An odd and exhilarating thing happened as several rescue vehicles finally arrived. The hostages started to clap and to cheer. We'd come for them; we hadn't let them die.

But I knew otherwise: For some reason, the Mastermind hadn't wanted them to die.

Of course, the case continued to be a full-blown-knock-down-drag-out media event. The press had learned about the existence of a "Mastermind," and it made for sensational headlines. A picture of the Buccieri boy, one of the first victims, was the featured art in story after story. I had begun seeing the little boy's face in my dreams.

I was working twelve-and sixteen-hour days. The Washington bank robber named Mitchell Brand was still high on the list of FBI suspects. He had been up on the wall of suspects for over a week. We hadn't been able to locate Brand, but he fit the profile. Meanwhile, crime-scene investigators covered the money-pickup site, combing it for evidence. FBI technicians went over every square inch of the Browne farmhouse. Traces of theatrical make-up were found in the sink of the farmhouse. I talked to several hostages and they supported the idea that the kidnappers might have worn make-up, wigs, and possibly lifts in their shoes.

Sampson and I worked in Washington the first two days. Metro-Hartford had offered a million-dollar reward for information leading to the capture of the men involved in the crime. The reward was aimed at the general public, but also at anyone involved in the robbery whose stake might be less than the reward being offered.

The search for the bank robber Mitchell Brand was also centered in Washington. Brand was a thirty-year-old black man who was suspected in half a dozen robberies, but who had never been officially charged, and suddenly had gone underground. Once upon a time he had been an army sergeant in Desert Storm. Brand was known to be violent. According to his army records, he had an IQ over one-fifty.

A mountain of evidence was being collected but the notoriety of the case was also working against us. The phone calls and faxes offering tips never stopped at the FBI field office. Suddenly, there were hundreds of leads to follow up. I wondered if the Mastermind was still working against us.

The second night after the Metro Hartford kidnapping, Sampson showed up at the house around eleven. I had just gotten there myself. I grabbed a couple of cold beers and we talked out on the sun porch more or less like civilized adults.

"I was hoping to see the little prince tonight," Sampson said as we sat down.

"He's coming here to live with us." I told John the latest news. Some of it anyway.

He broke into a broad smile, his teeth as large and white as piano keys," That's great news, sugar. I assume Ms Christine is coming as part of the package."

I shook my head. "No, she isn't, John. She's never gotten over what happened with Geoffrey Shafer. She's still afraid for her life, for all of our lives. She doesn't want to see me anymore. It's over between us."

Sampson just stared at me. "You two were so good together. I don't buy it, sugar."

"I didn't either. Not for months. I offered to leave police work and I guess I would have. Christine told me it wouldn't matter."

I stared into my friend's eyes," I've lost her, John. I'm trying to move on. It breaks my heart."

My beeper went off late the following night at the house. It was Sampson. "All hell is breaking loose," he said. "Seriously, Alex."

"Where are you?" I asked.

"I'm with Rakeem Powell right now. We're over at the East Capitol Dwellings. One of his snitches gave us something good. We might have located Mitchell Brand."

"What's the problem then?" I asked.

"Rakeem called his lieutenant. The lou called the Jefe. Chief Pittman has half of DC on the way here now."

I think I actually saw red at that moment," It's still my goddamn case. Pittman didn't contact me."

"That's why I'm calling you, sugar. Better burn on over here."

I met Sampson at the East Capitol Dwellings housing project. According to the snitch, Brand was holed up there. East Capitol Dwellings are what I've heard called a ‘subsidized human warehouse." Actually, the project looks like a failed prison. Cold, white cinder-block fences surround bunkerlike buildings. It's thoroughly depressing and not atypical of housing in much of Southeast. The poor people who live here do the best they can under the circumstances.

"This has gotten out of control, Alex," Sampson complained once we were together in one of the dirt-patch yards separating the project buildings. "Way too much firepower here. Too many cooks in the kitchen. The chief of detectives strikes again."

I looked around, shook my head and cursed under my breath. It was a goddamn zoo. I saw SWAT personnel and several homicide detectives. Plus the usual neighborhood looky-loos. Mitchell Brand. Jesus. Could he possibly be the Mastermind?

I quickly put on a Kevlar vest. I checked my Clock. Then I went and talked to the chief of detectives. I reminded Pittman that this was my case, and he couldn't argue with that. I could tell he was surprised that I was at the scene, though.

"I'll take it from here," I said.

"We've got Brand all set up. Just don't fuck it up," Pittman finally snarled, then walked away from me.

Senior Agent James Walsh arrived on the scene after I did. No Betsey Cavalierre, though. I went up to Walsh. He and I had gotten friendly over the past couple of weeks, but he seemed distant tonight. He didn't like what was going on here either. He'd been called late too.

"Where's Senior Agent Cavalierre?" I asked.

"She had a couple days off. I think she's visiting a friend in Maryland. You know this Mitchell Brand?" he asked.

"I know enough about him. He'll probably be heavily armed if he's up there. He apparently has a new girlfriend named Theresa Lopez. She lives in the project. Lopez has three kids. I know her by sight."

"That's really great," Walsh said and shook his head, rolled his eyes. "Three kids, their mommy, and an armed bank-robbing suspect."

"You got it. Welcome to DC, Agent Walsh. Anyway, Brand could have been part of the team that struck Metro Hartford He could be the Mastermind. We have to go get him."

I met with the raid team at an OP, an observation point, in a nearby building. The OP was a studio apartment used by Metro narcotics detectives assigned to the East Capitol Dwellings project. I had been in the apartment a few times before. This was my neighborhood.