A woman’s throaty voice answered: “My name is not important.”

“Okay. Well, why the heck are you doing this?”

“The die is cast. This is all I wish to say.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Tell them. Say it. The die is cast.”

“Okay, okay. Whatever it means, the whole city of Boston ’s just heard it. Folks, if you’re listening, the die is cast. This is Rob Roy at KBUR, and we’re on the phone with the lady who’s causing all that ruckus over at the-”

“You tell the police to stay away,” the woman said. “I have six people here in this room. I have enough bullets for everyone.”

“Whoa, ma’am! You want to calm down there. There’s no reason to hurt anybody.”

Stillman’s face had flushed an angry red. He turned to Hayder. “How did this happen? I thought we isolated those phone lines.”

“We did. She used a cell phone to call out.”

“Whose cell phone?”

“The number’s listed to a Stephanie Tam.”

“Do we know who that is?”

“… oops! Folks, I’m in trouble,” said Rob Roy. “My producer just told me that I have been ordered by Boston ’s finest to cease and desist talking to this caller. The police are going to shut us down, friends, and I’m going to have to cut this conversation short. Are you still there, ma’am? Hello?” A pause. “It looks like we lost our caller. Well, I hope she calms down. Lady, if you’re still listening to me, please don’t hurt anyone. We can get you help, okay? And to all my listeners out there, you heard it on KBUR. ‘The die is cast…’ ”

Emerton stopped the recording. “That’s it,” he said. “That’s what we caught on tape. We shut down that call right there, as soon as we heard who the DJ was talking to. But that much of the conversation got on the air.”

Stillman looked stunned. He stared at the now-silent audio equipment.

“What the hell is she doing, Leroy?” asked Hayder. “Was that just a cry for attention? Is she trying to get public sympathy?”

“I don’t know. It was weird.”

“Why isn’t she talking to us? Why call a radio station? We’re the ones trying to call her, and she keeps hanging up on us!”

“She has an accent.” Stillman looked at Hayder. “She’s definitely not American.”

“And what was that thing she said? The die is cast. What’s that supposed to mean? The game’s in play?”

“It’s a quote from Julius Caesar,” said Maura.

They all looked at her. “What?”

“It’s what Caesar said as he stood on the edge of the Rubicon. If he crossed the river, it meant he was declaring civil war on Rome. He knew, if he made that move, there’d be no turning back.”

“What does Julius Caesar have to do with any of this?” said Hayder.

“I’m just telling you where the phrase comes from. When Caesar ordered his troops to cross the river, he knew he’d passed the point of no return. It was a gamble, but he was a gambler, and he liked to play dice. When he made his choice, he said, ‘The die is cast.’ ” She paused. “And he marched into history.”

“So that’s what it means to cross the Rubicon,” said Stillman.

Maura nodded. “Our hostage taker has made a choice. She’s just told us there’s no turning back.”

Emerton called out: “We’ve got the info on that cell phone. Stephanie Tam is one of the doctors at the medical center. Department of OB-Gyn. She’s not answering her beeper, and the last time anyone saw her, she was headed down to Diagnostic Imaging to see her patient. The hospital’s going through their personnel roster, trying to identify everyone on staff who’s still unaccounted for.”

“It seems we now have the name of at least one of the hostages,” said Stillman.

“What about that cell phone? We tried calling it, but she hangs up on us. Do we let it stay operative?”

“If we cut off service, we could make her angry. For the moment, allow her to keep the link. We’ll just monitor her calls.” Stillman paused and took out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his forehead. “At least she’s now communicating-just not with us.”

It’s already stifling in here, thought Maura, looking at Stillman’s flushed face. And the day’s about to get much hotter. She felt herself swaying and realized she could not bear to stay in this trailer a moment longer. “I need to get some fresh air,” she said. “Can I leave?”

Stillman gave her a distracted glance. “Yes. Yes, go ahead. Wait-do we have your contact information?”

“Captain Hayder has my home and cell phone number. You can reach me twenty-four hours a day.”

She stepped outside and paused, blinking in the midday sunshine. Taking in, through dazed eyes, the chaos on Albany Street. This was the same street she traveled to work every day, the same view she saw every morning as she approached the driveway of the medical examiner’s building. It had been transformed into a snarl of vehicles and a regiment of Special Operations Division cops in black uniforms. Everyone was waiting for the next move of the woman who had lit the fuse on this crisis. A woman whose identity was still a mystery to them all.

She started toward her building, weaving past parked cruisers, and ducked beneath a strand of police tape. Only as she straightened again did she spot the familiar figure walking toward her. In the two years she’d known Gabriel Dean, she had never seen him agitated, had seldom seen him display any strong emotions. But the man she now saw was wearing an expression of unalloyed panic.

“Have you heard any names yet?” he asked.

She shook her head, bewildered. “Names?”

“The hostages. Who’s in the building?”

“I’ve only heard them mention one name so far. A doctor.”

“Who?”

She paused, startled by his sharp query. “A Dr. Tam. Her cell phone was used to call a radio station.”

He turned and stared at the hospital. “Oh, Jesus.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I can’t find Jane. She wasn’t evacuated with the other patients on her floor.”

“When did she go into the hospital?”

“This morning, after her water broke.” He looked at Maura. “Dr. Tam was the one who admitted her.”

Maura stared at him, suddenly remembering what she’d just heard in the command trailer. That Dr. Tam had been headed down to Diagnostic Imaging to see her patient.

Jane. The doctor was going down to see Jane.

“I think you’d better come with me,” said Maura.

I come to the hospital to have a baby. Instead I’m about to get my head blown off.

Jane sat on the couch, wedged between Dr. Tam on her right and the black orderly on her left. She could feel him trembling beside her, his skin cold and clammy in the air-conditioned room. Dr. Tam sat perfectly still, her face a stone mask. On the other couch, the receptionist sat hugging herself, and beside her, the woman technician was quietly crying. No one dared say a word; the only sound came from the waiting-room television, which had been playing continuously. Jane looked around at the name tags on the uniforms. Mac. Domenica. Glenna. Dr. Tam. She glanced down at the patient wristband she was wearing. RIZZOLI, JANE. All of us are neatly labeled for the morgue. No ID problems here, folks. She thought of Bostonions opening their Tribune tomorrow morning and seeing these same names printed in stark black and white on the front page. VICTIMS KILLED IN HOSPITAL SIEGE. She thought of those readers skimming right past the name “Rizzoli, Jane,” and then turning their attention straight to the sports page.

Is this how it ends? Something as stupid as being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Hey wait, she wanted to shout. I’m pregnant! In the movies, nobody shoots the pregnant hostage!

But this wasn’t the movies, and she couldn’t predict what the crazy lady with the gun would do. That’s what Jane had dubbed her. The Crazy Lady. What else could you call a woman who stalks back and forth, waving a gun? Only occasionally did the woman stop to look at the TV, which was tuned to channel six. Live coverage of the medical center hostage situation. Look Ma, I’m on television, thought Jane. I’m one of the lucky hostages trapped in that building. It’s kind of like the reality show Survivor but with bullets.