The silent line of heavily armed men watched from the rooftop as the two apprehended women in the alley below. Glancing over his shoulder, Nagid took in the path of lifeless bodies left in their wake. This place was well fortified, and he couldn't understand why this particular block of warehouses, unused for decades, was so important to have so many men guarding it.

What were they missing?

Silently motioning for the men to follow the pair walking further down the alley at gunpoint, Nagid took in everything about his surroundings. Open rooftops, no airconditioning units, nothing updated in years, but it made it easy for helicopters to land and take off; glancing around, he frowned. It also made it easy to bring captives here since they owned everything in the surrounding area; no one could hear screams or see anyone arriving or disposing of bodies. It made more sense now. Silently following the trio below, he took in the alleyway ahead. It ran straight through with many doors heading into the building as the alleyway continued. Noting several sentries along the way, his hands flew in silent communication. Shadows left the line and disappeared into the darkness opening the path ahead of them, making it possible to continue their surveillance without hindrance, raising any alarms or losing their targets below.

Nagid paused as he heard a sharp command below. Carefully looking over the edge, he watched as the guard slammed his flat hand against a metal door barely visible in the wall of the building. Pressing the record button on his night vision goggles, he watched as the door opened, and a woman stepped into the gloom. She approached the two women, her lips moving as she smiled evilly. They were too far away to hear what was said, but Nagid could only guess as bone-chilling glee filled her expression.

"The Calderone is on site," he whispered, "activate body cameras."

Two other men came out, taking the women into the building, and he pointed at his second in command, who pulled a gadget from his belt, fitted it to his muzzle, took aim and fired toward the door. Nagid noted the coordinates and sent a broadcast of the recording with the information before giving silent command signals. He led his team down a nearby metal ladder running the height of the building into the alley and detaching the rubber stopper shot into the space between the closing metal panel and the wall. Quietly entering the building and keeping to the shadows, they followed the homing devices in both women.

"Keep your eyes on a swivel," he whispered into his open comms, "we don't know how many there are in the building."

Several clicking noises sounded in his ear before they continued forward, stepping out into the gloom and watching vigilantly for anything that may be an ambush or require lethal action to secure their target.

Bevis stumbled into a storage room lit by a single floor lamp. Chelsea bumped into her before the portal was closed behind them.

"They were very thorough in their search," Bevis said, steadying Chelsea.

"Perhaps," Chelsea said smiling, "let's see where we are."

Moving into the space, they took in their surroundings, turning in circles and looking at the boxes on the floors and toward the ceiling.

"Noone has moved much in here for a long time," Bevis said, locating the box, "there's the box."

"I see two shadows that could be bodies," Chelsea said, moving forward and producing a slender flashlight from her sleeve.

"I see what you mean; they weren't that thorough," Bevis chuckled, "neither seems to be moving ..." Bevis glanced into the box, "someone took out my toys."

"Bev ..." the hissing gasp came from the body in the nearby shadows, "... why?"

"Caroline," Bevis whispered, moving quickly toward the body near the line of toys, her fingers still on the keys but motionless, "Chels ... that must be Angie."

"I'm guessing they both need medical attention," Chelsea said, "yeah ... this is Angie ... she's barely conscious."

"We need to get them out of here," Bevis said, "we cannot wait for backup. There has to be a way out."

"I'll look around," Chelsea said, "ah, we're on camera, and it's one of those half-and-half things."

"What is that?" Bevis asked.

"Half day, half night ..." she grunted, moving a large wooden box toward the corner, "that is why they needed the lamp. They knew what Caroline was doing; they were expecting us."

"I somehow don't think they were expecting only two of us," Bevis said, moving into the shadows and trying to find the wall of the room that held them, "ombre à ombre tient la fuite dans le plus sombre la lumière sera-t-elle trouvée."

"Why are you sprouting French?" Chelsea asked.

"It was something my father always said to me," Bevis said, finding the wall with her outstretched hand and turning to move in the opposite direction to Chelsea, "since he seems to know more than I do about any of this I thought it may be a good time to see if it held any truth."

"Do you even know what it means?" Chelsea asked.

Bevis chuckled, "My mother may not have wanted me in this life, but she did insist I learn several languages, which I continued after I thought they were dead."

"So ..... that means you do know what it means?" Chelsea asked, frowning into the darkness as she rose behind the camera, disconnecting it. She could hear Bevis shuffling around in the dark on the other side of the room.

Bevis grunted as her foot struck something more solid than a storage box. Feeling her way to the ground, she felt the object she had struck. It felt like a grate or a grid shielded by a solid thing that felt cold and rough, perhaps a protrusion from the wall. Flattening herself on the floor, she looked at the section covered by the metal latticework. She found herself peering into a rectangle tunnel in the wall. A smile spread over her lips.

"Dad is right again," she whispered, "now to get this grate off as quietly as possible."

"Do you have something?" Chelsea asked.

"No, it's another shopping spree," Bevis said, knowing Chelsea would pick up the old signal established between them when they didn't want anyone to know what was truly happening.

"Ah boy, another bust," Chelsea said, moving in Bevis' general direction, "we'll have to keep looking."

"Yes, we will," Bevis said, "hey Chels, I thought you spoke French in school."

"I did take the subject but haven't used it in years," Chelsea said, finding Bevis' body stretched out in the darkness and moving past it, "it's one of those things that should have stayed in place."

"I know what you mean," Bevis said, remaining where she was as Chelsea moved past her toward the other end of the room, glancing up Bevis noticed Chelsea was not using her flashlight, "sometimes it's strange feeling all eyes on you when you start something up again."

"Exactly, then there is the issue of not knowing if you got it right," Chelsea said, panting a little, "making a mistake could mean the difference between making a friend or foe."

"Especially with the French," Bevis said, chuckling, "they are a particular kind of people."

"True," Chelsea said, "then you need to remember not to insult their national landmarks with random comments that could estrange you from their acceptance for ..." Chelsea chuckled, "... well ... a long time."

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"They do have the international record of holding a grudge," Bevis said, feeling around the edges of the grate over the hole in the wall, slowly linking her fingers into the holes she tugged, feeling it coming away slowly, "... or is that the Romanians?"

"I think it depends on the type of grudge you're referring to," Chelsea said, her voice coming from the far side of the room, "but the Romanians are known for their blood feuds if they are of gipsy decent. Which makes me wonder about the family holding us here?"

"Oh, I thought they were Italian, but who knows when they come from that part of the world. It would be great to have a life without that kind of thing in it," Bevis said, "you know ... always second guessing yourself ... to have something where you could communicate without having to watch everything you said would be fantastic."

"That would be awesome," Chelsea said, "then travelling to all parts of the world would be easy."

"So easy," Bevis said, "and movement would be even easier."

Chelsea chuckled in the darkness, "Movement is possible," she sighed, "just a little disjointed."

Bevis smiled at the words, "Right now, I'd take disjointed over nothing at all."

Looking up over the boxes hiding her, Bevis watched as Chelsea stepped into the lamplight and knelt next to Angie, feeling her pulse at her neck and giving a slight nod, "I'm going to sit this one up against one of these boxes, it'll be more comfortable I think."

Slowly she pulled Angie out of the light toward a box near Bevis' position, leaning her against the trunk as a small moan came from her swollen lips. A shadow dropped down next to the pair hanging her head and panting.

"I sent it," Caroline whispered, "but I don't know who picked it up."

"I'm guessing the word that Bevis is in the Calderone custody has reached ears we're not aware are listening," Chelsea whispered, "how is that light coming?"

"Nearly," Bevis panted as she tugged one last time, and the grate soundlessly came free in her hands, "got it."

"Angie, do you think you can crawl?" Chelsea asked, looking into the space Bevis had found, "all you need to do is head toward the light."

Angie sucked in a pained breath as she determinedly moved toward the hole in the wall, "If you want to do something ... anything is possible," she whispered as she pulled herself into the space, "Huh... it's bigger than it looks."

"Good to know," Bevis whispered, "no matter what happens or what you hear, keep moving forward."

"Understood," Angie whispered as she slowly moved toward the light, "Caroline, you coming?"

Caroline quickly followed into the hole in the wall, and Bevis felt surprised as she saw the women stand side by side. Caroline carefully pulled one of Angie's arms over her shoulders, wrapped her arm around her friend's waist, and slowly staggered toward the light at the end.

Chelsea sighed, "Bev, we're not finished here," she whispered to Bevis, "can you put the grate over the hole again?"

"Not without making too much noise," Bevis said, "I barely got it right when it came off."

"We'll have to push a box or two in front of the hole," Chelsea said, "we're going to find out what is so special about this room, why they felt it necessary our prison is this specific space. Why was it chosen?"

"I think they want to know something they couldn't figure out for decades," Bevis said, "something that will give The Calderone more power or ..." Bevis paused as a sudden realisation hit her, "... something that could bring her down ... bring the entire syndicate or dynasty or whatever it is that you would call something like this down."

"Anything else your father used to say to you when you were younger that may help us?" Chelsea hissed as she pushed another box over the space they had discovered.

"Guess I'll have to try and remember," Bevis chuckled, "it's not easy remembering random things your parents say to you when you need to remember them."

"True," Chelsea laughed, "my father used to say things like "the beach will always have sand, and the mountains rock, but the valley between heaven and hell will have both" I never really understood why he would say things like that ..." Chelsea's words trailed off into silence.

Silence stretched long before Bevis raised her voice, hoping Chelsea would follow her lead, "Any idea how to get out of here?"

"Not really," Chelsea said, her lips twitching, "we haven't looked anywhere near the door ... see how long the lamp cord is if we take it closer, perhaps we can see something useful."

The two stepped into the lamplight and began searching for a way out.

Pushing from the chair and striding around the room, the woman looked at the clock; it was nearly an hour. Had the journals been wrong? Beating the other two hadn't gotten the information she wanted; according to the diaries she had discovered, the evidence that could damn them was in that room. Picking up the leather-bound book again, she leafed through it, "Something has to be here to tell me where it is?"

"You looking through that old book again?" a heavily muscled man asked, coming into the room, "you've been through that number of times, and you still don't have a location."

She ground her teeth in frustration glaring at him, "At least I found the book, brother," she said, "what have you done?"

"Cleaned up every mess our family has made for the last few years," he said, "don't get all self-righteous with me."

"At least you're working toward the growth of our family business," she said, "our sister ..."

"Half-sister," the man said, interrupting her.

"... half sister ... doesn't seem to have the aptitude for this life."

"I did tell you that years ago," he said, "look how easily she got arrested in the storage unit. Thankfully I had a backup plan in place."

"Oh ... it was always my plan to get rid of her," the woman smiled coldly, "getting arrested seemed to be a good way to achieve my goals and move toward having total control."

"If our father had listened to me years ago, we would," the man said, "but instead, he lets that man into our ranks."

"What could he do? As you call him, that man had sold out his family with the help of his father and impregnated our mother," the woman said, "it is a pity father didn't terminate him after the designated time."

"Now he is pensioning in the sun and surf, and we're stuck with the problem," the man said.

"Not since this morning," the woman said, "there was a home invasion, so the police report said ... he was found dead by the cleaning lady."

The man turned to his sister, "Did you arrange that?"

She shrugged, "Perhaps."

"Isn't that contravening the agreement with ... them?" he asked.

"What if it is?" she sneered, "it's not like they're monitoring everything happening everywhere in the world."

Closing his eyes, the man ran his hands over his face sighing heavily, "You don't know that."

"You're becoming boring," the woman said, "always worried about the rules ... the agreements ... the laws ... they are from an outdated time and place made between people who are too old to remember or do anything about the breaking of anything, and that is if they are still alive."

The man frowned, shaking his head, "You're going to be the downfall of everything our forefathers fought to establish."

Turning to him with large surprised eyes, she burst out laughing. Enraged, he stalked toward her, "What is so funny?"

"That you believe that lie," she gurgled, "our forefathers didn't fight to establish anything ..." she shook her head, swiping at her wet eyes, "they fought to cover up what detestable humans they were."

"What?" the man asked, frowning, "why would my Uncle lie to me about it."

"You don't know?" she said, staring at him unblinkingly.

"Know what?" he asked, propping his hands on his hips.

"They knew you wanted to join law enforcement," she said, "having a cop in the family so close to the top ... it would never be allowed. They devised a plan to keep your goodie-two-shoes person in line and then ruthlessly manipulated you into doing what they wanted."

"My Uncle would never do that," he said, staring at his sister and seeing the truth in her eyes, "you were there, weren't you?"

She nodded, "Since they had no say in naming you ... Eitan Chacham ... they had to make sure you complied as she never did."

"Never did?" his brow puckered at the top of his nose, "our mother was murdered," Eitan said, hesitating; he frowned, "... that is the information told ... remember you heard it as well. But never by whom."

She nodded, "Our Uncle," she said, "and no, I was not there, but I was the one who found her."

"Did they manipulate you? "Eitan asked.

"At first," she said, "but after leaving school and having to look out for myself ... no."

"You ..." he frowned at his sister, "you enjoy this ..."

"Every moment," she smiled coldly, her eyes snapping to the screen, "there is movement."

Eitan watched his sister move toward the monitor, sliding into the seat, forgetting about the leather-bound journal. Moving toward where she had left it, he slipped it into the large pocket on the side of his cargo pants.

"I think I need some air," he muttered as he kept moving toward the exit of their security room. Stepping outside, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end; he could feel many pairs of eyes on him. Gently he moved a nearby stone into the crack keeping the door disengaged. Pulling the journal from his pocket, he moved toward the empty break room closing the door and flicking on the lights.

"It's time to find out the truth," he whispered, pouring a cup of black coffee and easing his tired body into a seat. Usually, he would take his duty as head of security seriously, but after talking with his sister, Eitan realised what he had been doing his entire life was a lie, "I told them years ago I would not align myself with people who dealt in death. If that is what they have been doing, he sighed, rubbing his hands over his face, "I don't want to know about it."

He didn't know who he was talking to but felt the words had to be said; sipping the coffee and flipping open the journal, he started in the front and began to read.