This wasn't about the cigarettes to 'em, they wanted the rifle. They know we're the only ones who figured out how to move weapons through the ports."

"Why the fuck would they want a bolt-action rifle?" Dessie pondered.

"They're still usin' outdated shite from the Provisionals." Jimmy wiped the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his t-shirt. "What I'm more concerned about is how in the fuck did they figure out we had it comin' in today? Was this you?" He pointed to Catherine. "You been flappin' those gums to Mickey Ryan, too?"

"You son-of-a-bitch!" Catherine felt a bubble of anger burst in her belly. She took a step forward to lung at Jimmy, but before she could get anywhere near him, Dessie wrapped an arm around her middle, pushing her back.

Donny inched Jimmy backward, too, sensing it was probably a good idea to put a little distance between them. Jimmy took the cigarette from behind his ear and tucked it into the corner of his mouth, smugly smiling at Catherine from over Donny's shoulder.

Dessie took Catherine's clammy face in his sticky hands, telling her to look at him. She concentrated on his chocolate brown eyes. Gripping his wrists, she squeezed tightly. "I didn't say anythin' to Mickey, I swear I didn't!"

"I know ya didn't. He's just tryin' to get under your skin. Ya gotta let it go so you can think clearly, okay?"

Catherine nodded.

"Good," he breathed, lightly slapping her right cheek. He dropped his hands from her face, placing one on the small of her back as they rejoined the group congregated around the empty crates.

"Assumin' it was the Real army to did a bait an' switch, how the feck did they pull it off?"

"Easy," Catherine started " They tailed us, figured out which ports we use and gained their contacts inside." She turned to Dessie. "You must've caught a tail when ya met with your contact inside the port so they knew who's been coordinatin' our shipments. What better way to get someone talkin' than shootin' off their wee finger. So once they knew which container was ours, they were able to grab our shite. As far as we know, this may not even be the original container the beams shipped in."

Dessie scrubbed his face with his hands as he dropped into a squat. He felt like a complete idiot for being so careless. How could he not realize he'd been tailed? "She's right. It took us what, an hour-and-a-half to unload? The container was sitting in the port for over four hours. I'm sorry I fucked up-I didn't even have the slightest feelin' anyone was followin' me."

"It's not your fault, Dess," Rory called out. "I'm intelligence officer, this falls on me."

Catherine placed her hands on her hips. "Shite like this just happens; a few years ago we lost a shipment of AK's to 'em." She asked Jimmy, "Regardless, what do you wanna do?"

Quiet for several moments, Jimmy weighed his options. "We let it go."

Catherine didn't like that answer. She thought it would make them seem weak to the Real army. That they didn't have enough man-power to come and collect their merchandise. She knew Jimmy answered the way he did because he felt half a shipment of cigarettes and an easily replaceable rifle wasn't worth the possible bloodied outcome.

But Catherine refused to roll over and allow the Real army to walk all over them. Sure, they could procure another rifle but that meant shelling out another ten-thousand-dollars which could be spent on other resources they desperately needed.

Besides, Catherine wanted to remind the boys in Derry who ran the six counties.

Without a word, she jumped off the loading bay.

"Where do you think you're goin'?" Jimmy asked as she walked towards the vans.

Stopping mid-stride, she turned around but kept walking. "I'm not lettin' this one go. Can't steal nearly thirty-grand from us and expect nothin' to happen."

From the back of one of the vans, she grabbed an Armalite and balaclava. She slung the strap of the rifle over her shoulder, stuffing the black face-mask into the back pocket of her jeans. Jimmy walked to the edge of the loading bay, unsure whether to be mad or proud.

He couldn't allow her to do it alone, yet no one else seemed keen on joining her. If he changed his mind, Jimmy worried it would seem he lost confidence in his ability to lead, but if he didn't stop Catherine, he'd come off as spineless.

"Stand down, soldier!" he yelled. She started making her way towards the cars in the lot and was dialing a number on her phone. "That's an order, Catherine!"

Jimmy hated her for how she was humiliating him in front of his men. He hated her even more because she was right; he didn't have it in him to kill her. Had it been anyone else showing such disrespect, Jimmy would have already drawn the pistol from the waistband of his jeans.

Dessie stood next to Jimmy and slapped him between the shoulder-blades. "Fair play to her. She's got balls bigger than her daddy's."

Jumping off the bay Dessie too grabbed a rifle and balaclava, along with a small duffle of extra magazines. He walked over to the car where Catherine had a map out on the hood.

Before Jimmy knew it, all the men behind him-including Donny-were jumping off the bay.

With no other choice left, he headed to the car.

Jimmy stood off to the side, watching Catherine direct the fellas so unperturbed.

"We're right here, just south of Drogheda," she said. "That would put us under three-hours from Derry and Mickey said the lads aren't expected back until 10...if we're quick there's a chance we can close the gap before they even get there. If we can, I wanna try to nab 'em outside of Derry because they will outnumber us."

"So what's the plan?" Someone called out from the back.

"Mickey wasn't sure what route they're takin' we've no choice but to split up. Aidan and Connor, I want your units to take the A6. Jack and Kieran, youse'll take the A28/A5. I have a feelin' they'll be on the N2, so Dessie and I'll go that way with Jimmy and Donny. If we time it right, Jack and Kieran, we should be mergin' on the A5 at the same time. We're lookin' for two black vans with Irish number plates. I couldn't get the exact numbers but, it'll have a Donegal identifier."

Dessie spoke next, "If youse do end up comin' across 'em, try shootin' out the tires first. If they start shootin' back, then youse have permission to engage. Our main goal is to stop the convoy and retrieve the Barrett-I couldn't give a shite about the smokes so leave those if ya have to."

"If we make it to Ballymagorry with no sign of 'em we turn around and head back to Dundalk. Aidan and Connor, if youse make it to Dungiven, head back as well. Any questions?" she asked. They shook their heads. "Brilliant. Let's make sure there's no civilian injury or casualty, but most importantly let's make sure we all make it back to Dundalk."

"Go n-éirí leat, gentlemen. And godspeed." After wishing his men good luck, Dessie turned around to help Catherine fold up the map.

She pulled the car keys from her pocket and handed them to him. A smart move as he knew the border roads far better than her. Before hopping into the car, he tugged the white gold crucifix he wore around his neck out of his shirt and kissed it.

As Catherine tucked the map under her arm, she approached Jimmy. "Youse follow behind since we've got the-"

Jimmy grabbed her bicep and pushed her up against the car. His voice was low as he hissed, "You pull another stunt like that again and I swear to God I will take your beret. All you're doin' is provin' you're not ready to be chief of staff."

"If I were chief of staff I wouldn't have advised my men to stand down."

"What's gonna happen when one of the fellas ends up with a bullet between the eyes? Did ya think of that? You're not the one who has to tell a lass she's been made a poor widow over a couple'a hundred cartons of cigarettes."

"Ya worry too much, Jimmy. Nothin's gonna happen; they're not expectin' us to even come because we left 'em be after they nabbed our shipment from Dungloe."

"The moment ya let your guard drop, a chuisle, is the moment everythin' goes wrong."

"It'll be fine," she assured, placing her hand on his shoulder. She gave him a quick peck to the lips. "You've got my back, yeah?"

"Always."

He couldn't tell her he had a bad feeling about it. This was a lesson she needed to learn on her own.