CHAPTER ONE         In the SWAT command center in the basement level of Olympic Division Dominic Luca poured a fresh cup of coffee into his ceramic mug, and replaced the fragile glass pot on the warmer.  As he lifted the cup, it immediately became apparent that he had overfilled it, for the steaming black liquid skimmed dangerously near the top, threatening to spill over the rim.  Carefully, he clutched it in both hands, and took a step back from the small square table on which the coffee maker was situated, nearly bumping into Jim Street, who was approaching from behind, intending to fill his own cup.         Noticing that his teammate was balancing the hot coffee with great care, he quickly stepped aside to avoid a collision.  �S�cuse me, Dom.�         �Mm-hmm,� Dom responded without removing his eyes from the cup.         Regaining his momentum and keeping a wary eye on it, as if staring at it would somehow prevent a spill, he turned and started toward his desk.  This time, it was T. J. McCabe who approached, sidestepping as Street had done when he realized he ran the risk of being splashed.         �Say, Dom, in case you haven�t noticed, you got that a little full.�         �Thanks for passing along that information, T. J.,� Dom said, maintaining his vigilance of the coffee cup.         Sergeant David �Deacon� Kay, a good humored black man and second in command of the unit, watched with a smile as Luca moved slowly and carefully past the open door of the Lieutenant�s private office.  Inside the office, Daniel �Hondo� Harrelson sat at his desk thumbing through his paperwork, unaware of the balancing act being performed by his youngest officer.         �You know, Luca, my wife says you shouldn�t focus so intently on a full glass or cup,� Deacon suggested.  �She says you can hold it level easier if you�re not watching it.�         �Deke, that trick may work for your wife, but I don�t have a woman�s finesse when it comes to this sort of thing,� Luca told him without removing his eyes from the cup.  �If I don�t look at it, I�ll spill it for sure.�  He was only a few paces away, now.  �Almost there,� he murmured to himself.         T. J. was grinning with good-natured humor.  �Wonder what would happen if I yelled �Boo!� or goosed him in the ribs?� he wondered aloud.         �You�d get a face full of hot coffee, that�s what would happen,� Luca warned.         �That might be worth seeing!� Street said.         Success!         At last, reaching his desk, Dom carefully maneuvered the coffee cup down toward the cork coaster on the smooth surface.          No one had noticed Hilda, the vending lady, as she descended the staircase, until she spoke a rather abrupt greeting. �Hi, boys!�          Dom�s hand jerked reflexively, and hot liquid splashed over the rim onto his hand and splattered on the desk.         �Ouch!�         Laughter rose from the other three officers, who had all paused what they were doing to watch, attracting Harrelson�s curious attention, who looked up from his paperwork to see what was going on.         Luca thumped the coffee mug down on the coaster, for there was no longer any need to be careful.  The damage was done.  He shook his hand to cool it as he lifted accusing eyes to the middle-aged woman who stopped halfway down the wooden staircase, realizing that she was the cause of his mishap.         �Oops.  Looks like the Italian Flash had an accident,� she teased as she came down the rest of the steps.  �Are you going to arrest me for that?�         �Don�t tempt me, Hilda.  Don�t tempt me!� Dom growled, but even across the room, she could see the friendly twinkle in his dark eyes, assuring her that no real harm had been done.  �Assaulting a police officer with hot coffee.  That�s a felony, you know.�         �Hey, son, you need to show some respect for your elders!� she shot back with a smile, willing to play the game.         T. J. approached with a handful of paper napkins, and offered them to his friend and teammate.         Luca accepted them gratefully and wiped off his hand, then began to blot the paperwork, now stained with rings of coffee.  �That�s just great,� he muttered.  He picked up the report he had been writing by hand.  �Look at that.  It�s ruined.  Now, I�ll have to start over.�         �I guess that means you�re not interested in one of my Danish pastries,� Hilda said.         �Oh, you mean you�re selling real Danish pastries now?� he asked, sarcastically.         She feigned offense.  �Very funny, Luca.�         �Besides, you�re late,� Dom continued.  �It�s lunchtime.  I�m all for a pizza.  Anyone wanna join in?�         �Sure,� T. J. said.  �Sounds good.  How �bout you, Hilda?  Why don�t you stay and join us?�         Before she could answer, the telephone rang.         �You got some on the floor, too,� Street pointed out, indicating where the coffee had dribbled over the front edge of the desk.         T. J. knelt and wiped up the dribbles on the floor while Luca worked on the desk top.         The telephone rang again.         �Are you planning on answering that sometime today?� Harrelson asked, glaring at them from his desk.         Still kneeling on the floor, T. J. rose up to look over the top of Luca�s desk at the lieutenant�s stern face.  �Got it.�  Rising, he reached for the phone and picked it up.  �Olympic SWAT.�         He fell silent, listening.  Phone calls to the SWAT division generally meant trouble of a nature so severe that it was not handled by the usual street units.  Beside him, Dom continued to clean up his mess while the others waited.         Finally, T. J. replaced the handset on its cradle, and turned to Harrelson.  �There�s a situation at the high school.  Gunmen have taken some students and teachers hostage.  No word yet on their demands.�         �All right, men, let�s roll,� Harrelson commanded, even though it was not necessary.  Kay and Street were already rushing into the arsenal room, unfastening their gun belts as they went.  The pistols would be left behind during the run, favoring the higher powered, more accurate firepower of the automatic rifles.  Shoulder harnesses would be put on inside the van along with the rest of their gear.         T. J. turned and dropped the napkin in the waste basket as he passed his desk, with Harrelson so close behind him that he was almost stepping on his heels.         Hilda moved back against the wall at the foot of the stairs, staying out of the way.  �I�ll catch you boys another time,� she told them as they rushed past.         Dom quickly finished mopping up the spilled coffee from his desk, then looked quickly around for his waste basket.  Someone, presumably the cleaning personnel, had moved it.  Rushing forward, he dropped the wad of wet napkins in T. J.�s basket, and hurried into the arsenal room to retrieve his weapon.  Then, he followed them to the back door, which opened onto the rear lot where the SWAT van waited.         �Watch yourselves, boys,� Hilda said with genuine affection as she heard the van roar out of the lot with its siren wailing.  Turning, she climbed the stairs to peddle her goods to the desk officers.         Christopher O�Bannon, the school�s assistant principal, was waiting on the steps of the school entrance when the armored SWAT van pulled into the faculty parking lot and screeched to a stop at the foot of the steps.  He watched with a combination of apprehension and intense interest as the rear doors of the van burst open and five men emerged, all wearing jump suits and bulletproof vests.  Four of the men carried automatic rifles, the fifth man carried a sniper�s rifle with a long range scope.         O�Bannon shuddered.  He abhorred the idea of violence in his school, and the thought of so much firepower around the students made him uncomfortable, but, even worse, was the thought of a group of armed madmen holding those students hostage.  No, he�d had no choice but to call the police in this matter.  There was no other way to resolve the issue.         Ignoring the crowd of onlookers who were being held back by uniformed patrolman who had arrived on the scene moments earlier, the SWAT team hurried up the steps and came to a halt before him.         A tall man with a distinct air of authority scrutinized him with piercing blue eyes.  �Are you the one who called this in?�         �Yes.  I�m assistant principal O�Bannon.�         �I�m Lieutenant Harrelson.  Olympic SWAT.  What�s the situation here?�         While Harrelson was speaking, O�Bannon was distracted by the four other men who were observing him while at the same time surveying everything around them with alert eyes, taking in everything, missing nothing.  Obviously, they were seeking to identify possible danger points or alternative ways in or out of the school.  Their attentiveness made him even more nervous, but even more upsetting were the weapons they carried.  He had heard about the SWAT units that had been organized to deal with particularly troublesome circumstances, and he found himself wondering how many bad men had fallen under those fearsome looking rifles.         A television news crew rolled into the parking area, and was instantly intercepted by the police.  They stepped out of their vehicle, and began arguing with the street officers about freedom of the press and the right to cover news events, but were dutifully held at bay.  They began setting up their cameras outside the police perimeter.         �Mr. O�Bannon?� Harrelson prompted, ignoring the reporter who kept yelling for his attention.  �What is the situation here?�          �Oh, sorry.  We�ve never had anything like this happen here before.  Except for a few problem students -- you know the type -- our student body is generally peaceful.�         �I�m sure you are,� the lieutenant said with an outward appearance of patience, but this team knew him well enough to know that he was chomping at the bit to get the situation resolved as quickly and efficiently as possible.  The assistant principal was costing them valuable time.  �Where are the gunmen?�         �They�ve sequestered about thirty students and faculty  members in the cafeteria.  They�re not allowing anyone near there.�         �How many gunmen are there?� asked the black man who stood beside the lieutenant, obviously the second in command.         �We�re not sure.  I personally didn�t see any of them, but one of the teachers managed to escape during the initial abduction.  She says there are at least three, maybe four.�         �We�ll need to talk to that teacher,� Hondo stated.  �What are their demands?�         �You�ll need to talk to the principal about that.  He talked to them a short while ago.�         Hondo cocked his head slightly, surprised.  �He talked to them?�         �Yes.  He approached the cafeteria to try to talk them into leaving peacefully.  They fired a warning shot over his head, but he said he managed to get their demands.�         �That was a foolish and dangerous thing to do,� Harrelson told him, sternly.  �Take me to him.�         �Yes, of course.  This way, please.�         O�Bannon turned and led them through the multiple doors into the cavernous entry hall.         �The offices are on your right,� he told them.         They followed him through the large foyer, down the wide corridor on the right, and through the door that led into the school�s administrative offices.         The room was in a state of chaos.  Panic-stricken receptionists and school counselors attempted to answer questions on the telephones from frantic parents inquiring about the safety of their children, while several hysterical teachers wrung their hands with anxiety.    A tall, well-dressed man with a receding hairline and glasses was admonishing them for their hysteria, attempting to regain some semblance of order among his staff.         Almost as one, every person in the room stopped what they were doing to stare at the five heavily armed police officers who stood observing the scene before them with critical eyes.         �Well, it�s about time!� the distinguished looking man said, haughtily.         A ripple of annoyance darkened Hondo�s face and narrowed his eyes, but he made no comment.  To his men, he said, �This will be our base of operation.�  Turning to the man with the receding hairline, he said, �I need this room cleared.  All non-crucial personnel are to evacuate the premises immediately.�         The man with the glasses rose up to his full height, apparently believing it made him appear intimidating.  It may have worked with his staff, but it had no effect on the SWAT leader or his men.  �Now, see here!� the man said, indignantly.  �This is my school and my staff, and I say who leaves and who stays, is that clear?  Regardless of what is going on, these people have a job to do, and it is my job to see that they do it!�         �Who are you?� Hondo asked, casually.         The man stared at him with offended eyes, as if astonished that his distinguished appearance did not automatically set him apart from the others in the room.  �I am Principal Ames,� came the short response.  �I am in charge here.�  He paused to adjust his glasses, as if to gain a better look at the police officer.  �Who might you be?�         Clearly unimpressed, Hondo gave him a dismissive glance as his eyes swept the room, observing the staff and the equipment that was at their disposal.  �Lieutenant Harrelson, Olympic SWAT,� he responded without addressing him directly.         For the first time, a flicker of respect could be seen in Ames� eyes.  �SWAT?�         �That�s right.  My men; Sergeant Kay, Officers Street, Luca, and McCabe.�         Each officer dipped his head in a single nod as his name was introduced.         While the principal digested that information, Hondo continued to survey the room, noticing the long countertop that separated the public area from the staff area.  Behind it were several desks, all with telephones, a few with typewriters and calculators. Against the wall to his right was a long worktable covered with school flyers and brochures, presumably regarding school events.  Behind the desks was a long row of windows overlooking the staff parking lot, where the SWAT van and its driver waited.  Hondo noticed a television camera was aimed toward the offices, but he knew that the tinted windows would prevent the news crew from obtaining any information to pass on to their viewers.          On his left was a narrow corridor leading to several smaller offices, obvious belonging to the principal, the assistant principal, and the boys' and girls� counselors. Greatly intimidated by the rifles the police officers carried, the entire staff was staring at him and the other four men, who stood beside him.  Hondo�s eyes briefly settled on each individual before dismissing each one in turn.          Finally, the lieutenant�s eyes completed their sweep of the room and came to rest upon the principal again.  �Mr. Ames, it is my job to bring this to a safe resolution.  As long as there is a situation here, I am the man in charge, and everyone in this room will answer to me, and that includes you.  Is that clear?�  Without waiting for a response, he continued, �This is neither the time nor the place for a confrontation.  Now, get these people out of here.�         Ames hesitated, his defiant glare withering somewhat as his resolve faded.         Hondo met the gaze with fire in his blue eyes.  �Now!� he said, sternly.         Finally, with a sigh of defeat, Ames turned to his staff.  �All right, you may leave.�         The others rose from their chairs to make their departure, but Hondo stepped in front of the door and raised his hand, temporarily blocking their exit.  �Mr. O�Bannon says that one of the teachers escaped from the gunmen.  Where may I find this teacher?�         "That would be Mrs. White,� Ames said, gesturing toward a very distressed middle-aged woman who sat in a guest chair beside one of the desks.  Another teacher or possible a member of the office staff was beside her, offering comfort.  Hondo could see that the woman was trembling in the aftermath of what was probably the most terrifying experience she had ever endured.         Hondo�s expression softened somewhat.  To the teacher, he said, �We�ll only detain you for a few minutes, Mrs. White.  We just need to ask some questions about the gunmen.�         �I don�t know if I�ll be much help,� she said, her voice shaking.         �I�m sure you�ll be able to help us a great deal.  Okay, the rest of you may leave.�  He stepped aside, clearing the doorway.         As the staff moved toward the exit, a telephone began to ring.  One dedicated young receptionist automatically reached for it.         �Just leave it, Miss,� Deacon instructed.         She hesitated, glancing at Ames for confirmation.  �Some of the parents have heard about the gunmen on the radio.  They�ve been calling about their children.�         �Disconnect the switchboard,� Hondo instructed.         Again, she deferred to the principal, who nodded, affirmatively.  Her fingers hesitated over the switchboard, reluctant to disconnect the parents who were only calling out of concern for their children.  After a moment, she complied with the request.  The telephone instantly ceased ringing.  Then, she followed the others to the door.  Only Ames, O�Bannon, and Mrs. White remained with the five SWAT officers.         Hondo stepped through the waist high swinging door that provided access into the administrative areas, and he knelt down on one knee beside the badly shaken teacher.  �Mrs. White, I know this is a traumatic experience for you, but we have to know precisely what happened.  How did these men manage to take the people in the cafeteria hostage?�         �They aren�t really men,� she said, her voice quivering.  �They�re hardly more than boys.  I had one of them in my class just last year.  No one paid much attention to them when they came in because they looked like they belonged.�         �How many of them did you see?�         �I saw three, but there was a fourth boy who looked might have been with them.  I was just leaving as they came in, and when I saw Michael, I remembered he had dropped out last spring, so I stopped and turned around to ask him how he was doing.  I thought perhaps he had realized his mistake in dropping out and was returning to class.  They were all wearing jackets with some kind of sea creatures stenciled on the back.�         �What kind of sea creatures?� Luca asked, curiously.         Hondo turned his head to look at him, wondering what significance that had on the current situation, but he made no comment.  Luca would not have asked out of idle curiosity.         �Oh, I�ve seen it before, but I�m so nervous, I can�t remember what it�s called,� she replied.         Luca fell silent again, but it was obvious that he had something on his mind.         �What happened next?� Hondo asked.         �They pulled the guns from their pockets and fired a couple of shots at the ceiling to get everyone�s attention.�         �Do you know what kind of guns they were?� Street asked.         She shook her head.  �Oh, I don�t know anything at all about guns.  They were small, though, not like the ones you�re carrying.�         �Hand guns?� Street asked.  �Pistols?�         She nodded.  �Yes.�         �See there?� Hondo told her with a patient smile.  �I told you, you would be able to help us.�         The knowledge that she had provided information that they could use seemed to calm her down.  �That really was a help?� she asked.         �Very much so.  Now we know what kind of firepower we�re facing.  That�s very important.  What happened next?�         �I didn�t stay long enough to find out what they wanted.  I was just inside the door, so I ran out and came here to report to Mr. Ames.�         �You did the right thing to get out of there, Mrs. White,� Hondo assured her, trying to alleviate any thoughts she might have that she should have stayed behind with the other teachers and students who were in the cafeteria at the time.  He stood up and offered his hand.  �You can go now.�         �Thank you, officer,� she said, accepting his assistance by placing her hand in his.  When she was on her feet, she withdrew her hand from his, and said, hesitantly, �Officer, please try not to hurt them.  They�re all just teenagers who fell in with the wrong crowd.�         �We�ll do our best, Mrs. White, but I�m afraid that is up to them.�         She nodded, then moved toward the exit.  Luca opened the door for her, and she glanced at him as she passed through it, thinking that he did not look much older than the students in her class.          �Thank you, Mrs. White,� he said to her.  When she was gone, he pulled it closed behind her.         Turning to Ames, Hondo asked, �What about the classrooms?  Are there any students still in class?�         �No.  It was the lunch hour, so many of the kids were outside while others were in the cafeteria.  We only had a few classes still in session, and Mr. O�Bannon had those rooms cleared.�         �Good,� Hondo said, approvingly.  �Where is the cafeteria located?�         �At the rear of the school behind the gymnasium.  There is only one corridor leading to it.�         Hondo glanced at T. J., then turned to Ames again.  �Is there a high place I can post my marksman so he can observe the inside of the cafeteria?�         Ames glanced at the young man with curly blond hair and a rifle with a sniper scope, and instantly understood that the SWAT leader wanted to position the marksman for a possible shot at the gunmen.  He shuddered involuntarily at the notion of someone actually being shot or killed in his school.  �You�re not planning to assassinate them, are you?�         �Mr. Ames, murder is not how we operate.  We shoot only when necessary.  But my marksman is also my eyes.  He reports to me what he sees through that scope, and I can better make necessary decisions to assure the safety of hostages and my own men.�         Ames nodded, accepting the explanation.  �I understand.  However, there is no place for him to get a good view.  The only windows are for ventilation, and they�re located just beneath the ceiling.  The cafeteria is gymnasium sized, so the windows are very high up.  That�s why those thugs chose that particular room.  They knew the police couldn�t get to them.�         �We�ll get to them, somehow,� Hondo assured him.  �What about a back door?�         �There is a back door through the kitchen.  It opens onto a small parking lot used by the kitchen staff and the janitor.  There�s no way you can get in through there, though.  Their leader told me that they�ve locked the door and blocked it with a set of heavy metal pantry shelves.  There is a doorway at the end of the corridor near the cafeteria that opens onto the school grounds, but they have posted a guard there to prevent anyone from getting in.  He�s well armed.�         �Mr. O�Bannon said you�ve been in contact with the gunmen.  What is it they want?�         �You�re not planning to negotiate with those thugs, are you?� Ames asked, incredulously.         �We intend to cover every option, Mr. Ames, and that includes negotiations for the release of the hostages.�         �From what I can gather, a couple of their friends had been picked up and jailed, but I don�t know the details.  They want their friends released, plus they�re demanding ransom money for the hostages.�         Luca was nodding, understanding the motivation behind the demand.  �Drug money.  This is part of a street gang.  I know them; the Stingrays.�         Hondo glanced at him quickly.  That was why Luca had asked Mrs. White about the sea creatures on the backs of the jackets.  He must have suspected it would identify the gang.  �Stingrays?  The sea creatures on their jackets.�         Luca nodded.  �I ran up against them when I was in Vice.  I don�t remember their leader�s name, but they�re heavily into drugs, and about as mean as they come.  It�s a very expensive habit, so they get money whatever way they can, which usually means petty theft and holding up convenience stores.  As long as they�re demanding the release of their members, why not go a little farther and secure some cash to feed their habit?�         Hondo was in agreement with Luca�s analysis.  �I find that likely.  Are these four the only members?"         Luca shook his head.  "When I encountered them, there were about twenty members.  We had captured some of them, jailed a few, convinced a few more to drop out, but I seriously doubt that these four are the only remaining members.  They will have recruited more to replace their losses.  They probably decided that a smaller group could infiltrate the school easier than a large group.�         Turning to Ames, he asked,  �Why do you suppose they picked your school?�         �Probably because some of them attended classes here, at least for awhile.  As Mrs. White said, Michael Collins was a student here, so I�m guessing the other boys probably were, too.  They know their way around.�         �What can you tell me about this Michael?�         �He was always in trouble.  I  knew him well because he was a frequent visitor to my office for disciplinary action.  There wasn�t much that could be done about him the last year, though.  He�s defiant toward authority, and he did not fear discipline.�         Hondo considered everything he had learned about the situation.  �Do you have a floor plan of the school?� he asked.  �We�ve got to find a way to get close to them.�         Ames nodded.  �We keep a floor plan on the wall in the lobby showing the emergency exits in the event of a fire.  Come on, I�ll show you.�         He led the five officers into the lobby, and indicated the large diagram on the wall, positioned in such a way that it could be easily observed by the students if evacuation was required.  A good idea, but the three younger officers, who were not so very many years out of high school themselves, knew that the students, consumed with their own interests and problems, probably never even glanced at it.  Most of them probably passed by it every day, unaware of its existence or its lifesaving potential.         Ames pointed to a position at the bottom of the map.  �We�re here.  The cafeteria is back here.�  He traced an invisible line with his finger.  �This is the route you have to take to get to it.�         �Looks like a gerbil run,� Luca commented in regards to the maze of corridors.         T. J. and Street chuckled, indicating that they had been thinking similar thoughts, but Ames gave him a look that was distinctly unappreciative.  �The planners probably should have built a second story when the population outgrew the original design, but instead they decided to keep adding on to the ground level.  Some of the other schools were reporting problems with the boys standing at the bottom of the stairs so that they could watch the girls in mini skirts coming down ---�         �Luca was probably an expert on that practice,� T. J. quipped.         �Hey,� Luca admonished, swatting him playfully on the arm with the back of his hand.         Accustomed to the friendly banter between his officers, understanding that it was a healthy way to relieve tension, Hondo ignored the comments.  When it came time to get down to business, he knew that each and every one of his men would meet whatever challenge came their way in the most effective and professional manner.  He was still studying the map, intent on a large area across the hall from the cafeteria.  �What is this room here?� he asked, pointing to the position on the floor plan.         �That is the auditorium.  If you could get in there, you might be able to see them.  A side door on the east side opens across from the cafeteria, the other two doors open into this long corridor on the north side, here.�  He pointed to the long hallway.          �Can we get in there from the north hallway?� Deacon asked.         �Unfortunately, no.  They�ve placed a guard there to patrol the corridor.  They�ve turned some of the cafeteria tables over on their side to form barricades.  They�re pretty well secured, there.�         �There�s no other way into the auditorium?�         �No.  They had this well thought out.  I�ve got to tell you, Lieutenant, I don�t know how you�re going to get those people out of there.�         �We�ll get them out,� Hondo assured him.  �But first, I want to talk to them.�  He pointed an authoritative finger in Ames� face.  You stay here.�         Ames was more than happy to comply.  He had already seen the former students� guns and their jittery behavior, and had no desire to see them again.  He waited in the foyer while the five police officers walked swiftly around the corner, heading toward the cafeteria.                                                  Go to Chapter Two