Purity in Death (25 page)

She pulled out her communicator to run the next steps with the commander.

***

It took an hour to set it up to her satisfaction. Precious time, but she wasn't losing another cop. Not today.

"We can't be sure what kind of shape she's in," Eve reminded the crisis team she'd handpicked. "We will assume she is violent and armed. Three men on the door, three for the windows. We go in fast. We subdue, secure, and transport. The subject cannot be shocked with standard weapons, even on low setting. The probability is high that the infection has spread to the extent that this would result in termination. We use tranqs, and tranqs only."

She gestured to the apartment blueprint on-screen. "You've familiarized yourselves with the setup. We know the subject is in this location. We don't know where she is within its perimeter, but the highest probability is for the main bedroom, here. Communications are to remain open throughout the op. When the subject is secured, she will be transferred, immediately, to the medical techs, accompanied by two team members during transpo to designated health center where a medical team is waiting."

Maybe they'd save her, Eve thought as she approached the door to Dru Geller's apartment. And maybe they wouldn't. If Dwier's information was accurate, she had under eight hours left. Morris had called the infection irreversible after the initial spread.

She was risking six cops, her aide, and herself over a woman who was in all likelihood already dead.

She drew her tranq-shooter, nodded for the crisis team cop to uncode the locks. "Uncoding," she said quietly into her communicator. "Locks disengaged. Wait for my signal."

She eased the door open. She caught a whiff of spoiled food, of stale urine. The lights were off, the sun shields tight at the windows. The room looked and smelled like a cave.

She gestured, pointing Peabody and the second officer left. She went in fast, low, and right. "Living area clear."

She heard it then, a kind of growling. The sound a rabid dog might make when cornered. "Moving to main bedroom. Hold at the windows."

She took flank at the door, nodded again, then kicked it in.

Dru Geller had her back to the wall. She wore nothing but panties. There was blood on her breasts, breasts scored from her own fingernails. Her nose had bled as well, and the red ran down over her snarling lips, stained her teeth, dripped off her chin.

Eve saw it all in the space of a heartbeat and saw the long-bladed scissors in her hand.

The scissor flew, like an arrow from a bow. Eve pivoted, deployed the tranq. It caught Geller in the left breast. "Now! Go! Hit her again," she ordered as Geller lunged forward.

A second tranq hit her midbody, and still she leaped on Eve like a wildcat, all teeth and nails. She saw the red eyes wheeling, felt the blood drip on her face. Geller howled as a third tranq took her in the right shoulder.

She shut off like a light, red eyes rolling back, limbs going limp.

It took seconds, only seconds. There was a flurry of movement as Geller was rolled away, her unconscious body restrained.

"Get her to the MTs, get her transported," Eve ordered. "Move."

"We got an officer down."

"What?" Wiping the blood from her face, Eve gained her feet, spun around.

And saw Peabody lying on the floor, bleeding, the scissors jammed deep into her shoulder.

"No. Goddamn it. No." She was on her knees in one fast move, and without thinking brushing her hand over Peabody's white face.

"Zigged right, should've zagged left," Peabody managed. She turned her head, stared dully at the bright silver scissors. "It's not too bad, is it? Not too bad."

"No, it's nothing. Get me a medical, now. Right now!" Eve stripped off her jacket, prepared to use it to staunch the flow of blood.

"Pull them out, okay? Wouldja?" Peabody groped for Eve's hand. "It's making me pretty sick, having them sticking out of me."

"Better not. MTs coming up right now. They'll fix you up."

"They'd hit an inch over, the riot vest would've deflected them. What're the chances? Really hurts. Jesus, it really hurts. I'm cold. Just shock, right? Right, Dallas? I'm not dying or anything?"

"You're not dying." She snagged the wrinkled bedspread from one of the crisis team. "I don't have time to waste training another aide."

Eve turned her head as an MT rushed in. "Do something," she ordered.

Ignoring her, he ran a scanner over the point of entry, took Peabody's vital signs. "Okay, Officer. What's your name?"

"Peabody. I'm Peabody. Would you get these goddamn scissors out of me?"

"Sure. I'm going to give you a little something first."

"Gimme lots. Dallas is the one who lives for pain."

He smiled at her, set his pressure syringe.

"She's losing blood," Eve snapped. "Are you just going to let her bleed out on the floor?"

"Just keep the pressure on," he said mildly. "Too bad about that jacket. Looks like nice fabric. I'm going to pull out the invasive object. On three, Peabody, okay?"

"One, two, three."

The MT met Eve's eyes, and mouthed: Hold her down.

Eve felt it in her gut, felt the sharp shock of the blades slicing out of Peabody's flesh. Felt it in the quick jerk of her aide's body against her restraining hands.

Blood flowed over her fingers, warm and wet.

Then she was nudged out of the way, while the MT worked on the wound.

Twenty minutes later she was pacing the ER waiting room. She'd nearly decked the doctor who'd ordered her out of the treatment area. Had restrained herself only because she figured the medical had to be conscious to work on Peabody.

McNab burst through the doors in a limping run, with Roarke right behind him.

"Where is she? What are they doing for her? How bad is it?"

"She's in treatment. They're patching her up. It's just like I told you, McNab. She's got a deep puncture in her shoulder, but it missed the major arteries. They don't think there's any muscle damage. They're going to clean it up, give her some blood and fluids, sew her up. Then they'll probably spring her."

She saw him stare down at her hands. She hadn't taken time to wash the blood off. Cursing herself, she shoved them into her pockets.

"Which treatment room?"

"B. Around the corner to the left."

He rushed off, and Eve scrubbed her hands over her face. "I can't stay in here," she muttered and hurried outside.

"Is it more serious than you told McNab?" Roarke asked her.

"I don't think so. The MT seemed solid. He said it was too serious to treat and release on-scene, but not major. She lost a lot of blood."

She stared down at her hands.

"You lost a bit yourself." He traced his fingers over her jaw where Geller's nails had swiped.

"It's nothing. Goddamn it, it's nothing." She spun away from him, kicked the tire of an ambulance parked in the bay. "I took her in there."

"Is she less a cop than you?"

"That's not the point. That's not the fucking point." She whirled back. "I took her and six other cops in there. I made the call, I set the op. I dodged out of the way when Geller threw the scissors at me."

Because her eyes were swimming, her voice beginning to hitch, he took her shoulders. "And Peabody didn't move as quickly. Is that your fault?"

"It's not about fault. It's about reason. I took her in, took all of them in to secure and transport to medical a woman who's probably going to die anyway. I ordered those people to put their lives on the line for her. A woman who sells little girls. Boy, that's irony for you. I've got Peabody's blood on my hands because of a woman who sells children for sex."

She gripped his shirt, fisted her hands. "For what?" she demanded. "What's the damn point?"

"Lieutenant."

She jerked at McNab's voice, turned quickly.

He'd never seen her cry before. Hadn't known she could. "She's awake. You were right, they're going to spring her. They want to keep her about an hour first. She's still a little groggy. She asked if you were around."

"I'll go in and see her."

"Dallas." McNab moved into her path, took her by the arm. "If you ask her what the point is, she'd tell you. You haven't asked me, but I'll tell you anyway. Because when something has to be done, we're the ones who're supposed to do it. I didn't have to be there to know you went through the door first. So you already know what the point is."

"Maybe I needed somebody to remind me."

Roarke watched her walk back inside. "You're a good man, Ian." He laid a hand on McNab's shoulders. "Let's go buy Peabody some flowers."

"I usually just steal them."

"Let's make an exception for this one."

Chapter 20

Whitney took Eve's report orally, in his office. She was in her shirtsleeves, and the shirt carried a small stain of dried blood.

"Has Peabody been released from the health center?"

"They were preparing to sign her out when I left. She'll need to take a couple days' medical leave."

"See that she has what she needs. Dwier and Price are in custody, and will be held incommunicado until the situation is resolved. We have the location in Albany under surveillance. When you've cleaned up here, Donald Dukes will be taken. We agree that he shouldn't be arrested until after your raid on tonight's meeting?"

"Yes, sir. Dwier and Price were just soldiers. Dukes is one of the generals." The commandant, Eve remembered. "It's probable he remains in contact with other key members of the organization. We let him sit until we've broken its back. Sir, as Dwier has further implicated Mayor Peachtree, I request permission for formal questioning."

"The mayor has agreed to temporary house arrest. His incoming and outgoing transmissions are being monitored. Under advice of counsel he's admitted to the sexual . . . transgression, but continues to deny any association with Purity. Politically, he's finished."

"Politically," Eve began.

"Yes. That's not enough. I won't disagree. However, this evening's op takes priority over questioning him. We'll bag most if not all the other members in this sweep, essentially destroying this organization. That's the first order of business."

"When the mayor's office is a front for terrorists, that's an important piece of business, Commander."

"And will it make a difference to closing this case if you question him now, or wait until tomorrow?"

She wanted to take him now. She wanted to taste him in her throat. "It could if he gives up additional information."

"I can promise you that with his fleet of attorneys, you'll be in for a long, tough haul getting more than his name. You don't have the time to spare today. He's on ice, Dallas. He's done. Be satisfied with that for a few hours longer. I give you my word that as of ten a.m. tomorrow, he belongs to you."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

"You've done superior work on this despite a number of difficult obstacles." He hesitated, studying her face. "I'd like to speak to something Chief Tibble said this morning. You deserve the bars, Dallas."

"They don't matter."

"Fuck it. This is between you and me, here in this room. You deserve to wear the bars. You've earned them. If it was only a matter of merit, you would wear them. Regrettably it's not only a matter of merit. Your age is a consideration. What are you, Dallas, thirty?"

"Thirty-one, sir."

He let out a half-laugh. "I've got shirts older than you. I have to hide them from my wife, but I've got them. Still this is a consideration that could be resolved, even used to advantage, in some circumstances."

"Commander Whitney. I'm aware that my personal life is a factor in this matter. That my marriage to Roarke, who is regarded in some quarters, certainly some within the department, with suspicion-unless he's being useful-is and will be more a detriment to my moving up in rank than the mayor using an illegal sex broker and doing the mambo in women's clothes would be to his future political standing. Chief Tibble was correct. It was my choice."

"I hope you're equally aware that your marriage isn't regarded as a detriment in this office."

"I am."

"Nor, for that matter, by the chief. If it were up to me, you'd have your bars."

"It used to matter to me. It doesn't seem so important anymore. I'd never be able to play the game with the same passion I can put into the job."

"You'll find out differently." His chair creaked when he leaned back. "It's a few years down the road yet, as things stand. But you will find out differently. Go home, clean up. Gear up. Then go take these bastards down."

Eve decided to follow orders exactly. The minute she got home she headed for the shower. She only wished she could wash away frustration and anger as easily as blood and sweat.

Bracing her hands on the tiles, she lowered her head so the jets of water could beat down over her, drumming out the little aches.

She didn't think. For twenty minutes under the spray she allowed herself to blank. Calmer, she stepped into the drying tube, let the hot air whirl and blow around her. She hitched on a towel, stepped back into the bedroom.

And saw Roarke.

"Sit down, Eve."

Her blood drained. "Peabody."

"No. No, she's doing well. In fact, she's on her way here now. You just need to sit."

"I've got a major op in a few hours. The investigative team deserves to be down on the bust. They need to be briefed."

"It can wait while you take a few more minutes to settle yourself." He scooped her off her feet.

"Hey! What are you, a damn rabbit. I don't have time for sex."

"If I thought sex was what you needed, we'd be in bed." Instead he dropped her on the couch, sat beside her. "Turn around here. Close your eyes."

"Look, Roarke-oh God." Her eyes fluttered as he dug fingers and thumbs into her shoulders.

"You've knots in here the size of my fist. I could dump a soother into you, but we'll try this instead."

"Yeah? Well, if you don't stop that within fifteen minutes, I'm going to kick your ass."

He bent his head, touched his lips to her knotted shoulder. "I love you, Eve. Every obstinate inch of you."

"I don't feel obstinate. I feel . . ." She felt herself filling up again, doubts and loathing. "I'm not sure of myself. You have to know you're right. Don't you have to know? That asshole Dwier, he knows he's right. Not a doubt in his mind, not a twinge. He's just trying to save his skin, and his woman's."

"A lot of people know they're right, when what they are is wrong. Having doubts keeps you human."

"Not like this. Not when you start doubting the core. Isn't that how this group pulled people in? The ones who started doubting the core, not trusting it. I traded Dwier for the case today. I gave a wrong cop a walk so I could close it down."

"You had a choice to make."

She reached back, gripped his hand. He'd been one of her choices. The best choice of her life. At least there, she had no doubts. "He said . . . he said they'd taken a collection for Halloway, like a memorial. Like they had a
right.
"

Roarke wrapped his arms around her waist, drew her back against him, and let her pour it out. "I'm sitting there, looking at him, listening to his bullshit justifications, the program propaganda, and I remember how Colleen Halloway thanked me. She thanked me and I'm kicking loose one of the people responsible for her son's death."

She pulled up her knees, pressed her face against them. "I'm seeing what happened to Hannah Wade. I see her lying facedown in her own blood. And he says it's too bad about her. Said it was an accident. But she only got what she deserved because she was just a whore. I want to pound my fists into his flesh for that, beat him senseless for it. But I swing weight with the P.A. to get him immunity so he won't have to pay for it. For any of it. Am I standing for the dead, or am I walking all over them?"

"You know the answer to that." He forced her around. Her cheeks were damp again. "You know the answer in your heart."

"I used to know it in my gut. I used to know it in my
bones.
And I don't know what kind of cop I'm going to make if I don't feel it that way again."

"I don't know this Dwier, but I do know this: He may not live out his life in a cage, but he'll never be free again. I do know you, Eve. Whatever you did, you did for Halloway, for Hannah Wade, and the rest. You bargained your own needs away for theirs."

"I don't know if I did. But I hope to God it was worth it." She used her hands to scrub her cheeks dry. "I'm going to break them tonight. And tomorrow, I'm going to send Peachtree down to hell with them."

She blew out a breath, pushed back her hair. 'To do that, I've got to shake this off."

"Would you like some positive news?"

"I could use it."

"We've finished the full ID on the virus. We've duplicated it. Which means we can create a permanent shield against it that allows us full access to the data in the remaining units."

"You can track it back to source?"

"We can. We will. It'll take a bit more time, but we're on our way, well on it, to that point."

"Good. I've got a warrant. One that went through," she added, thinking of Judge Archer. "All Dukes's equipment-whatever's left in his place-is to be confiscated. I need you to dig out transmissions. Somebody gave him the word to run, and where to run to. We're getting Dwier's and Price's, too. Just in case they're holding any names back."

"We'll be busy."

"You and Jamie can put in some time on them tonight while we run the op."

"I recall you saying the investigative team would be in on this bust."

"I can't take the kid on an op." She rose, walked to the closet. "You'd be a lot more valuable to me in the lab. That's not a con, and to prove it, I'm not ordering you to stay." She grabbed a shirt, turned back. "I'm asking."

"That's tricky of you." He got to his feet. "I'll be your lab rat then, for a bit longer."

"Appreciate it."

"Don't wear those trousers with that shirt. What are you thinking?"

"I'm going to a bust, not a party."

"That's no reason not to look your best. Let's see, what's the well-dressed cop wearing these days to take down a major terrorist organization? You can't go wrong with basic black."

"Is this a joke?" she asked as he selected another shirt.

"Good fashion sense is never a joke." He handed her the shirt, slid a finger down the dent in her chin. "But it's good to see you smile again, Lieutenant. Oh, and wear the black boots, not the brown."

"I don't have any black boots."

He reached in, pulled out a pair of sturdy black leather. "You do now."

***

Half a block down from the Church of The Savior, Eve sat in the surveillance vehicle and argued with Peabody.

"Look, you're lucky to be here at all. You're on medical leave."

"No, I'm not because I didn't sign off."

"I signed you off."

"I signed me back on."

Eve bared her teeth. "You forgot the 'sir.'"

Peabody's chin jutted. "No, I didn't."

"How about I write you up for insubordination?"

"Go ahead." Peabody folded her arms across her chest. "I can handle it. Just like I can handle this op."

Eve let out a gusty sigh. "Maybe you're right."

Beside her, Feeney shifted his gaze from the monitor toward Eve. And thought: Oh-oh.

"I'm patched up," Peabody claimed, relaxing a little as she saw her opening. "I'm fit for duty. It wasn't that big a deal."

"I guess I'm just overreacting a little." Eve lifted her hands, then pushed to her feet. "You ought to know how you feel, right?"

"Absolutely. Sir," she said.

"Well then." Eve patted Peabody's shoulder lightly. Then squeezed. She watched her aide's color drain, watched her mouth go lax on a shocked and pained
O.
"And how do you feel now?"

"I feel just . . ."

"All patched up?" She watched the sweat pearl on Peabody's brow. "Fit for duty?"

"I'm . . ."

"Sit down. Shut up."

"Yes, sir." At Eve's gentle nudge, Peabody's legs folded. She wasn't sure if she put her head between her knees or Eve did, but either way she was grateful.

"You'll stay in the surveillance vehicle and assist McNab. Any arguments from you, Detective?" she said, looking at McNab.

"No. No, sir, Lieutenant." He patted Peabody on the back. "You okay, honey?"

"No honeys!" Eve pulled at her hair. "There are no honeys on an op, for sweet Christ's sake. Keep it up, just keep it up, and I'm having one of you transferred to Queens."

She turned on her heel, dropped down beside Feeney again. "What's the status?"

"A few early birds going in. Pretty quiet yet." He lowered his voice. "Good job there. She ain't ready to rock yet. Girl's got spine though."

"There'll be other ops," Eve agreed, and studied the monitor. "There's always another op."

The church was small, an unpretentious building that might have started out white. It was gray now, a soft and dingy gray that boasted a simple black cross. It had no steeple, and only a scattering of windows across the front.

Eve knew what it looked like inside. She'd studied the blueprints and the record Baxter had taken. He'd dressed as a sidewalk sleeper, had stumbled around inside. Though he hadn't been able to get to the basement, he'd gotten a good picture of the main level.

And had copped ten credits from the deacon who'd finally moved him along again.

There were fifty pews, twenty-five to a side. A podium centered at the front. There were two doors off the worship area. Baxter had managed to bungle his way into one, snag a quick record of an office area before the deacon had rushed in to fuss over him.

The equipment in the office was top-of-the-line and several levels over what any little neighborhood church could afford.

There were three outside doors. The front, the east side, and the rear that led to the basement.

All were covered. When they moved, she thought, they'd surround the building like the rings around Saturn.

"Picking up more chatter now," Feeney told her.

Eve lifted up her earpiece, tuned in.

There was talk about sports. How about those Yankees? Women exchanged recipes and talked child care. Someone mentioned a sale at Barney's.

"Jesus." Feeney shook his head. "Sounds like a damn PTA meeting."

"A what?"

"School deal. Parents, teachers. What kind of terrorists are they?"

"Ordinary people," Eve said. "That's what makes them so dangerous. Most are just regular Joes looking for a way to clean up the streets. I watched this vid with Roarke. This Old West thing. Bad guys kicking ass in this town. Law can't stop them 'cause they kick the law's ass, too. So the people get together, pool some bucks and hire this band of gunslingers-that's a great word, isn't it? Gunslinger."