"You know the answer to that." He forced her around. Her cheeks were damp again. "You know the answer in your heart."

"I used to know it in my gut. I used to know it in mybones. And I don't know what kind of cop I'm going to make if I don't feel it that way again."

"I don't know this Dwier, but I do know this: He may not live out his life in a cage, but he'll never be free again. I do know you, Eve. Whatever you did, you did for Halloway, for Hannah Wade, and the rest. You bargained your own needs away for theirs."

"I don't know if I did. But I hope to God it was worth it." She used her hands to scrub her cheeks dry. "I'm going to break them tonight. And tomorrow, I'm going to send Peachtree down to hell with them."

She blew out a breath, pushed back her hair. 'To do that, I've got to shake this off."

"Would you like some positive news?"

"I could use it."

"We've finished the full ID on the virus. We've duplicated it. Which means we can create a permanent shield against it that allows us full access to the data in the remaining units."

"You can track it back to source?"

"We can. We will. It'll take a bit more time, but we're on our way, well on it, to that point."

"Good. I've got a warrant. One that went through," she added, thinking of Judge Archer. "All Dukes's equipment-whatever's left in his place-is to be confiscated. I need you to dig out transmissions. Somebody gave him the word to run, and where to run to. We're getting Dwier's and Price's, too. Just in case they're holding any names back."

"We'll be busy."

"You and Jamie can put in some time on them tonight while we run the op."

"I recall you saying the investigative team would be in on this bust."

"I can't take the kid on an op." She rose, walked to the closet. "You'd be a lot more valuable to me in the lab. That's not a con, and to prove it, I'm not ordering you to stay." She grabbed a shirt, turned back. "I'm asking."

"That's tricky of you." He got to his feet. "I'll be your lab rat then, for a bit longer."

"Appreciate it."

"Don't wear those trousers with that shirt. What are you thinking?"

"I'm going to a bust, not a party."

"That's no reason not to look your best. Let's see, what's the well-dressed cop wearing these days to take down a major terrorist organization? You can't go wrong with basic black."

"Is this a joke?" she asked as he selected another shirt.

"Good fashion sense is never a joke." He handed her the shirt, slid a finger down the dent in her chin. "But it's good to see you smile again, Lieutenant. Oh, and wear the black boots, not the brown."

"I don't have any black boots."

He reached in, pulled out a pair of sturdy black leather. "You do now."

Half a block down from the Church of The Savior, Eve sat in the surveillance vehicle and argued with Peabody.

"Look, you're lucky to be here at all. You're on medical leave."

"No, I'm not because I didn't sign off."

"I signed you off."

"I signed me back on."

Eve bared her teeth. "You forgot the 'sir.'"

Peabody's chin jutted. "No, I didn't."

"How about I write you up for insubordination?"

"Go ahead." Peabody folded her arms across her chest. "I can handle it. Just like I can handle this op."

Eve let out a gusty sigh. "Maybe you're right."

Beside her, Feeney shifted his gaze from the monitor toward Eve. And thought: Oh-oh.

"I'm patched up," Peabody claimed, relaxing a little as she saw her opening. "I'm fit for duty. It wasn't that big a deal."

"I guess I'm just overreacting a little." Eve lifted her hands, then pushed to her feet. "You ought to know how you feel, right?"

"Absolutely. Sir," she said.

"Well then." Eve patted Peabody's shoulder lightly. Then squeezed. She watched her aide's color drain, watched her mouth go lax on a shocked and painedO. "And how do you feel now?"

"I feel just…"

"All patched up?" She watched the sweat pearl on Peabody's brow. "Fit for duty?"

"I'm…"

"Sit down. Shut up."

"Yes, sir." At Eve's gentle nudge, Peabody's legs folded. She wasn't sure if she put her head between her knees or Eve did, but either way she was grateful.

"You'll stay in the surveillance vehicle and assist McNab. Any arguments from you, Detective?" she said, looking at McNab.

"No. No, sir, Lieutenant." He patted Peabody on the back. "You okay, honey?"

"No honeys!" Eve pulled at her hair. "There are no honeys on an op, for sweet Christ's sake. Keep it up, just keep it up, and I'm having one of you transferred to Queens."

She turned on her heel, dropped down beside Feeney again. "What's the status?"

"A few early birds going in. Pretty quiet yet." He lowered his voice. "Good job there. She ain't ready to rock yet. Girl's got spine though."

"There'll be other ops," Eve agreed, and studied the monitor. "There's always another op."

The church was small, an unpretentious building that might have started out white. It was gray now, a soft and dingy gray that boasted a simple black cross. It had no steeple, and only a scattering of windows across the front.

Eve knew what it looked like inside. She'd studied the blueprints and the record Baxter had taken. He'd dressed as a sidewalk sleeper, had stumbled around inside. Though he hadn't been able to get to the basement, he'd gotten a good picture of the main level.

And had copped ten credits from the deacon who'd finally moved him along again.

There were fifty pews, twenty-five to a side. A podium centered at the front. There were two doors off the worship area. Baxter had managed to bungle his way into one, snag a quick record of an office area before the deacon had rushed in to fuss over him.

The equipment in the office was top-of-the-line and several levels over what any little neighborhood church could afford.

There were three outside doors. The front, the east side, and the rear that led to the basement.

All were covered. When they moved, she thought, they'd surround the building like the rings around Saturn.

"Picking up more chatter now," Feeney told her.

Eve lifted up her earpiece, tuned in.

There was talk about sports. How about those Yankees? Women exchanged recipes and talked child care. Someone mentioned a sale at Barney's.

"Jesus." Feeney shook his head. "Sounds like a damn PTA meeting."

"A what?"

"School deal. Parents, teachers. What kind of terrorists are they?"

"Ordinary people," Eve said. "That's what makes them so dangerous. Most are just regular Joes looking for a way to clean up the streets. I watched this vid with Roarke. This Old West thing. Bad guys kicking ass in this town. Law can't stop them 'cause they kick the law's ass, too. So the people get together, pool some bucks and hire this band of gunslingers-that's a great word, isn't it? Gunslinger."

She savored it for just a moment, snagged a few of Feeney's candied nuts. "Anyway, they hired these guys to get rid of the other guys. And they do. But then the gunslingers decide, hey, we like it here, so we're going to hang and run things our way. What are you gonna do about that? So the town ends up under their thumb."

"Just trade one gun for another."

"Yeah, plus you lose the bucks, a lot of people who were minding their own get hurt. Ends up this U.S. Marshall type comes in-which should've been done in the first place-and after a lot of shooting, people taking dives off roofs, getting dragged around by horses and shit, he cleans up the place."

"We don't have the horses, but we'll clean up the place tonight."

"Damn right."

They waited. Dull conversation, long silences, quick updates from other units stationed around the perimeter. Cop work, Eve thought, as she sipped black coffee and monitored, was hours of waiting, mountains of paperwork, stretches of unbelievable boredom. And moments, extreme moments where it came down to life and death.