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"Thirty seconds, gentlemen…," Corporal Rapier said. Four hours earlier, when Coughlin had led his group into the Executive Command Center, he'd found the mayor and the police commissioner already seated at Conference Table One. They had heavy china mugs steaming with fresh coffee before them on the table. Mariana's mug read SCIENCE amp; TECHNOLOGY EXECUTIVE COMMAND CENTER. The mayor's mug read GENO'S STEAKS SOUTH PHILLY, PENNA.

Everyone in the ECC was casually dressed. Even the usually stiffly buttoned-down Carlucci wasn't wearing a necktie, and he had his shirt collar open. And Matt Payne and Tony Harris still looked rumpled and messy, the result of having been up most of the night running down leads in the death of Reggie Jones.

"Good morning, gentlemen," Carlucci said in a solemn tone suggesting he meant that it was anything but a good morning. He did not move from his chair except to grab his coffee mug handle.

There was a chorus of "good morning"s in reply.

Mariana added, "Fresh coffee in there." He waved with his mug across the room, indicating a door that led to a kitchenette.

Carlucci then said, "Sergeant Payne, no offense, but you and Detective Harris look like hell."

"Considering what we've been through, Mr. Mayor," Payne said dryly, "hell sounds like an absolute utopian paradise. I enjoy the thrill of the chase as much as the next guy, but this one's a real challenge. Right now we don't know if we're dealing with a single shooter-slash-strangler, or if there are others-that is, as someone put it earlier, Halloween Homicide Copycats."

Ordinarily, a lowly police sergeant speaking so bluntly to the highest elected official of a major city would be cause for disciplinary-if not more drastic-measures.

But Carlucci's relationship with Payne, and most everyone else in the group, was anything but ordinary.

Back when he'd been a cop, Carlucci had known and liked Matt's biological father. And that went way back, to when Sergeant John F. X. Moffitt had been the best friend of a young Denny Coughlin before being killed in the line of duty.

Mayor Carlucci was also well acquainted with Matt Payne's adoptive father, whom he also liked very much, and not only because Brewster Cortland Payne II was a founding partner of Philadelphia's most prestigious law firm.

And there was another connection between Matt and Hizzonor.

Carlucci had been Coughlin's "rabbi"-his mentor-and had groomed the young police officer with great potential for the larger responsibilities that would come as he rose in the ranks of the department.

Denny Coughlin had gone on to groom Peter Wohl, son of Augustus Wohl, Chief Inspector (Retired). And then Peter Wohl-indeed among the best and brightest, having at twenty graduated from Temple University, then entered the Police Academy and, later, become the youngest staff inspector on the department-had been in recent years Matt Payne's rabbi.

And, more or less completing the circle, the elder Wohl had in his time been the rabbi of an up-and-coming police officer-a young man by the name of Jerry Carlucci.

"If I didn't know better, Matt," Mayor Carlucci now said, his face and tone suggesting more than a little displeasure, surprising Payne, "I'd say you were on the street working all night." He paused to make eye contact with the white shirt he'd mentored decades earlier, then went on: "But I do know that must not be the case, because we'd all agreed that the Wyatt Earp of the Main Line would stay the hell out of sight for a certain cool-down period." He looked again at Denny. "Or am I mistaken?"

Mariana, Quaire, and Washington-the direct chain of command also somewhat directly responsible for seeing that Payne drove a desk so as to stay out of the news-looked a little ill at ease.

Payne saw that Howard Walker was more than a little interested to see Denny Coughlin in the mayor's crosshairs.

But Coughlin, while deeply respectful of Carlucci, and cognizant of Carlucci's iron fist and occasional temper, was not cowed by him. Over the years he'd learned a lot from his rabbi, and one of the most important lessons was to make a decision, then come hell or high water to stand by that decision.

Time and again, Carlucci had told him: "One's inability to be decisive gets people killed. Make up your goddamn mind-based on the best available information, or your gut, or better both-and move forward."

Denny Coughlin now said evenly, almost conversationally, "Jerry, I had the same initial reaction earlier this morning. But in light of what we're dealing with, I decided to end the cool-down period as of today. Matt's been all over the paperwork on these pop-and-drops, and if we have any chance of quickly figuring out who's doing what-and we need to, or it's likely going to get ugly very fast-we need to be able to put him back on the street."

Carlucci looked thoughtfully at Coughlin a long moment, then at Payne, then back at Coughlin. He grunted and put down his china mug with a loud thunk.

"For the record, Denny, color me not completely convinced. Maybe it's because I recently spent so much time trying-key word 'trying'-to dissuade the media that we have a loose cannon in our police department." He exhaled audibly. "But I do know better than to micromanage the people in whom I have absolute trust."

With a deadly serious face, he looked at Payne.

"Just try not to add to the goddamn body count. Got that, Marshal? I don't want to have to answer any more questions from the damned press about you."

Payne nodded. "Yessir. Duly noted, sir."

Carlucci met his eyes and added, "That doesn't mean that I don't support you in what were righteous shootings. You were doing your job, and you did it well."

"Thank you, sir."

"Okay, everybody have a seat," Carlucci then said. "Let's hear what you've got on the pop-and-drops, Matt."

"Yes, sir," Payne said. "But, as you noticed, Tony and I have been up all night. I can't speak for Tony, but I could use some caffeine."

"I'll get 'em," Harris said, heading across the room as the others sat down at the conference table. [FOUR] Sergeant Matt Payne drained his second cup of coffee, then made a grand sweeping gesture at one of the banks of TVs.

On its screens were images of the first five dead fugitives-both their Wanted sheets and crime-scene photos from where they'd been "dropped"-as well as detailed maps and lists of data showing where the bad guys had lived, where they had committed their crimes, and, ultimately, where they had been found dead.

He looked at Mayor Jerry Carlucci and said, "And that is essentially what I put together from the files of the first five pop-and-drops. There's no question that they were targeted killings by the same doer. But the new ones from last night don't quite fit the profile."

" 'Targeted killings'?" the mayor repeated.

Payne nodded. "Today's buzzword for 'assassination.'"

Carlucci made a sour face. "Let's stick with 'targeted killings,' in the statement and elsewhere. Or even just 'murders by perps unknown.' At least for now."

He looked around the ECC conference table, and everyone nodded agreeably.

"You said," Carlucci went on, "that with the exception of one of the first five, all were dropped by the same doer at the district PD closest to the critter's Last Known Address. And all had the same MO?"

Payne pointed to one of the TVs. "Yes, sir. That's shown on Number 8. All were bound at their ankles and wrists. All shot either in the chest or head. And all with the same doer's fingerprints. Which makes us"-he glanced at Tony Harris-"believe that we will find he's also responsible for at least two of the three dropped last night. He left prints everywhere. Prints and piss."

Carlucci cocked his head. "Did you say piss?"