"That's not news."

"So why rehabilitate me? What's the point? Even if you clockwork-orange me into a model citizen, I'm not going nowhere."

"The point is to show that it can be done. If it works for you, it will work for others who do have a shot at parole."

"You really want to put men like me back on the street?"

"Not men like you. Men who used to be like you." She glanced around. "What's the alternative? Build more places like this, warehouse more and more people, forever?"

"Hey, you don't gotta sell me on prison reform." He leaned forward on the bunk. "But I want to be up front with you. I don't think you'll have much luck with me. I'm a tough fucking nut to crack."

"I'll take that as a challenge."

He had known she would take it that way. And he had known she would like a challenge. However fearful she might be, there was something else in hersomething hard and determined.

Finally she asked if he would participate. He made her wait, though he'd never had the least doubt of what he would say.

"What the hell," he said at last. "Sign me up."

Naturally he didn't give a rat's ass about any experimental therapy. He didn't want to resolve his inner conflicts or become a better man. That was all bullshit.

What mattered to him was simply the chance to get out of his cage. To escape from the ward, feel the sun on his face, see the city streets as he was driven to Dr. Robin Cameron's office.

It wasn't living, but it was closer than anything Twin Towers had to offer.

That, at least, had been his original rationale for signing up. Recently he'd come up with an even better idea.

Freedom. Permanent freedom.

In another twenty-four hours, if everything went as planned, he would be out of the Reptile House for good.

Deputy Chief Richard Hammond rarely arrived at his office before ten a.m. As he'd explained to Lieutenant Bannerwho served, unofficially and contrary to department policy, as his personal media liaisonthere was no point in showing up earlier unless he was booked on one of the local morning shows. When that was the case, he liked to be interviewed at his desk so viewers could see him on the job. For use on such occasions he reserved his full dress uniform, the same one he wore to funerals and news conferences. The uniform was cleaned and pressed after its every deployment, and was kept in a garment bag near the front of his closet at home.

At the moment Hammond was not wearing his dress blues or anything else. Naked, he straddled his wife in their four-poster bed, trying not to let his mind wander as he performed his marital duties. Lately Ellyn had put on weight, mostly around the hips, and he had trouble still seeing her as the svelte young debutante he'd married.

Hammond himself had not gained a pound since he was twenty-one. He could have fit easily into the uniform he'd worn as a probationer, cruising the streets of Harbor Division in 1977. He liked to see himself in the mirror, his abs tight, arms and legs hard with packed muscle.

His weight-control policy was part of a broader program of career advancement. Promotion to the department's top post was rarely offered to a man who had let himself go. There had been one exception, Willie Williams, brought in from Philadelphia to replace Daryl Gates in 1992, but Williams was the exception that proved the rule. The rank and file instantly despised him. The man was grossly obese, reeking of cologne, bedecked with gold jewelry, an embarrassment to the force. He hadn't lasted long, and Hammond knew the same mistake would not be made again. In the LAPD, as in LA itself, image counted. The man who would be chief of policeCOP, in the department's curiously apropos acronymmust look the part.

It was a part for which Hammond had been rehearsing throughout the past ten years, during his rapid ascension from captain of a neighborhood station to assistant commander of Metro Division to deputy chief in charge of the vast Operations-Central Bureau. And when the current chief made a political misstepand he would, he wouldand had to be replaced, Hammond intended to see his own name at the top of a very short list.

Maybe it was this thought that finally got him off. He arched his back with a groan and released himself into Ellyn, then withdrew and rolled over beside her. He was sweating hardputting out for her had become more difficult because of her damn weight problembut she, he noticed, had barely stirred.

Hope it was good for you, too, he thought irritably.

Hell, he was doing his part. Love, honor, obey, and pay regular conjugal visitswasn't that how the vows went? If he was no longer the world's most inspired lover, maybe she ought to take the hint and cut down on the chocolate-chip ice cream.

"Well," he said, rising to get dressed, "duty calls."

It occurred to him that he could have said the same thing before getting into bed with his wife.

A half hour later, he was riding to work in the backseat of a department sedan, his driver negotiating the traffic on the 405 Freeway. He had worn his regular uniform, not his dress blues. No media availabilities were scheduled for today.

He knew that his adjutant, a competent lieutenant by the name of Lewinsky, would already be at his desk. He called his office, and Lewinsky answered.

"What's on tap?" Hammond asked.

"Meeting with Deputy Chief Drummer and Deputy Chief Raynard at eleven hundred."

"I remember. Anything new on the streets?"

"Been pretty quiet. Hey, you know that shrink who treats cons? Dr. Robin What's-her-name? She got carjacked this morning."

"Maybe she'll start to reconsider the value of rehabilitating career recidivists. Especially if her car comes back in pieces."

"Well, she didn't actually lose the vehicle."

Hammond hated imprecision. "I thought you said it was a carjacking."

"Attempted carjacking, I should've said. Couple of bangers, it sounds like. She resisted."

"Did she? Was she hurt?"

"Just shook up, I guess."

"What, the jackers weren't armed?"

"They were armed. Let's see herecrowbar and a handgun. One shot fired. It missed her."

"She takes on two gangbangers, one of whom is capping off rounds, and all she gets is shook up?"

"Lucky lady, huh?"

"She should play the lottery. Officially I have to register my displeasure, sinceofficiallythe department does not encourage civilians to stand up to their assailants. Fighting bad guys is best left to the professionals, et cetera, et cetera."

"But unofficially?"

"I hope she kicked some butt. But don't quote me on that."

Hammond ended the call and stared out the window at the blur of smog and speed. He had seen Dr. Robin Cameron on a few occasions. He remembered her trim figure and slender, suntanned legs. Now it turned out she was a bit of a street fighter. Quite a surprise. He didn't know too many Ph.D.s who could hold out against a pair of armed and dangerous homeboys. There must be more to her than he'd thought. He wondered what she was like in the sack.

Better than Ellyn, he was sure. But lately, that wasn't saying much.