"Lieutenant. Ah, Commander." Another detective hustled up. "We've got your eyes." He managed a wan smile. "And ears with them."
With Whitney, Eve bent over a monitor. She could see the whole of Feeney's office now-the sun and the privacy shades lowered. There would be no outside visual for the sharpshooters. Feeney was in his desk chair, restraints locking his arms to its arms.
Halloway paced behind him, his young, pleasant face ravaged. His own blood smeared it like war paint. He tore at his hair with one hand, waved the weapon wildly with the other.
"I'm the one who knows what I'm doing around here." He raged, kicking Feeney's chair viciously as he passed. "I'm the one who's in charge. You're old and you're stupid, and I'm sick to death of your orders."
Feeney's response was quiet and measured. "I didn't know you were feeling that way. What can I do to make things right with you?"
"You want to make them right? You want to make them right?" He jammed the weapon under Feeney's chin again and had Eve braced to hurl herself at the office door. "We're going to write us a memo, Ry."
"Okay, okay." She let out a long breath. "Keep him busy."
"Sir. Negotiator's on-scene."
"Bring him up-to-date, Dallas," Whitney ordered. "Then we structure alternatives."
She briefed the negotiator, set him up with a 'link. And turning, saw Roarke striding through the door. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Media bulletin." He didn't speak of the terror he'd lived with since hearing the report that there had been weapons fired, officers wounded, and a hostage taken at Cop Central. And from his quick scan of the room, he sized up the most vital aspects of the situation.
His wife was unharmed. And Feeney was missing.
"Feeney?"
"The hostage. I don't have time for you."
He laid a hand on her arm before she could walk away. "What can I do to help?"
She didn't waste time asking how he'd gotten into a secured area in the first place. He was a man who went where he wanted to go. Nor did she ask how he expected to help when the sector was loaded with cops whose job it was to deal with a crisis.
Nobody was better at cutting through a crisis.
"McNab was hit."
"Christ." He turned, as she did, and found Peabody, on the floor with the first medical team.
"I don't know his status. I'd feel better if I knew one way or the other."
"Done." There was anger in him now, a kind of frigid fury more deadly than heat. "Lieutenant, if it's money he wants, the department will have unlimited funds at its disposal."
"Appreciated, but it's not money. Go, give Peabody a shoulder. I need to focus on getting Feeney out of there alive. Roarke. Wait." She scooped a hand through her hair. "Find which cube is Halloway's. He's got a data unit in there. Shut it down. Don't touch it, don't get any closer to it than necessary. Just shut it down."
Inside Feeney's office, Halloway screamed into the 'link. Rusty knifes were slicing their way through his brain. He could feel it bleeding. "You want to talk to me? Then turn the temp down in this furnace. You keep trying to fry me out, I drop this useless old E-fart. I'm not talking to you, asshole. Put Dallas back on. Put that goddamn lying bitch back on. You got ten seconds!"
At the signal, she sprang to the 'link. "I'm here Halloway."
"Didn't I order you to turn the heat down in here? Didn't I give you a direct order?"
"Yes, sir. I followed that order."
"Don't you lie to me. You want me to start on his hands." Halloway pressed his weapon down hard on the back of Feeney's hand. "I give it a good strong jolt, he won't be jerking off with this hand anymore."
"I'll have it turned down farther. Halloway, just listen to me. Look at Feeney. He's not sweating. You can do a temp check. The room's down to sixty-five."
"That's bullshit! I'm burning up in here."
"Because you're sick. You've got some kind of virus, like an infection. You've got a bad headache, haven't you, Halloway? And you've got a nosebleed. It's the infection that's making you feel this way, the infection that's hurting you. You need medical. Let us get you some help, and we'll straighten all this out."
"Why don't you come in, bitch?" His mouth twisted. "Come on in and you'll see how fast we straighten this out."
"I can come in. I can bring you some medicine."
"Fuck you."
"I come in, Halloway, and don't deliver. You'd have two hostages. You're in control. You're in charge. You know Feeney's a friend of mine. I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize his welfare. I can bring you in medication for your headache, and whatever else you want."
"Fuck you," he said again, and broke transmission.
"Bartering another hostage isn't the way to deal in this situation." The negotiator shoved himself between Eve and the 'link. "We don't need any sacrificing, we don't need any hotshots."
"Normally I'd agree with you, but the man holding the cards in there isn't going to listen to the usual lines. First, he's a cop and he knows the routine. Second, he's suffering from some sort of neurological disorder that's affecting his behavior, his judgment, his actions."
"I'm in charge of this negotiation."
"This isn't a pissing contest, damn it. I don't want your job. I want to see both of those cops come out of there in one piece. Commander, I'm sorry, I don't have time to explain it all. Halloway's physical and mental conditions are deteriorating. I don't know how much longer he's got before he loses it completely. But when he does, he's going to take Feeney with him."
"Sharpshooters are in position. They can take him out using an on-screen visual."
"One stun and he's dead. That's what happened with Cogburn. Halloway's still a badge, Commander. And what he's done, what he's doing is not within his control. I want the chance to take him alive."
"You go in," the negotiator said, "and three cops die."
"Or live. I can tranq him. He's in serious pain. If the meds are there, he'll want them. Commander, Feeney trained me, he brought me up. I need to go in."
Whitney stared into her eyes. "Talk him into it. Make it fast."
It took her precious moments of bargaining, but she fell into the rhythm of groveling. That, she realized, was what he needed. Not just to be acknowledged as being in charge, but to be shown absolute subservience.
"He could very well fire on you the minute you're in the door." Roarke spoke softly as she waited for the MTs to prepare the medications and pressure syringes.
"He could."
"But you go in without a vest, without a weapon."
"That was the deal. I know what I'm doing."
"You know what you have to do. There's a subtle and dangerous difference. Eve." He laid a hand on her arm. It took everything inside him not to yank her clear of the room. Get her away. "I know what he means to you. Remember what you mean to me."
"I'm not likely to forget it."
"McNab's condition is serious. He took a hard hit at close range. The MTs were guarded, but he came around briefly before they transported him. It's a good sign."
"Okay." She couldn't think about McNab. Couldn't worry about him now.
"Three others were injured before Halloway grabbed Feeney and used him as a shield into the office. I'd like to know, just for curiosity's sake, how one man takes out four other cops without taking a single hit."
"Jesus, Roarke, this is EDD. Half the cops in here are glorified drones or geeks. You're more likely to see them pulling out an e-pad than a weapon."
"Lieutenant." The MT approached with a clear bag of meds. "Set these up like you wanted. Syringe with the red dot on the depressor's the tranq. Takes a man down in under five seconds. Second's the dummy. Nothing but a mild blocker. Pills are standard blockers, except for the one with the little yellow stripe. That's another tranq. You get him to use either of those, he's down pretty fast. Five seconds."
"Okay, got it. Back in a few minutes," she told Roarke.
"See that you are." And because he didn't give a damn at the moment about her much-prized rep, he yanked her against him and kissed her.