"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.
"Jeez. Save it, will you?" But it warmed her, steadied her as she walked over to the 'link and put through the next transmission. "I got your meds, sir." She held up the bag. "Pain blockers, oral and bloodstream. The MT informs me that the syringe will clear up the infection, and take care of your headache fairly quickly."
She held her arms up, turned a slow circle. "I'm not carrying. I know you're in control. I just want to give you what you need to resolve this situation to your satisfaction."
"Damn skippy." He swiped at the blood leaking out of his nose again. He was rocking, rocking, back and forth on his heels as if to soothe away the pain. His sandy hair was standing in mad tufts where he'd yanked at it. Sweat and blood had soaked through the top of his cheery green jumpsuit.
"Come on in, Dallas." His mouth moved into a terrible grin as he levered his weapon under Feeney's jaw again. "I'm going to show you just what I need to resolve this situation to my satisfaction. Keep that 'link open."
He paused, hissed out a breath, then rammed the heel of his free hand against his eye. "Keep that visual so I can see you all the way to the door. Anybody tries to pass you a weapon, this old man is over. Keep your hands up, keep them up where I can see them."
He drilled the heel of his hand against his eye again, the other rolling wildly as he tried to focus on the screen. "My head!"
"I've got the medication to help you." Eve spoke calmly, slowly as she walked to Feeney's office door. On either side of it, just out of visual, were two crisis cops in full riot gear armed with lasers. "I need you to release the locks, sir."
"Anybody tries to rush that door, I take him out."
"I'm coming in alone. I'm not armed. I'm not carrying anything but the medication. You're in control here. Everyone knows you're in control."
"About damntime!" He released the locks, then shoved Feeney's head back, digging in with the business end of his weapon.
And now, Eve thought, if she was wrong, everybody died. She eased the door open, then lifting her hands high, nudged it the rest of the way with the toe of her boot.
"I'm alone, Captain Halloway," she said, stepped in, shut the door at her back.
She risked one fast glance at Feeney. She read the anger, the frustration on his face. And saw the bruises gathering underhis jaw where Halloway had rammed his weapon time after time.
"Put the bag down on the desk." Halloway licked his dry, cracked lips as she obeyed.
"Take a step back, hands behind your head."
"Yes, sir."
"Why are there two syringes?"
"Sir, the MT said that you might require a second dosage for full relief."
"Come around the desk slow."
She could hear him keening under his breath, like an animal beyond pain.
He couldn't be thirty yet, she thought. He couldn't be thirty and a few hours before Feeney had dressed him down for fighting virtual aliens.
Blood trickled slowly out of his nose. The left sleeve of his jumpsuit was red from wiping at it. She could smell his sweat, his blood, his fury pumping.
"How many times you have to bang this old bastard to make lieutenant?"
"Sir, Captain Feeney and I have not been intimate."
"Lying bitch." He swung out, backhanding her faster, harder than she'd anticipated. Off balance, she fell back into a chair. "How many times?"
"As many as it took. I lost count."
His head bobbed rapidly. "That's the way it works. Somebody's always screwing somebody so they can screw somebody else over."
"Everyone knows you've achieved your rank and position through your own merits."
"You got that. You fucking-A got that." He pawed a blue blocker out of the bag. "How do I know this isn't poison? Here." He shoved it into Feeney's mouth. "Swallow it! Swallow it or I do her." He swung the weapon toward Eve.
They were close, but not close enough for her to see if the pill had a thin yellow stripe. She waited, counting off the seconds as Feeney swallowed to see if she'd already lost the gamble.
But his eyes stayed clear. "Halloway." As did his voice. "Everybody here wants to resolve this. You need to tell us what you want so that everybody walks out."
"Shut up." He sliced his weapon down Feeney's cheek with casual violence. Then pawed another pill out of the bag, popped it in his mouth, chewed it like candy.
"Maybe those syringes are poison. Get one out, get one out." He chewed a second pill. "We'll have a little test."
"Yes, sir." She pretended to fumble a bit as she reached in the bag. "I'm sorry. I'm a little nervous." She took out the dummy. "Do you want me to administer this, sir, or would you prefer to do it yourself?"
"You go ahead and administer it. No," he said when she started to rise. "Sit right there. Pump it into yourself. You live through that, maybe you live a little longer."
She kept her eyes on his as she turned the syringe toward her arm, settled it, depressed the plunger.
"I followed your orders, sir. I'm sorry you're in pain. It's difficult to think clearly when in pain. I hope, after this medication alleviates your physical distress, we'll be able to resolve this situation to your satisfaction."