She glanced over at Peabody. Instants, she thought, and inches. And fate.

"They're starting," Feeney said quietly. "Must be all they're expecting tonight. Bastards are starting their death meeting with The Lord's Prayer."

"They're about to have plenty to pray for." Eve got to her feet. "Let's round them up, and take them down."

She ran checks with each unit captain, ordered all positions held while she and Feeney moved in to join Baxter and Trueheart.

Her unit would hit the basement door first.

She gave Baxter's chest a quick poke to make sure he was wearing his riot gear. Grinning, he poked her back. "Damn stuff's heavy, isn't it?"

"Irritates the hell out of me," she admitted. She circled her finger. He turned so she could yank down the concealing flap and reveal the NYPSD emblem on the back of his jacket.

"Meeting's under way," McNab reported through her earpiece. "Judge Lincoln's presiding. They're reading fucking minutes from the last meeting."

"Let's give them a couple minutes," Eve ordered. "Get more on record. The more we have, the deeper we put them under."

"Lieutenant?" Trueheart whispered, as if already in church. "I want to thank you for allowing me to be a part of this op."

"You're going to suck up," Baxter told him. "You suck up to me now.I suck up to Dallas. That's the food chain."

"Opening to new business," McNab reported. "Discussion on Greene termination. Wade termination called unfortunate systemic by-product. Jesus. Single objection from membership."

"Sir?" Peabody's voice came through. "Word just came in. Geller didn't make it."

Eight dead, Eve thought. It ends now. "This meeting's over."

"Locked and loaded," Baxter said.

"All units, go.Go "

She went in the door first, and down a set of old iron stairs. In her mind she pictured other units coming in the front, the side, streaming across the main floor.

Weapon drawn, badge held up, she swung through the doorway into the basement room.

"NYPSD! Nobody moves."

There were some screams, some shouts. A few people scrambled, either for cover or escape. Secondary units poured in like ants at a picnic. Ants armed with laser rifles and twin-barreled stunners.

"Put your hands up. Hands up," Eve shouted, "or you will be stunned. This building is surrounded. There is no way out. You are under arrest for terrorist acts, for conspiracy to commit murder, for the murder of a police officer, and other charges that will be made known to you."

She moved forward, sweeping faces, movements. Some wept now, and others stood rigid in fury. Still more knelt, hands clasped like martyrs about to be fed to the pagan lions.

"On the floor," she ordered. "On your faces. Hands behind your heads."

She swung hard as she saw Judge Lincoln reach inside his jacket. "Do it," she said softly. "Give me a reason."

His hand dropped. He had a hard face, dark stone with features sharply carved. She had sat in his courtroom, given testimony there. Had trusted him to feed justice.

She took the weapon from under his jacket, patted him down.

"We're the solution," he told her. "We're courageous enough to act while others sit and wait."

"I bet Hitler said the same thing. On the floor." She pushed him to his knees. "On your face, hands behind you."

She clapped the restraints on him herself. "This is for Colleen Halloway," she said softly in his ear. "She knows more about courage than you ever will. You're a goddamn disgrace."

She got to her feet. "Baxter, read this bunch of heroes their rights."

It was two-thirty when she made it home. But it wasn't fatigue that dogged her now but a weariness so internal it dragged at both body and mind.

She felt none of the rush of victory, the pumping energy from seeing a job through. When she closed the door at her back, she couldn't find it in her to toss an insult at the waiting Summerset.

"Despite the lateness of the hour, am I to expect your house guests will arrive with their usual desire for refreshments?"

"No. They've got homes of their own, and they're using them."

"You were successful?"

"They scored eight before I stopped them. I guess that would depend on your definition of successful."

"Lieutenant."

Her mind was too shadowed for more than mild irritation. She stopped on the second step, looked back. "What do you want?"

"During the Urban Wars there were a number of civilian-driven organizations. Some risked their own lives to try to protect neighborhoods under siege or to rebuild those that had been decimated. There were many acts of heroism. And there were other groups who were also organized. They sought only to destroy, to punish, to wage other levels of warfare. Some formed their own courts, held trials. Oddly, all of those trials ended with a verdict of guilty, and were swiftly followed by execution.

"Each," he said, "had considerable success with their separate agendas. History is, however, enlightened by one and tainted by the other."

"I'm not looking to make history."

"That's a pity," he said as she continued up the stairs. "Because you've done so tonight."

She went by the lab first, but there was only Jamie. He was obviously out of work mode and into recreation. There was a graphic of Yankee Stadium on his monitor. He was playing against Baltimore, and the O's were up two runs in the bottom of the sixth.

"Shit, you blind?" He slapped the unit as the ump called a strike on his batter. "That was high and outside, asshole."

"It caught the corner," Eve disagreed. "Nipped the strike zone. Good pitch."

"Like hell." He paused his game, swiveled around. "Wanna take me on? It's better with two reals instead of playing against the comp."

"I'll trounce all over you some other time. Hit the sheets."

"Hey, hey, wait!" He scrambled up. "Aren't you going to tell me how it went down?"

"It went down."

"Well, Iknow. We got the call on it. But no deets. Spill some deets, Dallas."

"Tomorrow. We'll have a full briefing."

"One deet. You give me one, then I got one for you."

"We confiscated discs containing records of every meeting. We've got them sewn up so tight they can't hack their way out of the sack with a broadsword. Give."

"Okay, frig-o. We got some track."

"You found the source?"

"Nothing to it once we cloned. Virus was sent out from the unit confiscated from Dukes's lower level work area. He sent them staggered over a three-day period. He pushed the button on every one of them."

"They brought him in from Albany tonight. He's lawyered up. I'll take him apart tomorrow. Go to bed, kid."

"Got to smash the O's first."

She shrugged. "Whatever." She walked to the door, paused. "Jamie. I was against Roarke bringing you onto the team. I was wrong. You did a stand-up job."

His face brightened like a sun. "Thanks."

She left him to battle the Birds, and went to Roarke's office. He, too, was at his unit, but she doubted he was playing. Whatever his business was, he shut it down when she came in.

"Congratulations, Lieutenant. Where's your team?"

"They were heading to some after-hours place to wind down with a couple of drinks. I passed."

"Then you can have one here with me." He rose to top off his brandy and pour her a glass of wine. "We have your source."

"Yeah, Jamie told me. I stopped by the lab on my way."

"He's still up?"

"Yankees and O's, bottom of the sixth. He's two down, with two out and a runner on first."

"Ah, well then." He gave her the wine. "Did he tell you we also found a number of transmissions? To and from Price and Dwier. And three, so far, from Mayor Peachtree's office 'link. The last coming in the afternoon of your visit to the Dukes house. Text only. It advises Dukes to take a little holiday with his family, and gives a suggestion for the address in Albany. It's carefully worded, but under the circumstances, damning enough."