She turned away, moving just out of range and pulled out her communicator. "Commander."

"On my way." His face might have been carved in granite. "Situation?"

She relayed it, fast and brief.

"Negotiator is also on his way. What do you need?"

"Sharpshooters. I'm getting eyes, but at this point I can't ascertain target area. Feeney usually keeps his shades up, but they might be lowered. Rushing the room or shutting it down is too risky. He'd drop Feeney before we could get to him."

"I'm two minutes away. Keep him talking. Find out what he wants."

"Yes, sir." She moved back toward the 'link. Gates tapped manually on the keys of a mini-unit.

He's not listening to me. Incoherent, scattered. No answers. Looks sick.

Eve nodded and took over the 'link. "You okay in there, Captain Halloway? Need anything?"

"I need some respect! I'm not going to be ignored."

"I'm not ignoring you. You have my full attention. I am having a little trouble concentrating. If you could ease back on your weapon a little so we can talk this out."

"So you can bust in here?" His laugh was a squeaky wheeze. "I don't think so."

"No one's coming in there. There's no reason we can't resolve this without more injuries. Feeney, you'll give Halloway your word to remain seated and cooperative, won't you?"

Feeney understood the message. Stay where you are as long as possible. "Sure. I'll sit right here while we work this out."

"It's hot in here. It's too goddamn hot in here." As he spoke, Halloway used his free hand to swipe at the blood that trickled out of his nose.

Seeing it, Eve went cold. "I'll have the climate control adjusted." She gestured off-screen to Gates. "We'll cool it down in there for you. You feeling okay otherwise, Halloway?"

"No! No, I'm not feeling okay. This son of a bitch has me working until my damn eyes bleed. My head." He grabbed a handful of his own hair, yanked viciously. "My head's killing me. I'm sick. He made me sick."

"We can get you a medical. Will you let me send a medical in? You don't look well, Halloway. Let me get you some medical assistance."

"Just leave me alone." When a tear dripped out of his eye, it was tinged with blood. "Leave me alone. I need to think!"

He broke transmission.

"Status," Whitney snapped from behind her.

"He's sick. He's showing the same symptoms demonstrated by Cogburn. I can't explain it, Commander, but he's dying in there, and he could take Feeney with him. We need to get him out, get him medical assistance."

"Lieutenant. Ah, Commander." Another detective hustled up. "We've got your eyes." He managed a wan smile. "And ears with them."

With Whitney, Eve bent over a monitor. She could see the whole of Feeney's office now-the sun and the privacy shades lowered. There would be no outside visual for the sharpshooters. Feeney was in his desk chair, restraints locking his arms to its arms.

Halloway paced behind him, his young, pleasant face ravaged. His own blood smeared it like war paint. He tore at his hair with one hand, waved the weapon wildly with the other.

"I'm the one who knows what I'm doing around here." He raged, kicking Feeney's chair viciously as he passed. "I'm the one who's in charge. You're old and you're stupid, and I'm sick to death of your orders."

Feeney's response was quiet and measured. "I didn't know you were feeling that way. What can I do to make things right with you?"

"You want to make them right? You want to make them right?" He jammed the weapon under Feeney's chin again and had Eve braced to hurl herself at the office door. "We're going to write us a memo, Ry."

"Okay, okay." She let out a long breath. "Keep him busy."

"Sir. Negotiator's on-scene."

"Bring him up-to-date, Dallas," Whitney ordered. "Then we structure alternatives."

She briefed the negotiator, set him up with a 'link. And turning, saw Roarke striding through the door. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Media bulletin." He didn't speak of the terror he'd lived with since hearing the report that there had been weapons fired, officers wounded, and a hostage taken at Cop Central. And from his quick scan of the room, he sized up the most vital aspects of the situation.

His wife was unharmed. And Feeney was missing.

"Feeney?"

"The hostage. I don't have time for you."

He laid a hand on her arm before she could walk away. "What can I do to help?"

She didn't waste time asking how he'd gotten into a secured area in the first place. He was a man who went where he wanted to go. Nor did she ask how he expected to help when the sector was loaded with cops whose job it was to deal with a crisis.

Nobody was better at cutting through a crisis.

"McNab was hit."

"Christ." He turned, as she did, and found Peabody, on the floor with the first medical team.

"I don't know his status. I'd feel better if I knew one way or the other."

"Done." There was anger in him now, a kind of frigid fury more deadly than heat. "Lieutenant, if it's money he wants, the department will have unlimited funds at its disposal."

"Appreciated, but it's not money. Go, give Peabody a shoulder. I need to focus on getting Feeney out of there alive. Roarke. Wait." She scooped a hand through her hair. "Find which cube is Halloway's. He's got a data unit in there. Shut it down. Don't touch it, don't get any closer to it than necessary. Just shut it down."

Inside Feeney's office, Halloway screamed into the 'link. Rusty knifes were slicing their way through his brain. He could feel it bleeding. "You want to talk to me? Then turn the temp down in this furnace. You keep trying to fry me out, I drop this useless old E-fart. I'm not talking to you, asshole. Put Dallas back on. Put that goddamn lying bitch back on. You got ten seconds!"

At the signal, she sprang to the 'link. "I'm here Halloway."

"Didn't I order you to turn the heat down in here? Didn't I give you a direct order?"

"Yes, sir. I followed that order."

"Don't you lie to me. You want me to start on his hands." Halloway pressed his weapon down hard on the back of Feeney's hand. "I give it a good strong jolt, he won't be jerking off with this hand anymore."

"I'll have it turned down farther. Halloway, just listen to me. Look at Feeney. He's not sweating. You can do a temp check. The room's down to sixty-five."

"That's bullshit! I'm burning up in here."

"Because you're sick. You've got some kind of virus, like an infection. You've got a bad headache, haven't you, Halloway? And you've got a nosebleed. It's the infection that's making you feel this way, the infection that's hurting you. You need medical. Let us get you some help, and we'll straighten all this out."

"Why don't you come in, bitch?" His mouth twisted. "Come on in and you'll see how fast we straighten this out."

"I can come in. I can bring you some medicine."

"Fuck you."

"I come in, Halloway, and don't deliver. You'd have two hostages. You're in control. You're in charge. You know Feeney's a friend of mine. I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize his welfare. I can bring you in medication for your headache, and whatever else you want."

"Fuck you," he said again, and broke transmission.

"Bartering another hostage isn't the way to deal in this situation." The negotiator shoved himself between Eve and the 'link. "We don't need any sacrificing, we don't need any hotshots."

"Normally I'd agree with you, but the man holding the cards in there isn't going to listen to the usual lines. First, he's a cop and he knows the routine. Second, he's suffering from some sort of neurological disorder that's affecting his behavior, his judgment, his actions."

"I'm in charge of this negotiation."