Manhattan, New York - July 17, 2012 - 1714 hours

"Hey, anything new?" Kowalski asked Skipper as he entered the living room, where Skipper was on the couch, working on his laptop.

"Not much, except we seem to be getting a new neighbor. Goes by 'Elizabeth Shields.' I don't trust her," Skipper explained.

"Why? You haven't even met her yet," Kowalski asked.

"Because she just moved to Manhattan and the last resident to that apartment moved out yesterday. This morning, here she is," Skipper replied.

"Skipper, you always jump to conclusions. Have you ever even heard of this 'Elizabeth Shields'?" Kowalski asked.

"No, but . . ." Skipper's voice trailed as he went deep in thought.

"But what?" Kowalski urged.

"It's just—she just somehow looks familiar," Skipper finally replied, carefully examining the picture of her on his laptop while rubbing his chin.

"You're just paranoid, Skipper," Kowalski said with a roll of his eyes.

"What's all this, then?" Private asked, entering the room.

"Someone's moving into the vacant apartment next door and Skipper's paranoid," Kowalski answered.

"Oh, Skipper's always paranoid. He attacked the gardener out on the terrace last week," Private answered.

"Hey, I still think he was planting something in those potted plants," Skipper said in defense.

"Yeah, plants," Kowalski replied, causing him and Private to crack up.

Skipper rolled his eyes. "Laugh now, but next time you go to sniff a pretty geranium, beware, because—bam! You're going to get a poisoned dart to the nose," he told them, pointing a stern finger.

"Sure, Skipper. Don't you think you can be a little too paranoid sometimes?" Private asked.

"That's just what Manfredi and Johnson said back in 'Nam. Who knew you could be attacked by Indians in the jungle?" Skipper said to prove his point.

"Right, right. Back to this 'Elizabeth' deal. Don't you think you can just give her a chance until you've gotten to know her?" Kowalski asked impatiently.

"Not happening, Kowalski. Guilty until proven innocent," Skipper replied.

Kowalski rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Skipper. But I still think you should give her a chance," he said, turning and walking into the kitchen where Rico was chopping up sushi with his impressive knife tricks. He tossed one knife into the air and caught it behind his back while chopping up sushi with his other hand at the same time.

"You know, if you cut your finger off one of these days, don't come crying to me," Kowalski warned as he grabbed a soda from the fridge.

Rico gave him a look and brought his fist down on the side of the cutting board, propelling seven knives into the air. He juggled them a few times, in front of and behind his torso, and finally caught six of the knives between his fingers—three in each hand—and the seventh in his teeth. He then opened his arms and bowed.

Kowalski rolled his eyes and started leaving the room. "Showoff."

1827 hours

Elizabeth finally arrived at the apartment after an hour-long drive to look over her files. She unlocked the door with the key she was given at the check-in desk and brought her suitcases into the large room. She had no idea what was in the suitcases, which worried her. She was told not to open them until she'd arrived at the apartment. What was worse, she was told someone would be watching her, and she had no idea who or where he was. She entered the bedroom and set the suitcases on the bed.

Opening the thinnest one, she found a laptop, some headphones, and files on the men she would be infiltrating. Inside the pocket on the lid, there was an envelope. She took it out and opened it, emptying the contents into her hand. They were pictures. They had the names written on the back. The first one was 'Skipper.' The next, 'Kowalski,' then 'Rico,' and finally, 'Private.' Although, there was one more. Staring at it, her heart seemed to skip several beats as it descended into her stomach.

It was a picture of Ryan. He was sitting on the couch that she'd woken up in. But that wasn't what ticked her off. Hans was sitting next to him with his arm resting on his shoulders. Oddly, he seemed rather unfazed. A little confused and uncomfortable, but otherwise, he seemed unaware of what was going on. Hans probably sold him some lie about what he was doing. Elizabeth's eyes became wet and she looked on the back. It read: 'You know what to do.' She closed her hand tightly around the photo and balled it up. Then she hurled it at the trashcan across the room and it landed on the floor next to it. She felt as if she'd turned into a volcano about to erupt, and then explode. If Hans were there at that moment, she was unsure if she'd be able to keep her hands from cutting off his air supply. If it wouldn't have put Ryan's life at stake, she would have karate chopped his sorry ass halfway to China. If there's anyone she felt like shoving that dagger into, it was him.

She replaced the photos back into the envelope and into the suitcase and opened up the duffel bag. All that was inside was clothes and shoes. One pair was comfortable tennis shoes, and the other were expensive-looking heels. Then there were the boots she was wearing, where she'd keep the dagger hidden in. Finally, at the bottom, she felt something hard and pulled it out.

It was a pistol. She examined it with wide eyes. There was a note attached to it and she opened it up. It read: 'Just in case things get messy.' Elizabeth took a deep breath and stored the gun back in the bottom of the bag where she wouldn't have to see it again.

There was a number in the front pocket of the suitcase, along with a prepaid phone. The note at the bottom said, 'In case you need to reach me. Call when the job is done.' She put the phone back in the pocket.

She then went outside on the terrace for some fresh air, unable to stand the pressure inside that room, which seemed to suddenly run thin on oxygen.

Leaning against the railing and looking at the city below, she put her face in her hands to shield her horror. There were tears burning at the back of her eyes, but she held them back. She couldn't cry here. She had to be strong. If they got the slightest notion that she was up to something, who knows if she'd ever get the job done. She hadn't even thought about what would happen if they figured her out. Finally, she picked her face up and crossed her arms against the railing, listening to the sounds of the streetcars, sirens, and the wind.

What would happen if she failed? What would happen to Ryan? She couldn't bear the thought of losing him. She looked up at the sky. Wherever he was, her only hope that he was okay—unharmed. She felt something then, something she'd never felt before, something deep in her heart. It was indescribable. It wasn't tight or loose. Nor was it empty or full. She could only describe it as a longing. A longing for her son, as if he was speaking to her at that moment and she couldn't hear it. As if he was there and she couldn't see him. Elizabeth knew that whatever she had to do to save her son, she was going to do it.

There was a sound to her left and she found Private standing beside her in the flesh. He seemed to look a little different from his picture, at least to Elizabeth.

"Oh, sorry to bother you. I'm Private, your neighbor. Is everything all right, then? You looked kind of upset," he said sweetly in a British accent. She hadn't heard an accent like that since she left London eight years ago. She forced a smile.

"I'm fine. Just a little tired. Long drive here, you know?" Elizabeth answered. The answer sounded a bit amateur, but what else was she supposed to say? Hi, I'm Elizabeth Shields. I came all the way here to kill your friend to save my son, so forgive me for being a downer. That sounded like a good idea.

"Yes, I've had those long drives before. So, where are you from? That is, if you don't mind my asking," Private inquired. He leaned against the railing next to her, waiting for an answer. Elizabeth recalled the files she'd looked through on the drive there.

"New Jersey. I came looking for work. I just applied at the diner downstairs. I figured I could make a few bucks while I'm looking," Elizabeth explained.

"That's nice. So what do you do?" Private called.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes inside. What was this? Twenty questions? Kids.

"I'm an architect," Elizabeth answered.

At least she didn't have to lie about that. She actually was a part-time architect before any of this had started.

"Wow! That's amazing! You must get paid an awful lot!" Private exclaimed.

"Yes, I suppose I do," Elizabeth said with a fake laugh. It wasn't that she was mad at the kid for asking so many questions, it was just difficult to be friendly to a guy whose heart was about to get broken because someone shoved a dagger through his friend's heart.

"Cool! Well, I don't want to take up too much of your time. I should get back in to my friends. I'll see you around, then?"

You have no idea, Elizabeth thought.

"Of course," she said as she continued to smile until he left her. Finally, she turned and went back into her apartment. She didn't want to risk meeting more than one of those guys in the same hour. It was already hard enough on her.

1831 hours

"Where's my mom? I want to see her!" Ryan demanded when Hans entered his room.

Hans took a deep breath and shut the door behind him. "I know you do, Ryan. But I'm afraid your mother won't be back for a few days," he told him.

"Why? What is she doing? Why can't I go with her?" he asked.

Hans stepped toward him and braced his hands on Ryan's shoulders. "Your mother is a very good woman. She just has some grown-up things she has to take care of before she comes and takes you home. One day you'll understand," he explained sympathetically.

"But how long is it going to take? She promised me we'd go to the batting cages on Sunday," Ryan said in disappointment. Hans' face fell and he sighed.

"If your mother doesn't come back by Sunday, I could take you to the batting cages. In fact, we'll do whatever you want. How's that sound?" he suggested.

Ryan awkwardly shifted his weight. "Mom said I shouldn't trust strangers," he told him.

Hans smiled and knelt. "Your mother's a smart woman. But she and I are old friends. I don't think she would mind me giving you a good time," he assured him.

Ryan smiled. "I guess it'd be okay, if mom really doesn't mind," he replied.

Hans pushed some hair out of his face. "Fantastic."

1854 hours

"Hey, guys!" Private said as he approached the team with a smile. "Guess what?"

"I don't do guessing games," Skipper answered nonchalantly.

"Fine. I just met our new neighbor!" Private announced excitedly.

"You did what?" Skipper asked, crossing his arms.

"What? I saw her out on the terrace and went to say hello! There's nothing wrong with that!" Private protested.

"Private, you know you're not supposed to just go talking to complete strangers unsupervised. I told you I don't trust her," Skipper argued.

"And what do you think she would've done to me?" Private challenged.

"Anything's possible, Private. What did you two talk about?" Skipper asked.

"Nothing much. I told her we were the neighbors and, um, she told me she's looking for a position in architecture. That's about it," Private answered.

"Well, Private, next time don't go talking to strangers without backup. Understood?" Skipper ordered.

Private sighed. "Affirmative. But she seemed really nice," he said.

"Yeah, and your key word is right there: seem. Remember everything isn't always as it seems," Skipper reminded him.

"Yes, sir," Private replied, sitting on the couch.

Kowalski sat next to him. "So what'd she look like?" he asked.

"She has brown hair that she wears up, green eyes, and is just shorter than you by about four or five inches. She's really nice, Kowalski. I think we all might become good friends if she plans on staying for a while," Private said innocently.

Kowalski nodded. "Yeah, maybe. Just be careful. You never know who some people really are."