"So they know who they are?" Pekach said.

"Yes, they do. What Chief Lowenstein told the district attorney was going to happen was that Highway would pick all these people up first thing tomorrow morning. They will be run through a lineup, lineups, so that they can be positively identified by the one good witness Homicide has. By then, the DA will have made sure that the municipal court judge doesn't turn these thugs loose on their own recognizance. He will then arrange to get them before the Grand Jury for indictment, and then on the docket. The district attorney has assigned Assistant District Attorney Farnsworth Stillwell to the case."

"What did Arthur X say?" Sabara asked.

"I don't think he considers the gentlemen in question to be bona fide coreligionists," Washington said. "The phrase he used was 'punk niggers.'"

There was a moment's silence.

"Inspector," Pekach said thoughtfully, "I get the feeling that there' s something about this that bothers you. I guess I'm just dense-"

"As I was saying to Officer Payne just a few minutes ago, Captain Pekach, listening carefully to what I say may be the thing to do."

Jesus, Wohl can be a sarcastic prick! Jack Malone thought. Then, Why am I surprised? He's no older than I am, and a staff inspector, a division commander. You don't get to be either as Mr. Nice Guy.

This was followed by: If he finds out that I'm still after Bob Holland, which now seems even more likely, with Payne and McFadden being pals, Christ only knows what he'll do.

"Chief Lowenstein also told the district attorney," Wohl went on, " that Highway will conspicuously protect his one witness, with the idea being that the other witnesses, perhaps counseled by Sergeant Washington, may suddenly have their memories unfogged by coming to realize that the only way they can really cover their asses is to help put the Islamic Liberation Army away, by testifying."

"But Chief Lowenstein did not, I gather, confer with you before he decided what Highway was going to do, right?" Jason Washington asked.

"Sergeant Washington has just won the Careful Listener of the Week Award," Wohl said.

"But he's like that, you know that," Sabara said.

"He may be like that with other people, but he's not going to be like that with me," Wohl said.

"That puts me in the same boat with Dave. I'm lost."

"Special Operations is going to make the arrests," Wohl said. "And Special Operations is going to protect Homicide's one witness. Not Highway."

"And if Special Operations blows it?" Sabara asked.

"We have here an armed robbery, during which a murder occurred. We know who the doers are. The suspects are under surveillance at this moment by Homicide detectives. At five o'clock tomorrow morning, they will tell Sergeant Washington where these people are. At that point, police officers, with warrants, will be sent to assist the Homicide detectives in arresting them. If the police officers in question cannot accomplish this without difficulty, then perhaps they shouldn't be cops, and their supervisors, by whom I mean you and me, Mike, shouldn't be supervisors."

Sabara didn't reply.

"Two things," Wohl said. "I don't want anybody in Highway, or anywhere else, hearing about this before it happens. And I don't want a big deal made of it. I'm not putting Highway down or Special Operations up. I'm treating the robbery and shooting at Goldblatt's like any other robbery where things got out of hand and somebody got killed. The Homicide Bureau found out who did it, and uniformed officers are going to help them make the arrests. I don't want to dignify a bunch of thugs by calling them an army."

"What about the press?"

"We owe Mickey O'Hara one. Actually, we owe Mickey O'Hara a couple of dozen. When you decide where this thing will start, Mike, call Mickey and suggest he might find it interesting to be there."

"Just Mickey?"

"Just Mickey."

"Do we know where these guys are? I mean are they all in one area, or all over the city?" Sabara asked.

"Mostly in Frankford, the Whitehall area," Jason Washington said. " One of them is in West Philadelphia."

"Where'd you get that?" Wohl asked.

Washington met his eyes and then said, "I talked to Joe D'Amata."

"One of Sergeant Washington's responsibilities as head of the Special Investigations Section will be to keep in touch with the Detective Division, and especially Homicide," Wohl said. "Matt, make sure you put that in when you write the job description."

"Yes, sir. Sir, can I say something?"

"At your peril, Officer Payne."

"There's a parking lot, actually a playground, behind the school building. You could use that as a place to meet."

"We're going to need-" Sabara said, pausing to do the mental arithmetic, "-space to park fifteen, sixteen cars, plus what, four wagons and a couple of stakeout trucks. That big?"

"Yes, sir."

"I don't want stakeout acting like the 2^nd Armored Division invading Germany," Wohl said. "They should be available, but-"

"I understand," Sabara said.

"Matt, on your way to the FBI," Wohl said, "swing past the school building and make sure the parking lot will be big enough. And then call Captain Sabara and tell him."

"Yes, sir."

"Jesus," Wohl said angrily. "I haven't looked at this stuff yet."

He flipped through the photocopied documents for the FBI quickly and then looked up at Payne.

"You'd better leave now," Wohl said. "I wouldn't want the FBI to think I had forgotten them. And we won't need you in on this. Get the building dimensions, and whatever other information about that place you think we can use, and be here at eight in the morning." He paused and looked at the others. "By that time, we should have eight thugs, more or less, on their way, without fuss, to the Roundhouse. Then we can turn to important things, like making our new home habitable."

"Yes, sir," Matt said, and got up and started to leave.

"Matt!" Wohl called after him.

"Yes, sir?"

"Don't you think it would be a good idea to take this stuff with you?" Wohl asked innocently, pointing at the stack of copies of the Jerome Nelson job.

"Yes, sir," Matt said. His face flushed. He took the documents from Wohl's desk and walked out.

As he closed the door, he heard Wohl say, "If I didn't know better, I might suspect Young Matt's in love."

"How about 'in rut'?" Sabara said. Matt closed the door on their laughter.

"May I help you, sir?" Miss Lenore Gray, who was twenty-six, tall, slim, auburn-haired, and the receptionist at the FBI office, asked, smiling a bit more brightly than was her custom at what she judged to be a very well-dressed, nice-looking young man.

"My name is Payne," Matt said. "I'm a police officer. I have some documents for Mr. Davis."

Lenore had been told to be on the lookout for a Philadelphia cop named Payne, and to call SAC Davis (or, if he was out of the office, A-SAC (Criminal Affairs) Frank F. Young, or if he was out too, one of the other A-SACs) when he showed up.

She had expected a cop in uniform, not a good-looking young man like this in a very nice blue blazer.

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Davis is not in the office," she said. "Just a moment, please."

She pushed buttons on her new, state-of-the-art telephone system that caused one of the telephones on the desk of A-SAC (Criminal Affairs) Frank F. Young to ring. She did not want to go through the hassle of telling A-SAC Young's secretary why she wanted to talk to him.

"Frank Young."

"This is Miss Gray at reception, Mr. Young. Officer Payne of the police is here."

"Tell him I'll be right out," Young said.

"Mr. Young will be out in a moment," Lenore said with a smile. "Mr. Young is our A-SAC, Criminal Affairs."