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“If it was a routine arrest—don’t hand me any of your bullshit, Peter, I was commanding Highway when you were in high school—Homicide detectives backed up by district cops would have picked these people up, one at a time. Did you see what the Daily News said?”

“No, sir.”

The mayor jammed his cigar in his mouth, opened his briefcase, took out a sheet of Xerox paper, and read, “They said, ‘A small army of heavily armed police had their first battle with the Islamic Liberation Army early this morning. When it was over, Abu Ben Mohammed was fatally wounded and Police Officer Matthew M. Payne, who two months ago shot to death the Northwest Philadelphia serial rapist, was in Frankford Hospital suffering from multiple gunshot wounds. The police took seven members of the ILA prisoner.’”

He looked at Wohl.

“I didn’t see that,” Wohl said.

“Maybe you should start reading the newspapers, Peter.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Just don’t give me any more bullshit about a routine arrest. If this thing had been handled like a routine arrest none of this would have happened.”

“You’re right,” Lowenstein said angrily. “Absolutely right. If I had tried to pick up these scumbags one at a time, using district cops, we’d have three, four, a half dozen cops in Frankford Hospital, or maybe the morgue. And probably that many civilians.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We took a goddamn arsenal full of guns away from these people. The only reason they didn’t get to use them was because we hit them all at once. If we had taken them one at a time, by the time we got to the second or third one, they would either have been long gone, in Kansas City or someplace, if we were lucky. Or, if we were unlucky, they would have done what this scumbag Stevens did, come out shooting.”

There were very few people in the Police Department, for that matter in city government, who would have dared to tell the mayor in scornful sarcasm that he was right, absolutely right, and then explain in detail to him why he was wrong. Matt Lowenstein was one of them. But there was doubt in the minds of everyone else in the conference room that he was going to get away with it this time.

He and the mayor glared at each other for a full fifteen seconds.

“Is that his name? Stevens? The dead one?” the mayor finally asked, almost conversationally.

“Charles David Stevens,” Lowenstein furnished.

The mayor turned his attention to Staff Inspector Wohl again: “Presumably you were aware of this ‘arsenal of weapons’? That being the case, how come you didn’t use Highway?”

“I didn’t want the Ledger complaining about excessive force by ‘Carlucci’s Jackbooted Gestapo,’” Wohl replied evenly. “Highway was alerted, in case they would be needed, and there were also stakeout units available. Neither was needed, which was fine with me; I didn’t want an early morning gun battle.”

Carlucci thought that over for a long moment before replying: “I’m not sure I would have taken that kind of a chance, Peter.”

“We also have to submit quarterly reports to the Justice Department on how we’re spending the ACT Grant funds. I thought that reporting that ACT-funded cops had assisted Homicide in the arrest of eight individuals charged with murder and armed robbery would look good.”

“I still think I would have used Highway,” the mayor said. “You did have a gun battle.”

“I haven’t had a chance to figure that out yet,” Wohl said. “I don’t think Stevens spotted the Homicide detective. Possibilities are that he got up to take a leak, and looked out his window, just as the units were moving into place.”

“You said possibilities.”

“Or somebody saw all the activity at the school playground, or as they were moving from the playground, and called Stevens.”

“Somebody who?”

“Maybe the same somebody who issued the second press release.”

“So you don’t have all of them?”

“No. What Jason Washington is doing, right now, is trying to find out how many there are. He hopes Arthur X will tell him.”

“What does Intelligence have to say about these people? Or Organized Crime?” Carlucci asked.

“Intelligence has nothing on the Islamic Liberation Army, period,” Lowenstein answered. “And until they pulled this job, none of these people did anything that would make them of interest to Organized Crime. They had their names, or some of them, but with no ties to anyone serious. They’re—or they were—small-time thieves.”

“Czernich,” the mayor said, “maybe you’d better have a talk with Intelligence. I find it hard to believe that one day last week, out of the clear blue sky, these bastards said, ‘Okay, we’re now the Islamic Liberation Army.’ Intelligence should have something on them.”