No one spoke. The SUV raced along, hugging the concrete curves, passing through tunnels beneath crumbling buildings, banging hard over potholes. Luke could feel his heart beat in his chest. The driving wasnt what made his pulse race. It was the anticipation.

It would have been nice to come up here for a little fun, Don said. Stay in a fancy hotel, maybe see a Broadway show.

Next time, Luke said.

Outside his window, the SUV was already exiting the highway. It was the 96th Street exit. The driver barely paused at a red light, then turned left and floored it down the empty boulevard.

Luke watched as the SUV roared into the circular driveway of the hospital. It was a quiet time of night. They pulled directly in front of the bright lights of the emergency room. A man in a three-piece suit stood waiting for them.

Sharp dresser, Luke said.

Don poked Luke with a thick finger. Say, Luke. We got a little treat for you tonight. When was the last time you put on a hazmat suit?

Chapter 4

4:11 a.m.

Beneath Center Medical Center, Upper East Side

Not too tight, Luke said around a mouthful of plastic thermometer.

Trudy had placed the sensor of a portable blood pressure monitor on Lukes wrist. The sensor squeezed his wrist hard and then harder still, then slowly released it in stages, making gasping sounds as it did so. Trudy tore back the Velcro on the wrist sensor and in almost the same motion, pulled the thermometer from his mouth.

How does it look? he said.

She glanced at the readouts. Your blood pressure is up, she said. 138 over 85. Resting heart rate 97. Temperature 100.4. Im not going to lie to you, Luke. These numbers could be better.

Ive been under a little stress lately, Luke said.

Trudy shrugged. Dons numbers are better than yours.

Yeah, but he takes statins.

Luke and Don sat together in their boxers and T-shirts on a wooden bench. They were in a sub-basement storage facility beneath the hospital. Heavy vinyl drapes hung all around them, closing off the area. It was cold and dank down here, and a shiver raced along Lukes spine. The breached containment vault was two stories further below them.

People milled around. There were a couple of SRT guys from the New York office. The SRT guys had set up two folding tables with a series of laptops and video displays across them. There was the guy in the three-piece suit, who was an intelligence officer from the NYPD counter-terrorism unit.

Ed Newsam, the big weapons and tactics guy Luke had met on the chopper, pushed through the vinyl curtains with two more SRT guys behind him. Each SRT man carried a sealed clear package with bright yellow material inside.

Attention, Newsam said in a loud voice, cutting through the chatter. He pointed two fingers at his own eyes. Don and Luke, eyes on me, please.