Mike had almost given up hope that the situation could be resolved tonight. Darkness had fallen with no improvement, not in the hostage situation, and not in Mike’s soul. Just as the gloom of the day had mirrored his inner state before, so the darkness that now enveloped them seemed altogether appropriate. Swift had ordered all illumination kept to a bare minimum; the less reflective light bouncing around, the better the chance that one of her snipers might eventually get a clear shot. The kidnappers weren’t talking and weren’t budging. In short, the siege was going nowhere. Mike had even reluctantly called his friend Ben Kincaid with the unhappy news that he’d have to watch tonight’s Xena rerun alone. This standoff showed no signs of resolving itself anytime soon.

Until Agent Swift’s cell phone started playing the theme from Dragnet.

“So what’s the story?” Mike asked, after she clamped her Nokia shut.

“They’re offering to release the kid.”

Mike’s eyebrow rose. He did not smile.

“They want safe passage. An armored truck to get them to the airport, then a flight to New York that can refuel and continue on to the Netherlands.”

“The Netherlands,” Mike repeated. “Child porn capital of the universe.”

“They say they’ll leave Tommy somewhere safe and give us his location as soon as they’re out of the country.”

Neither of them spoke for a long while.

“You think they’ve already killed him?” Mike asked, finally.

“Not yet. I talked to him, just for a moment. But it’s obvious they plan to. They can’t let him identify them, especially now that it’s a murder case. They’ll take him in the truck, slash his throat, and dump him somewhere he won’t be discovered until they’re safely in Amsterdam.”

“What’d’you tell them?”

“That we’d do it, of course. Assistant Director Blanchard was hovering over my shoulder the whole time. My orders are to comply with their demands in every respect. To take no aggressive action.”

“Which means…”

“Yeah. But the Bureau won’t be to blame. If we marched in all Waco-style and it went bad, the press would crucify us.”

Mike let everything she was saying-and everything she was not saying-sink in. “So we’ve got?…”

She was staring at her watch. “Twenty-eight minutes.”

“Are you going to move in?”

“Blanchard says no.”

“If we let that kid get in the truck, he’s dead.”

“I know that.”

“Any chance your superiors would authorize a small incursion? Like maybe two people?”

“None.”

They looked at each other.

“You got a plan?” he said finally.

“Damn straight.”

Mike checked the magazine in his gun. Fully loaded. “Let’s go.”

Using the darkness to their advantage, Mike and Agent Swift crouched and ran to the apartment building, weaving a serpentine trail through the back alleys. They avoided the street lamps and stayed out of the view of the kidnappers’ sole window. Through the sniperscope, Mike had noticed there was a fire escape ladder that hung down the north wall of the complex. It was the only feasible approach. The kidnappers had decommissioned the elevators and were watching the stairs.

“I don’t know how we get into the room without being seen,” Swift whispered, as she followed him up the ladder.

“I was thinking we’d use you as a decoy. You are wearing Kevlar, right?”

“But seriously.”

Above them, Mike heard glass being shattered.

“Duck!”

All around them, shards of glass from a windowpane descended in a dangerous crystalline rainfall. But that was not the worst of their problems. A moment later, the glass was supplanted by bullets.

Mike leapt off the ladder onto the fourth-story landing and pressed up against the wall.

“Over here!” he shouted.

Another flurry of gunfire rang out. Swift rolled to the edge of the landing and took cover under the eaves. They stood shoulder to shoulder, craning their necks to see where the shots were coming from. A few moments later, the section of the fire escape stretching from the fourth to the fifth floor descended with an ear-shattering clang.

“Damnation,” Mike swore. “They removed the bolts.”

“So quickly?”

“Must’ve known we were coming. But how? It’s dark. We were quiet.”

“They might have night-vision specs. Maybe there are more of them than we realized.” She examined the ladder, now barely stretching beyond the ceiling level of the fourth floor. “Think you can reattach it?”

“From up there? Sure. From down here? No way.” Mike raised his hand and pointed. “See that window?”

She followed his finger to a point about five feet above them and to the left. “Looks like a hallway.”

“Whatever. It can’t be far from their room. We can crawl through the window, knock down the door, and find our kidnappers. And the boy.”

“How do we get the window open?”

“Since they’re onto us, I see no reason to be subtle.” He whipped out his trusty Sig Sauer and fired three rounds. The window shattered. “We’ve got to hurry.”

Swift was peering overhead. “That must be five feet, up to that window landing.”

Mike nodded. “I can make it.”

“And about thirty feet down.”

“And your point is?”

“Don’t miss.”

“Thanks, I won’t.” He sidestepped to the edge of the landing.

She grabbed his arm. “What about the gunfire?”

“I think I should try to avoid it.”

She tugged at his shirt. “No, I’ll go.”

“This was my crazy idea.”

“I’m lighter. I’m much more likely to make it.”

“There’s no way I’m letting-”

“Back off, Morelli. I’m in charge here.” She crouched down, ready to spring. “Give me a boost.”

“But I-”

“That’s an order, Major!”

There was no time to argue. Mike cupped his hands together. Swift inserted her right boot, grabbed the wall, and let him lift her up. She stepped onto his shoulders and jumped.

Mike grimaced as he saw her hands slap down on the jagged edge of the window. That had to hurt, but to her credit, she wasn’t complaining. She pulled herself through, then reemerged headfirst.

“No sign of them. Push up the ladder.”

Mike did as instructed. Swift hooked the edges over the top rail, and a moment later, they were both on the fifth floor. Mike raced down the hallway and kicked in the front door. “Police! Freeze!”

He crouched and swung into the room, gun extended, and did a quick sweep. He went off to the right toward the bedroom, while Swift moved into the kitchenette.

No one was there.

“All clear.”

“What about in the back?”

Together, they ran through the main living room and found another door in the rear. They could hear voices.

“FBI!” Swift barked. “Hands up! Nobody move!”

She kicked in the door and led the way. She took high left; he took low right.

The voices they had heard were coming from the television. Cartoon Network, if Mike wasn’t mistaken. There was no one there.

No one except Tommy Metzger.

Agent Swift ran to the boy’s side. “Don’t worry, son. We’re the police. We’re here to take you home.”

For the first time, the boy looked away from the television. He was holding a soda and a half-eaten Twinkie. “Go away!”

Swift blinked. “Don’t be afraid, Tommy. You’re safe now. Where did the bad men go?”

“They’re my friends! Leave them alone!”

Mike sighed heavily. He was disappointed, but not surprised. It had been eight days. Stockholm Syndrome was a foreseeable consequence. “I’ll finish securing the apartment.” It didn’t take long, given the size of the place. There were lots of traces of people-empty pizza boxes, a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, even a toothbrush. But no people.

When he returned to the living room, Mike saw that Agent Swift had turned off the television, sending the boy into a rage. “You can’t tell me what to do! Where are my friends?”