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Talley searched Jones's pockets as he spoke, and found Jones's cell phone. He pressed star 69, but nothing happened.

'Shit!'

He pushed the cell phone in Jones's face.

'What's his number?'

'I don't know any more than you.'

Talley kneed him in the stomach.

Dreyer said, 'Holy shit.'

Talley slammed Jones into the car.

'You fucking well know his number!'

'I want to talk to an attorney.'

Talley kneed him again, doubling Jones over. Mikkelson and Dreyer squirmed uneasily.

'Ah, Chief…'

'These bastards have my family.'

Talley cocked the.45 and pressed it into Jones's cheek.

'We're talking about my wife and daughter, you sonofabitch. You think I won't kill you?'

Talley wasn't on Flanders Road anymore; he had stepped into the Zone. It was a place of white noise where emotions reigned and reason was meager. Anger and rage were nonstop tickets; panic was an express. He had been all day coming to this, and here he was: The SWAT guys used to talk about it. You went to the Zone, you lost your edge. You'd lose your career; you'd get yourself killed, or, worse, somebody else.

Talley bent Jones backwards across the trunk of the car. He had to reach the Watchman, and this man knew how. He didn't have time to wait for the Watchman to call. He needed the Watchman off guard. Time was his enemy.

'He calls me. Just like with you.'

Talley's head throbbed. He told himself to shoot the sonofabitch, put one in his shoulder joint and make him scream. Mikkelson's voice came from far away.

'Chief?'

The white noise cleared and Talley stepped back from the Zone. He lowered his gun. He wasn't like them.

Jones glanced away. Talley thought he seemed embarrassed.

'I don't call him. He calls me, just like with you. That's how they stay safe. Just hang on to the phone. He'll call.'

Talley stared at Jones's phone, then dropped it to the street and crushed it. He had the Nokia, but if it rang, he would not answer it. If the Watchman placed the call, the Watchman would expect him to answer. Talley didn't want to do what the Watchman expected.

'Put him in a cell with the others.'

Everything seemed like it was ending even before it began. He couldn't stop now. Once you breached the structure, you pressed on until the end. If you stopped, you died.

Smith would know. They trusted Smith with their closest secrets. It had all come back to Smith again.

'Where are the kids?'

'Cooper has them with the paramedics. They're okay. We finally got the mother, Chief. She's flying back from Florida.'

'Tell Cooper to meet me at the hospital. Tell him to bring the children.'

Talley wiped the smoke from his eyes as he looked back at the house. The fire was eating its way through the roof. Tongues of flame lapped beneath the eaves even as silver rainbows of water arced over the house. Talley could smell the fire on his skin and in his clothes. He smelled like a funeral pyre.

KEN SEYMORE

Seymore was trading Adderall for cold dim sum with a news crew from Los Angeles when a string of dull pops snapped from the direction of the house. The Los Angeles remote producer, a skinny kid with a goatee and no life experience, stopped his discourse on news selection as a political vehicle. 'What was that?'

Ken Seymore recognized the sound right away: Gunfire.

Seymore knew that Howell hadn't launched the breach, because Howell would have told him. He trotted to the nearest news van to find out what was happening. The tech there monitored a police scanner tuned to the Sheriff's tactical frequency.

'You guys get anything on that?'

The tech waved him silent. He listened to the scanner with a bug in his ear, because their news director didn't want anyone else to hear.

'They called up the fire company. The goddamned house is on fire.'

'What was the shooting?'

'That was gunfire?'

'Hell, yes.'

The tech waved Seymore quiet again and tuned his receiver, working through the frequencies.

'The SWAT team went in. Shit, they got casualties. It sounds like they got the kids. Yeah, the kids are coming out.'

The technician pulled the plug from his ear and shouted for his producer.

A heavy column of smoke rose into the light from the helicopters, and then another string of pops echoed over the neighborhood.

Seymore took out his phone.

GLEN HOWELL

The local stations resumed live coverage because of the fire. Flames lapped from the windows on the left side of the house, but the fire at the rear, back by the pool, was going pretty good. Fire crews hosed the roof and shadows ran along the perimeter, but the aerial shot was so murky that Howell couldn't tell who was who or what was happening, just that everything was going to hell.

'You sure Jones's people got hit?'

'They said it was FBI, so it hadda be Jones's guys. We're getting this shit off the scanner.'

'They get the disks?'

'I don't know. It's happening right now; no one's talking to us.'

'Why the fuck did they go in?'

'I thought you gave'm the green light.'

'It wasn't me.'

'Hang on a sec; there's more traffic on the scanner. Okay, they're saying two FBI agents came out and both kids. The kids are out.'