"Where are we going?" Bevis asked, watching the black-clad vigilant group swarm around her as they moved down the tunnel.

"We don't know," Chelsea said, "we're following the fresh air."

"Do you think we're heading into a trap?" Bevis whispered, glancing around in case anyone heard.

"No idea," Chelsea said, "but we'll find out."

"How long have we been walking?" Bevis asked.

Chelsea glanced at her watch, "Huh, nearly three hours."

"Never knew a tunnel to be that long," Bevis said, taking in the rock face, "seems it's been here for a long time ... it won't crumble on us, that is good news. It's not wet, doesn't have moss on the walls, so we won't have a surprise bath; then there is the sand on the ground; it's... normal sand..."

"Normal sand?" Chelsea asked, frowning, "What makes it normal sand?"

"It's not fine like beach sand, it's not clumpy like clay ... you know ... it's ... normal," Bevis said, shrugging.

"Ah, so then what does that make the tunnel," Chelsea asked.

"Well ... it does indicate that we're on land and not heading toward the ocean, and no water source uses this as a conduit."

"Okay, one point for not drowning in a sudden rush of water," Chelsea said, "therefore?"

"Wherever we're going is going to be either someone's piece of land or we'll come out in an area that will take us somewhere."

"Somewhere? As in away from the psychopath who takes pleasure in pain," Chelsea said.

"Something like that," Bevis said, "if you want to flip the coin, then you can look at it as though we're heading toward someone who can help or toward someone or thing that we need to run from."

"Even odds then," Chelsea shook her head, "I wonder what Nagid thinks about this; oh, something is happening," looking up, she nodded toward the slowing group of men and women, "what is it?"

"Nagid is going ahead to find out where we're coming out," one of the men said, "he thinks it may be somewhere on the Nisim land."

"If it is, then we'll be safe from the Calderones," Chelsea said.

"Who is the Nisims?" Bevis asked.

"Who is ..." the man spluttered before shaking his head and moving away from them.

Chelsea grinned as she watched him move toward the group's front, still shaking his head. Turning to Bevis, she chuckled but became serious as she took in her best friend's expression.

"Oh my, you really don't know," Chelsea sighed, "I thought you knew."

"Chelsea, I've been living in a world where people don't openly shoot at each other," Bevis said, "how is it possible I know who these people are that everyone holds in awe."

"Fair enough," Chelsea said, nodding, "The Nisim family are extensive and powerful."

"Powerful enough for the Calderones to fear them?" Bevis asked.

"Oh definitely," Chelsea said, "my intel tells me that the Nisim family made each crime family living in this area agree to and sign some sort of a deal that all generations were to abide by."

"I'm taking it that the Calderone's younger generation has not been abiding by the agreement," Bevis said, "that is why that server is there, and whoever is on the other side of the texts is downloading the evidence to put the Calderones out of business."

"Yes," Chelsea said, nodding, "that's it in a nutshell."

"So it a can finish," Bevis said, "all of this ... can simply be at an end."

Chelsea nodded.

"Why didn't it happen sooner, Chels?"

"Not enough evidence to prove they were behind everything," Chelsea said, "that server has been there for a long time," Chelsea lowered her voice, "it has decades of recording on it. The people looking after that area have simply changed out to keep it going."

"How do you know that?" Bevis asked, hissing the question into the sudden silence.

Chelsea leaned closer, whispering into Bevis's ear, "Both our parents manned that station," she smiled, "it was my father's pen that was on top of your mother's journal."

Bevis stared at Chelsea in surprise; any response to that surprising news was suspended as Nagid rejoined the group, waving them together. Bevis and Chelsea moved toward the gathering group keeping to the back of the interested warriors.

"It looks like we're coming out onto a plot of land," Nagid said, "I want us all to stay together, be alert and ready for anything."

Agreement rippled through the group as they prepared to exit the tunnel. Bevis couldn't work out whether she was delighted or worried. She followed them, hoping they would have time to rest, eat and regroup wherever they ended up before moving on to whatever else this journey held.

Stepping out into the hot afternoon sun Bevis stood on the ledge looking out onto deep greens and dusty browns on the hill below them, panning out into a valley of beauty and life. Bevis wanted to stay there and soak in the view longer than they were allowed. The broad ridge they stood on wandered downward toward a fast-running river where boats lay on a half-moon sandy beach. Bevis looked at Chelsea shaking her head. Chelsea followed her gaze, grinning when the vessels were spotted and brought to everyone's attention.

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"Nagid, there are boats," someone called, "it looks like they are motorised."

Nagid nodded to the person, silently signalling they were to check out the transportation. The group fanned out vigilantly, watching all areas around them while they waited. Panting could be heard before the returning team member appeared; he bent over, catching his breath as Nagid moved toward him.

"What did you find?" Nagid asked.

"The vessels have a GSP location already programmed into their navigation system," he straightened, "we were expected. Perhaps not as many as we are but expected nonetheless."

Nodding, Nagid signalled for everyone to move to the vessels. Bevis was the last to follow the group.

"Oh look, more boats and rivers ... yay," she murmured as she moved after the group, "can't wait to tempt fate again."

"Bev, in the middle, please," Chelsea called, pointing to a long plank of wood where a space had been made while everyone else pushed the boats into the water and clambered in.

Nodding, Bevis stepped into the boat slightly larger than the ones they had on the rafting trip and sank to the plank, gripping it with both hands. The big difference was that these had engines and a navigation system they could follow. But they had no life vests and supplies. She only hoped that they didn't have a long way to go.

"Let's get going," Nagid said after activating the route they were to take, "try to keep up."

The boats started down the river towards a place they didn't know, people they hoped were friendlies and perhaps that dream of a place to stay for the night with food, drink and rest.

The door burst open, and men streamed in, followed at a slower pace by The Calderone. She flicked on the overhead lights shaking her head as only a few came on, illuminating the front part of the large room.

"Where are they?" she shouted, "I want Caroline and Angie ... I think they know more than they are saying."

"No one is here," one of the men said, lowering his automatic weapon.

"What do you mean?" The Calderone asked.

"Just that," he said, keeping his distance, "the prisoners, the captives ... even the team that came in here ... they are all gone."

"How?" she frowned, "We saw them all here."

"Have a look for yourself," he said, moving to one side, "no one is in the space."

Moving into the room, she looked around, the lamp still shone, but the silence told her of the absence of humans. No one gasped in pain; no one whimpered at the sight of her.

"Where could they have gone?" she asked, looking around, "They have to be here somewhere."

"There is an opening in the wall," someone called, "it leads to a blocked-off tunnel."

"What? Where is this?" she asked, moving toward the voice in the shadows, "let me see."

Pulling out a flashlight, she followed the man into the small alcove, where the wall suddenly stopped against another brick wall. It smelt dusty and aged, but it had never been there before.

"It is true," she whispered, "all of it must be true."

Running her hand along the wall, she froze as it went over an indentation, almost like a shape had been chiselled into the wall. Turning her flashlight onto the find, she gasped, stepping away from the wall.

"What is it?" one of the men asked.

"The Nisim ... the sign of the Nisim," she whispered, fear lacing through her words for the first time during her reign of terror, "how?

The men looked at each other, shaking their heads and shrugging. No one knew what The Calderone had to fear from the name she whispered, but no one was going to ask.

"Where is my brother?" she asked, looking at the armed guards for her facility, "Has anyone seen him?"

"The last time I saw him, he was in the break room," a tall man said, "no one interrupted him because he shut the door."

"Shut the door?" The Calderone frowned, "Everyone knows the rule ... that door stays open."

"We know that," another in the group said, "but he is your brother ... we didn't question it."

Releasing a frustrated groan, she stalked from the room, heading for the break room and pushing the door open to find the room empty. Walking further into the room, she turned in a circle before spying a white napkin pinned to a corkboard on the wall. Moving toward it, she focused on the words. It was written in the language of their fathers, but she had it drilled into her since she was a child and understood it more than being able to fluently speak it. The sentence scribbled in black ink on the white surface ran ice through her veins and made her swallow hard.

"Gli assassini che infrangono il giuramento dei nostri antenati rischiano di perdere tutto," she whispered, shaking her head, "how did he know?"

"Where is he?" the tall man asked, looking around.

"My guess … gone," she grimaced, "how did he know?"

"Know what?" the man asked, looking at the corkboard, "what does that mean?"

"Trouble," she said, leaving the room and returning to her operations centre; opening the door, she stepped into the room looking around, "where is it?"

Stooping to look under the counters, looking behind the computer screens and towers, she slammed her hand on the surface she had left it.

"Dammit," she shouted, hearing voices she turned to find the men watching her, "how did you open that door?"

"It was already ajar," one of the men said, "we thought you may need help with whatever you were looking for."

Frowning, she moved to the doorway, scanning the supposed air-tight frame. She came across the small stone wedged into the corner. Sudden realisation hit her like a punch in the gut. Since she could remember, the lesson was always to keep the inner court in line, together, closed. Like most of the "ghost stories" from her childhood, she had thought it was something the family elders used to keep everyone in line. Torturing the family and those who disagreed. There seemed more truth in it than she realised.

"Does anyone know how this stone got to be in the frame?" she asked, rising and pointing at the corner.

The gathering group looked at each other before shaking their heads; she had already killed some men, so shooting these would mean she would need to get more men, and that took the time she didn't have any longer. Repressing the raging desire to kill, she sighed and nodded, breathing deeply as she removed the stone and walked through the group.

"I'll be in my quarters," she said, striding down a nearby passageway where she and her brother were the only occupants. Rage seethed through her at the betrayal of one who had as much blood on his hands as she did. This was a legacy that needed to be kept in place. Opening her door, she entered the area, looking around at the mess. Drawers were left open, papers searched and left where they were placed while being looked through, her mattress overturned, her strong box broken open and searched. A stash of weapons she kept for her own use was missing. Moving to the cupboard, she pulled open the second door ... so was the ammunition store she kept for herself; it was all gone. Turning toward her sitting area, she gasped as she took in the books pulled from her bookcase and left lying on the floor, table, or couch as if looked at and flung over a shoulder ... discarded as useless.

Slamming the door shut, she narrowed her furious gaze as a snarl curled her lip. She slowly moved through her quarters to the kitchen, where she found the same disorder; her safe had been cracked and lay empty. Cold dread raced after the rage as she focused on the interior of her safe.

"The journals," she whispered, "they're all gone."

A white napkin lay inside the safe with black ink scrawled over the surface; carefully taking it from the safe and reading the words, she sighed.

"How does the invasion of your life feel?" she murmured, seeing the arrow and turning the napkin over, "Gli assassini che infrangono il giuramento dei nostri antenati rischiano di perdere tutto," she whispered, "Murderers who break the oath of our forefathers stand to lose everything ... Eitan!" Fear sliced through her as she had never felt before, "he read the journal, and he has the others, " looking into her safe, she realised he had taken everything, "oh no ... not good ... not good at all."