"That liberation army business is bullshit, huh?"

"Yeah. And finally, Chief Lowenstein told Wohl he wanted Highway to pick up these guys. I think Wohl wants to make the point that he will take requests, or suggestions, from Lowenstein, but not orders. In other words, if Lowenstein had said he wanted ACT to make the arrests, Wohl would have sent Highway."

"If the ACT guys blow it, Wohl'll have egg on his face."

"Yeah," Matt said, "and if you should happen to be around Castor and Frankford at that time of the morning, Wohl would figure out where you heard what was happening and I would have egg, or worse, on mine."

"Yeah, I suppose. Shit! Okay. I won't be there."

Matt finished cleaning up and then stood and looked over Charley's shoulder as he worked. It became quickly apparent that Charley was a quite competent draftsman.

I didn't learn a damned thing in high school, for that matter in college, that has any practical value.

"I wish I could do that," Matt said.

"So do I," McFadden said. "Then I could get the fuck out of here."

THIRTEEN

At 3:45 the next morning Officer Matthew M. Payne, in his bathrobe, was watching the timer on his combination washer-drier. It had twentyfive minutes to run.

At approximately 3:25 Officer Matthew M. Payne had experienced what the Rev. H. Wadsworth Coyle of Episcopal Academy had, in a euphemistically titled course (Personal Hygiene I), euphemistically termed a "nocturnal emission." The Reverend Coyle had assured the boys that it was a natural biological phenomenon, and nothing to be shamed about.

It had provoked in Officer Payne a mixed reaction. On one hand, it had been a really first-class experience, with splendid mental imagery of Helene, right down to the slightly salty taste of her mouth on his, and on the other, a real first-class pain in the ass, having to get out of goddamn bed in the middle of the goddamn night to take a goddamn shower and then wash the goddamn sheets so the maid would not find the goddamn telltale spots on the goddamn sheets.

"Fuck it!" Officer Payne said, aloud and somewhat angrily. He draped his bathrobe carefully on the stove, went into his bedroom, and dressed. The last item of his wardrobe was his revolver and his ankle holster, which he had deposited for the night on the mantelpiece over the fireplace.

Picking up the revolver triggered another mental image of the superbly bosomed Helene, but a nonerotic, indeed somewhat disturbing, one: the way she had handled the gun, and even the cartridges. That had been weird.

He went down the stairs, and then rode the elevator to the basement. When he drove out of the garage onto Manning Street, he saw that not only was it snowing, but that it had apparently been snowing for some time. Small flakes, which were not melting, and which suggested it was going to continue to snow for at least some time.

He made his way to North Broad Street, and drove out North Broad to Spring Garden, and then right on Spring Garden to Delaware Avenue, and then north on Delaware to Frankford Avenue and then out on Frankford toward Castor.

Except for a few all-night gas stations and fast-food emporia, the City of Philadelphia seemed to be asleep. The snow had not yet had time to become soot-soiled. It was, Matt thought, rather pretty.

On the other hand, there was ice beneath the nice white snow, and twice he felt the wheels of the Porsche slipping out of control.

And there is a very good chance that when I get out there, Inspector Wohl will remind me that he said he would see me at eight o'clock in the office, not here at four-fifteen, remind me that he has suggested it would well behoove me to listen carefully to what he says, and send me home.

There was a white glow, of headlights and parking lights reflecting off the fallen and falling snow in the school building parking lot. And just as he saw an ACT cop open the door of an RPC standing at the curb to wave a flashlight to stop him, Matt saw Inspector Wohl, Captain Sabara, and Lieutenant Malone standing in the light coming through the windshield of a stakeout van.

Malone and Sabara were in uniform. Wohl was wearing a fur-collared overcoat and a tweed cap. He looked, Matt thought, like a stockbroker waiting for the 8:05 commuter train at Wallingford, not like the sort of man who would be in charge of all this police activity.

Matt pushed the button and the window of the Porsche whooshed down.

"I'm a Three Six Nine," he said to the ACT cop. "I work for Inspector Wohl."

The cop waved him through, and Matt turned into the parking lot and found a place to park the car.

As he walked across the snow, which crunched under his shoes, toward them, he was aware that they were looking at him. He decided that there was a good chance that Wohl would be sore he had come here.

"Good morning," Matt said.

Wohl looked at him a good thirty seconds before speaking, then said, "There's a thermos of coffee in the stakeout van, if you'd like some."

"Thank you," Matt said.

When he came back out of the van, Mickey O'Hara was standing with the others.

"You know Officer Payne of the Building Measuring Detail, don't you, Mickey?" Wohl asked, straight-faced.

"Whaddaya say, Payne?" Mickey said. "Relax, I'm not going to play straight man to your boss."

A lieutenant whose name Matt could not recall walked up and with surprising formality saluted.

"Everything's in place, Inspector," he said.

Matt was pleased to see that Wohl was somewhat discomfited by the lieutenant's salute, visibly torn between returning it, like an officer returning a soldier's salute, or not.

"You check with West Philly?" Wohl asked after a moment, making a vague gesture toward his tweed cap that could have been a salute, but did not have to be.

"Yes, sir. Two cars, a sergeant, a stakeout truck, and a van."

"Can you make it over there in thirty"-looking at his watch-"seven minutes?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, you-" Wohl interrupted himself. Captain Pekach, in full Highway uniform, walked up. The lieutenant saluted again. Pekach, although he looked a little surprised, returned it.

"Good morning," Pekach said.

Wohl ignored him.

"Lieutenant, when did you get out of the Army?" he asked.

"I've been back about four months, sir."

"What were you?"

"I had a platoon in the First Cavalry, sir."

"That worries me," Wohl said. "Let me tell you why. We are policemen, not soldiers. We are going to arrest some smalltime robbers, not assault a Vietcong village. I'm a little worried that you don't understand that. I don't want any shooting, unless lives are in danger. I would rather that one or two of these scumbags get away-we can get them later-than to have anybody start shooting the place up. Did Captain Sabara make sure you understood that?"

"Yes, sir. I understand."

"I am about to promulgate a new edict," Wohl said. "Henceforth, no one will salute the commanding officer of Special Operations unless he happens to be in a uniform."

"Yes, sir," the lieutenant said. "I'm sorry, Inspector. I didn't know the ground rules."

"Go and sin no more," Wohl said with a smile, touching his arm. "Take over in West Philly. Get going at five o'clock, presuming you think they're ready."

"Yes, sir," the lieutenant said.

He walked away.

"Good morning, David," Wohl said to Pekach. "Captain Sabara and myself are touched that you would get out of your warm bed to be with us here."

"I figured maybe I could help," Pekach said.

"You and Officer Payne," Wohl said dryly. He looked at his watch. "Hhour in thirty-five minutes, men," he added in a credible mimicry of John Wayne.

"What happens at H-hour, General?" Mickey O'Hara asked.