A uniformed officer led Jack to the City of Miami police van and introduced him to Sergeant Chavez, the crisis-team leader. “Wait right here,” said Chavez. “I definitely need to talk to you.” He turned and went directly to the crisis-team leader from MDPD. Almost immediately, Chavez and the MDPD officer were embroiled in a heated discussion, as if the face-to-face confrontation were a mere continuation of an argument they’d been conducting by telephone or radio. Jack couldn’t hear their conversation, but he knew a turf war when he smelled one.

Fortunately, the men and women in the field weren’t quite so paralyzed. Jack watched as they moved from building to building, door to door, making sure that no one in the neighborhood ventured out onto the street. A helicopter whirred overhead-low enough for Jack to read the Action News logo on the side.

“Too close!” shouted Chavez, this time speaking in a voice that Jack and everyone else could hear. “Get them to back off-now!”

Another officer picked up a loudspeaker and told the intruding chopper to mind the restricted air space. It seemed to have no effect.

For several minutes, Chavez and the MDPD officer continued to haggle for control of the situation. Two fully armed and outfitted tactical teams awaited instructions, doing exactly what many believed to be the true meaning of the SWAT acronym: sit, wait, and talk. Jack was losing his patience. The motel had been silent for almost fifteen minutes, since the last exchange of gunfire. Jack could only speculate as to Theo’s condition, but he knew one thing for certain: Falcon was still alive and in control. The gunfire had told him as much. The best Jack could hope for was that Theo was now a hostage. He didn’t want to consider the worst.

Jack approached Chavez and the MDPD officer. It was time to settle their differences. “Who’s in charge here?” said Jack.

“I am,” they said in unison.

“Who are you guys?” said Jack.

Chavez reintroduced himself. The other man said, “Sergeant Peter Malloy, crisis-team leader, Miami-Dade Police Department. Who are you?”

Chavez said, “This is Jack Swyteck. He’s a criminal defense lawyer.”

Malloy’s expression soured, as if Chavez had just said, “He’s a pedophile who teaches kindergarten.”

Jack said, “That’s my client in there, Pablo Garcia. Homeless guy who calls himself Falcon. He was out on bail after climbing up the Powell Bridge.”

Chavez said, “He’s got a thing for the mayor’s daughter, who also happens to be a City of Miami police officer. That means I got one cop dead, one wounded, and one stalked. That’s three good reasons for me to be in control here. How many do you got, Malloy?”

“Dozens. I got a tactical team, a negotiating team, a traffic-control team, a communications team, and supervisors to control their actions. And unlike you folks at the city, we’re trained to do this full-time.”

Jack was about to slap them. “Hey, I got the best reason of all to be here. His name’s Theo Knight. He’s the hostage. And he’s my best friend.”

That silenced them for a moment, but the sound of his own words seemed to hit Jack hardest of all. As long as he’d known Theo, and as much as it felt true, Jack wasn’t sure he’d ever used those words before-“He’s my best friend.”

“Might be a woman in there, too,” Jack added. “I heard a scream when Falcon went into the next room. Theo went in after her. That’s when the standoff started.”

Malloy glanced toward the motel. Spotlights had been rigged up on the rooftop of the office building directly across the street. Two powerful beams of light cut through the night, one trained on the door to room 103; the other, on the demolished room 102 and Jack’s car. Malloy said, “That your vehicle?”

“Yeah.”

“How the hell-”

The ring of Jack’s cell phone brought the conversation to an abrupt halt. Jack quickly checked the display. The number made his heart thump. He’d dialed Theo’s cell phone several times in the past half-hour, only to get no answer. Now, a call was coming back. “It’s Theo’s cell phone.”

“Answer it,” said Chavez.

“Wait,” said Malloy as he handed Jack a Dictaphone.

Jack held it to his phone, pressed RECORD, and then hit the talk button. “Theo?”

“Oh, that’s funny, Swyteck.”

It was Falcon. Jack said, “Where’s Theo?”

“He’s, uh…Let’s just say he can’t come to the phone right now.”

“You son of a bitch. If you-”

“Don’t bore me with threats, Swyteck.”

Jack struggled to quell his anger. Self-control was the key to dealing with the clinically paranoid. Particularly when they were well armed. “All right, let’s both of us just take a deep breath here. If anybody’s hurt-you, Theo, anybody-let’s take care of him okay? Do you need a doctor?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I just want to make sure everyone’s okay, that’s all.”

“Kiss my ass. I want to deal.”

“Good. There’s a negotiator right here with me.”

“I don’t want a negotiator. Tell the cops they can go to hell. Even Vince Paulo screwed me over on that bridge, and we go way back, long before he was blind.”

“Could be different this time. You’re holding the cards now.”

“Damn right I am. That’s why I’m giving you this chance. You got one shot to show me you’re the man.”

“What do you want?”

“You can start by returning the money you stole from me.”

“I didn’t steal-”

“Stop right there!” he shouted.

Jack was silent. It was impossible to tell over the telephone, but Jack could almost see Falcon biting back his rage, fighting to keep control. Falcon’s voice lowered, but it was still tight with anger. “I don’t want no excuses. No denials. Bring me my money. That’s the demand. Got it?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“No. I said, ‘Do you got it?’”

Jack hesitated. “I want to talk to Theo.”

“No way.”

“Tell me who else is in there with you.”

There was a click on the line. It wasn’t a hang-up. It sounded more like the hammer cocking on Falcon’s pistol. “One more time, Swyteck: Do you got it?”

Jack took the warning to heart. “Yeah. I got it.”

“Good. As soon as the money’s here, we can talk about my other demands.”

“What other demands?”

“You’ll see. This is going to get very interesting.”

“This is not a game, Falcon.”

“Couldn’t agree more. This is very serious business.”

“Then cut the crap. Tell me what you want.”

“I got a better idea. Just ask Vince Paulo. He knows what I want. Problem is, I don’t trust him to give it to me no more. Which means it’s all on your shoulders. So bring me that money, and we can talk. But don’t take too long. The battery on your friend’s phone won’t last forever. And when it dies…” His voice trailed off, and the ensuing silence seemed interminable.

“You still there?” said Jack.

“Yeah. Come on, man. I’m waiting. Fill in the blank. When the battery dies…”

Jack didn’t want to say it, but this wasn’t a fight worth picking. “Theo dies.”

Falcon gave him a mirthless chuckle. “Wrong again, genius. Everybody dies.”

The line disconnected. Jack stood frozen for a moment, thinking the kind of thoughts that were anything but helpful in a crisis of this magnitude. An hour earlier, he and Theo were on their way to South Beach. Now, one cop was dead, another was in the hospital, Theo was a hostage, and Falcon was calling the shots. Add to that the unidentified woman’s body in Falcon’s trunk, and it was almost too much to comprehend. Jack closed his flip phone and dabbed away a drop of blood from the bandaged wound at his temple.

The crisis-team leaders were watching him, their expressions filled with anticipation. Sergeant Chavez said, “Well, what’s the word?”

He looked at Chavez, then at the crisis-team leader from MDPD. “I think you’ve just been fired.”

“Who’s fired?” said Chavez.

“All of you,” he said, gesturing toward the SWAT vans. “Except for me and Vince Paulo.”