Forkhill, Northern Ireland

In the barn, Dessie sat backwards in a metal chair with Gerry Sheehan seated across from him.

Sheehan surrendered himself without a fight, getting into the car when three men in balaclavas jumped out and ordered him to. A reward for not giving them a reason to brandish their firearms, Dessie forewent the rope and gag.

Regardless, the smell of violence hung heavy in the air, and Sheehan twitched, knowing the mood could become downright ugly in a matter of seconds if he didn't say what Dessie wanted to hear.

"What were you doing with Christopher at the Great Eastern the night Townsend was killed?"

"I wasn't with Christopher that night!"

Dessie pursed his lips, shaking his head. "Don't play stupid with me, Ger. I know you bloody were."

Catching the wicked glimmer in the South Armagh sniper's eye, Sheehan tensed. "We kept tellin' the lad to shut his bake, but he just wouldn't. He was starting trouble everywhere we took him!"

Scrunching his eyebrows, Dessie looked over Sheehan's shoulder to a masked Patrick. Of the five ONH men, Dessie was the only one not wearing a balaclava.

At least they were getting somewhere now. It only took an hour.

"If you weren't with the fella, how could you have been tellin' him to keep his wee gob shut?"

Sheehan swallowed hard, then stammered, "It — it was his idea to go into East Belfast! I told him it wouldn't…"

Dessie pinched the bridge of his nose, cutting him off. "I know that's a lie, too. Who told you to bring him there?"

"No one! It was his idea. I swear on me Ma's grave, it was!"

There had been too many times in life to count where Dessie knew he was being straight-up lied to. Unlike most men, he took it far more personally; the greatest sign of disrespect in their world. Sheehan was caught, and Dessie couldn't figure out why he was trying to cover Jimmy's ass all these years later.

Dessie didn't say a word. He just glanced to Patrick and nudged his chin. Before Sheehan realized what was happening, Patrick had his arms twisted around the back of the chair, while Aidan secured his wrists and ankles to the legs of the chair with zip ties.

"All night he was talking about starting shite with the Orangemen!" screamed Sheehan. "We thought it would be funny to watch him get his arse kicked… humble him a wee bit, ya know? If I knew he was packing heat, I never would've let him leave the Falls, that's the truth!"

Standing up, Dessie towered over him. "Do I look like a fuckin' fool to you? The first time Christopher ever went to Belfast, I told him to not go anywhere except for Andytown and the lower Falls! He knew better than to be on that side of the river; and I fucking know it was Jimmy who ordered you and Gallagher to antagonize Christopher into shooting Simon Townsend!"

"Jimmy didn't tell us anything!"

Dessie's heart raced. The blood pounded so loud in his ears he couldn't hear Sheehan's answer, and stars were floating in his eyes. Everyone in the room could see Dessie was fighting the urge to strangle the bloke. "You're fuckin' scum, you know that, Gerry! You're a goddamn chickenshit with no bollocks because you're too fucking scared to tell the truth about Jimmy even though he had one of your own slaughtered by the UVF! Why did they want Townsend taken out? And was it Jimmy O'Phelan who sanctioned the murder of Darragh Ryan?"

"I don't know! You know Jimmy didn't have any confidence in me back then! I was just his fucking errand boy!"

When Dessie took a step back and lit a cigarette, Kieran grabbed an electric drill off the dusty workbench. He handed it off to Connor, and once Dessie gave the nod of approval, he knelt in front of Sheehan.

Tears filled Sheehan's eyes, and the terror twisted in his gut like a hot knife as he realized what they were about to do.

"You gotta believe me, Dess! Please don-"

Patrick shoved a sock into Sheehan's mouth, then taped it over. He shook his head from side-to-side, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Dessie took a drag from his cigarette, watching as Connor drove the drill bit through Sheehan's knee. The makeshift gag did nothing to muffle the terrified and agonizing screams. To anyone else, those cries would have been heart-rending; they had no effect on the men devoid of basic empathy.

Connor stopped when he was halfway through the bone, reversing the drill bit which sent another wave of pain through his body. Patrick ripped the tape off, and Sheehan spat out the sock. He choked on his tears.

If he told Dessie, then they would put a bullet in him for what he knew. And if by some miracle they didn't, then Jimmy would kill him in the most painful way possible as punishment for the unforgivable act he was about to commit.

"He and the Kings were looking to make quick money after the gun sales slowed because of a shortage with the Iraq war. Jimmy told me and Galley that if we got Christopher to clip Townsend, he'd send us on holiday and promote us," huffed Sheehan.

Dessie flicked his cigarette to the ground, narrowing his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest. "What are you talking about?"

"They wanted to sling coke in loyalist neighborhoods. They knew they'd never get footing in those areas with Townsend in charge, but it blew up in their faces when the first shipment was seized at the port."

"And Darragh?"

"Jimmy just wanted his son, and Darragh just got in the way. You better watch your back, too, mate. The Kings aren't too pleased with you lot for obvious reasons. Oh, and one more thing… Jimmy picked that Friday night to take out Townsend because Catherine was supposed to be with Darragh the next morn'. We followed 'em for like three months, and every Saturday morn' they went to St. Peter's together."

Connor, Kieran, and Aidan's gaze bounced between Dessie and Patrick.

Patrick shoved the balaclava off his face. "What the fuck do you mean he chose that day because Catherine was supposed to be with Darragh?"

"The UVF thought she was still in the Ra so her death would've just been a casualty of war. We agreed to it because Jimmy convinced us she stole half a million in cash from him."

Dessie clenched his jaw so hard, his teeth almost shattered. He didn't want to believe a word Sheehan said, but at this point in the interrogation Sheehan had breached the barriers of pain and fear. He was so scared, he'd tell them anything but lies so long as the torment stopped.

Patrick was in such shock he couldn't swallow the truth being spoon-fed to him. "Jimmy tried to set Catherine up to have her throat slashed, too. Is that what you're saying?"

"Aye, Paddy." Sheehan took a shuddering breath, trying not to focus on the pain. "Jimmy was raging she'd been telling everyone Darragh was Eamonn's da, and for blockin' him outta their lives. What sent him over the edge was catching word she applied for a green card in America. He wasn't gonna let her leave with the boy. He was gonna take Eamonn and split to Russia to avoid extradition. The Kings said he could run the gun operation from Moscow. Father Ashby told us putting Sean up for Catholic adoption was best."

"Holy shite!" Kieran exclaimed. "This was never about getting to Darragh, was it? It was all about making Catherine's death seem like an accident."

"No. The Kings wanted Darragh gone. He was a PR nightmare. Jimmy… it was all about Catherine for him; couldn't give a shite what Darragh was blowing up or who he was shooting."

"Jesus-fucking-Christ!" Patrick turned to Dessie. "And she's Stateside with him now!"

Connor straightened up, giving Patrick's shoulder a squeeze. "Don't worry, we'll start figuring out a way to get her home. Do you know why she didn't go to St. Peter's that morning? Did someone tip her off?"

"Because of me," blurted Dessie. "I called the house lookin' for Darragh the night before, but he was already in bed so she and I ended up talking until after midnight. They went at five to say a rosary together because Darragh started work at eight. When he left, Catherine was still asleep. She would've gone if I hadn't kept her up late."

Dessie ran his fingers over his lips as he looked up to the ceiling. Thinking back to the night before and the day Darragh died, he tried envisioning what life would be like for him had he not made that phone call. He couldn't even imagine a life without Catherine, and he was just as shocked as Patrick, unsure what to say, think, or feel.

One thing he knew for sure was how trivial their earlier fight seemed. Dessie had been so close to losing Catherine all those years ago, and he hadn't even known. All he wanted to do was wrap her and the boys tightly in his arms where they'd be safe from Jimmy and the Kings.

When he dragged Gerry Sheehan into the barn, Dessie had every intention of him not leaving Forkhill alive. But learning what he knew, Sheehan proved to be more valuable than expected, and would be no use dead just yet.

Too bad Tommy Gallagher wasn't as lucky. The stubborn bastard died without saying a word, despite having all of his fingers severed with a bolt cutter.

"Bandage him," Dessie lit a smoke, "and drop him off at the Royal." He saw the hopeful gleam in Sheehan's eyes, when the Belfast commander realized he'd live to see another day. "Then make sure word reaches Jimmy and the second battalion... their OC is a rat."

As Dessie started walking out of the barn, Sheehan thrashed in the chair, screaming, "Dessie! I told you everything! Don't do this, you know what they'll do to me!"

Dessie stopped and spun around, then shrugged. "Not my problem. You should have thought of that before you told me everything."


Las Vegas, Nevada, United States

"So, what do you think?"

"That rich people's portions of food are tiny," said Catherine. She took a bite of the warm brownie sundae they were sharing, relishing in the gooey chocolate-y goodness, licking a glob of hot fudge and whipped cream off her bottom lip. Glancing up to Jimmy, the unamused expression was all the evidence she needed that he hadn't found her jest as funny as she had. "Oh… you mean about selling Noel and Val the four million rounds of ammunition so they can turn around and sell it to the US government."

Jimmy dropped his spoon, shushing her. "Can you say that any louder? I don't think the fellas in the back heard you."

Draping her arm along the top of the booth, Catherine twisted so she could survey the crowd. Turning back around, she ate another spoonful of vanilla ice cream. "There's like three teenagers here, and I doubt they're earwigging. If you don't bloody relax, you're gonna have a wee heart attack before you're fifty." Reaching down the front of her dress, Catherine pulled something out from her cleavage and tossed it onto the table. "Happy belated birthday."

When Jimmy realized it was a joint sitting beside his water glass, he was quick to snatch it up and tuck it into the inside pocket of his blazer.

"Where the hell did you get that?"

"Val slipped it to me at the bar when you and Noel told us to feck off, as a thank you for taking the meeting." Catherine set her spoon down and laced her fingers, thinking over the numbers thrown at her over the course of their three-hour dinner. "I enjoyed Noel and Val's company, they're a lovely couple, but in my professional opinion, I think it's a terrible idea."

At least they agreed, thought Jimmy.

"Why do you think so? We'll see profits bigger than we've ever had."

"Yeah, and everyone who gets a contract to sell arms to the DOD is vetted. You think we've a fed problem now? It'll be ten-times worse for us if they find out Noel and Val were sellin' 'em ammo supplied by two people on the terror watch list. It may be all about the money for you, but it isn't for me."

Picking up his spoon, Jimmy cut a piece of brownie and trudged it through a puddle of hot fudge in the bowl. "If it's not about the money, then what is it about to you?"

Catherine sharply exhaled. She knew she couldn't use the generic excuse about it being all about a unified Ireland. If it were, Catherine was old enough and far more mature to admit she'd be passing out leaflets and attending Sinn Fein meetings. Even she hated to admit the days of being heard with a few hundred pounds of fertilizer and a couple of bullets were long over. It was a dying fight she made so many personal sacrifices for, which were now coming back to bite her in the ass.

Gun running was the only skill she had, and it wouldn't look all that attractive on a resume.

"I'm good at it. It's just a job, Jimmy. I bring in enough to keep a roof over me boys head and to put food in their bellies. I know when something is too risky and could take all of that away. This deal with Noel and Val is just that — too bleedin' risky."

Jimmy reached across the table and rested his hand on top of Catherine's. He gave it a reassuring squeeze. If she wasn't comfortable with a deal, he wasn't going to make her do it because that's how mistakes are made.

"And speaking of risky," she said, entwining her fingers with his. "Would you mind if I spent a couple of nights in Lodi with Cammy and Eddie? Wanna see how it's going with the AK shipments, that way I have something to report back to the lads when I get back to Cross. Don't want 'em thinkin' I was just sittin' on me arse the whole time."

"If you're willing to sleep on a mattress on the floor and eat instant noodles, I suppose I let you play soldier for a couple'o days."

"Oh, you're gonna let me play soldier? What've I been doing for the last decade then?"

Jimmy didn't answer. If Catherine wanted to spend her last days Stateside in Lodi getting her hands dirty, he wouldn't object. If he put her to work with Cameron and Eddie, he figured it would remind her of better days in the True army.

"All I ask is that ya be careful… be aware of your surroundings. That house is fucking stockpiled; busting it is an ATF wet-dream, so it is. The feds already know you're here, so the second you get a gut feeling, get back to Sacramento before you lead 'em right to it."

Catherine didn't need to be told what was at stake while staying at the safe house. All it would take is a missed step or a set of loose lips for the feds to catch the scent of its location. Catherine wouldn't downplay Jimmy's concern, but being out of his supervision for a night or two would allow for her to make peace with personal matters before heading home.

Besides, she told herself that even if she got arrested, there'd be no way the ATF for the FBI be able to prove she knew anything about the guns being there. She wanted to remind Jimmy the most they'd slap her with is an immigration charge before shipping her back to Northern Ireland so they could question her about Ian's murder. Though, that wasn't a lecture she was in the mood for.

"The second something seems dodgy, I promise I'll go back to Sacramento," she said.

"Grand. Tomorrow when we get back, I want you to come with me to the surplus store. Look over the books. See if it would be possible to launder more money through it since I wanna bring the lads workin' the pub home for a wee break."

"Don't take this the wrong way or anything, but why are you havin' me do all this, and not Noah? You remember him, don't ya? He's your finance officer."

"Aye, he is. But he's not nearly as smart as you, a chuisle."

Catherine smiled, her cheeks glowing scarlet. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. O'Phelan."

"Even into your panties?"

She raised her eyebrows and nodded.

Even into her panties.