Jeffery Deaver - The Sleeping Doll

Dance watched Kellogg load and chamber a round in a large silver automatic pistol.

"Now that's some weapon of mass destruction," TJ said. "Schweizerische Industries Gesellschaft."

"What?" Impatient.

" S-I-G as in SIG-Sauer. It's the new P220. Forty-five."

"It's forty-five caliber?"

"Yup," TJ said. "Apparently the bureau's adopted a let's-make-sure-they're-never-getting-up-ever-ever-again philosophy. One I'm not necessarily opposed to."

Dance and all the other agents at the CBI carried only 9mm Glocks, concerned that a higher caliber could cause more collateral damage.

Kellogg pulled on a windbreaker advertising him as an FBI agent and joined her and O'Neil, who was today in his khaki chief deputy uniform-body armor too.

Dance briefed them about the rooms next to Pell's. Kellogg said when they did the kick-in, he'd simultaneously have somebody enter the room next door and get the family down, under cover.

Not much, but it was something.

Rey Carraneo radioed in; he was in a surveillance position on the far side of the parking lot, out of sight, behind a Dumpster. The lot was empty of people at the moment-though there were a number of cars-and the housekeepers were going about their business, as Kellogg had instructed. At the last minute, as the tac teams were on their way, other officers would pull them to cover.

In five minutes the officers had finished dressing in armor and checking weapons. They were huddled in a small yard near the main office. They looked at O'Neil and Dance but it was Kellogg who spoke first. "I want a rolling entry, one team through the door, the second backup, right behind." He held up a sketch of the room, which the manager had drawn. "First team, here to the bed. Second, the closets and bathroom. I need some flash-bangs."

He was referring to the loud, blinding hand grenades used to disorient suspects without causing serious injury.

One of the MCSO officers handed him several. He put them in his pocket.

Kellogg said, "I'll take the first team in. I'm on point."

Dance wished he wouldn't; there were far younger officers on the Monterey SWAT team, most of them recent military discharges with combat experience.

The FBI agent continued, "He'll have that woman with him, and she may appear to be a hostage but she's just as dangerous as he is. Remember, she's the one who lit up the courthouse and that's what killed Juan Millar."

Acknowledging nods from them all.

"Now, we'll circle around the side of the building and move in fast along the front. Those going past his window, stay on your bellies. Don't crouch. As close to the building as you can get. Assume he's looking out. I want people in armor to pull the housekeepers behind cars. Then we go in. And don't assume there are only two perps in there."

His words put in mind Dance's conversation with Rebecca Sheffield.

Structure the solution…

He said to Dance, "That sound okay to you?"

Which wasn't really the question he was asking.

His query was more specific: Do I have authority here?

Kellogg was being generous enough to give her one last chance to pull the plug on the op.

She debated only a moment and said, "It's fine. Do it." Dance started to say something to O'Neil but couldn't think of any words that conveyed her thoughts-she wasn't sure what those thoughts were, in any case. He didn't look at her, just drew his Glock and, along with TJ and Stemple, moved out with a backup team.

"Let's get into position," Kellogg said to the tactical officers.

Dance joined Carraneo by the Dumpster and plugged in her headset and stalk mike.

A few minutes later her radio crackled. Kellogg, saying, "On my five, we move."

Affirmative responses came in from the leaders of the various teams.

"Let's do it. One…two…"

Dance wiped her palm on her slacks and closed it around the grip of her weapon.

"…three…four…five, go!"

The men and women dashed around the corner and Dance's eyes flipped back and forth from Kellogg to O'Neil.

Please, she thought. No more deaths…

Had they structured it right?

Had they recognized the patterns?

Kellogg got to the door first, giving a nod to the MCSO officer carrying a battering ram. The big man swung the weighty tube into the fancy door and it crashed open. Kellogg pitched in one of the grenades. Two officers rushed into the room beside Pell's and others pulled the maids behind parked cars. When the flash-bang detonated with a stunning explosion Kellogg's and O'Neil's teams raced inside.

Then: silence.

No gunshots, no screams.

Finally she heard Kellogg's voice, lost in a staticky transmission, ending with "…him."

"Say again," Dance transmitted urgently. "Say again, Win. Do you have him?"

A crackle. "Negative. He's gone."

Her Daniel was brilliant, her Daniel knew everything.

As they drove, fast but not over the limit, away from the motel, Jennie Marston looked back.

No squad cars yet, no lights, no sirens.

Angel songs, she recited to herself. Angel songs, protect us.

Her Daniel was a genius.

Twenty minutes ago, as they'd started to make love, he'd frozen, sitting up in bed.

"What, honey?" she'd asked, alarmed.

"Housekeeping. Have they ever called about making up the room?"

"I don't think so."

"Why would they today? And it's early. They wouldn't call until later. Somebody wanted to see if we were in. The police! Get dressed. Now."

"You want-"

"Get dressed!"

She leapt from bed.

"Grab what you can. Get your computer and don't leave anything personal." He'd put a porn movie on TV, looked outside, then walked to the adjoining door, held the gun up and kicked it in, startling two young men inside.

At first she thought he'd kill them but he just told them to stand up and turn around, tied their hands with fishing line and taped washcloths in their mouths. He pulled their wallets out and looked them over. "I've got your names and addresses. You stay here and be quiet. If you say anything to anybody, your families're dead. Okay?"

They nodded and Daniel closed the adjoining door and blocked it with a chair. He dumped out the contents of the fishermen's cooler and tackle boxes and put their own bags inside. They dressed in the men's yellow slickers and, wearing baseball caps, they carried the gear and the fishing rods outside.

"Don't look around. Walk right to our car. But slow." They headed across the parking lot. He spent some minutes loading the car, trying to look casual. They then climbed in and drove away, Jennie struggling to keep calm. She wanted to cry, she was so nervous.

But excited too. She had to admit that. The escape had been a total high. She'd never felt so alive, driving away from the motel. She thought about her husband, the boyfriends, her mother…nothing she'd experienced with any of them approached what she felt at this moment.

They passed four police cars speeding toward the motel. No sirens.

Angel songs…

Her prayer worked. Now, they were miles from the inn and no one was after them.

Finally he laughed and exhaled a long breath. "How about that, lovely?"

"We did it, sweetie!" She whooped and shook her head wildly as if she were at a rock concert. She pressed her lips against his neck and bit him playfully.

Soon they were pulling into the parking lot of the Butterfly Inn, a small dump of a motel on Lighthouse, the commercial strip in Monterey. Daniel told her, "Go get a room. We'll be finished up here soon, but it might not be till tomorrow. Get it for a week, though; it'll be less suspicious. In the back again. Maybe that cottage there. Use a different name. Tell the clerk you left your ID in your suitcase and you'll bring it later."