1A/N: Thanks, loyal readers & reviewers! Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 4

Stand Off

Simultaneously between 4:45 p.m. and 4:59 p.m.

Outside the Chase Manhattan Bank

Schultz, Sanchez and Marino watched the monitors intently, for any signs of movement. "Look," Marino said, pointing to the screen. The three of them were glued to the action: the back of the hooded gunman could be seen, pointing and waving his weapon at two other men in shirts and ties. They watched as the two bank employees covered the bloody body of the guard and the pool of blood surrounding him; then they moved to the other body. The legs were still visible, so they assumed that the head and torso were being covered. The gunman and the employees then, once again, went out of camera range.

Sanchez turned to Schultz, "hmm, he has the nerves to pull a bank heist, but no stomach for the blood and guts?"

"Maybe," Schultz answered. "Maybe he didn't plan on the shit hittin' the fan. Or it could be in response to the hostages' requests," he said, rubbing his chin. "That wouldn't be a bad sign – – maybe he'd be open to other suggestions."

Marino grumbled, "Then why won't he answer the damn phone?"

One of the S.W.A.T. team's members had entered the MCU and handed some papers to Lt. Schultz. Sanchez stood behind his shoulder, reading for himself, while Marino, still sitting at the monitors' control panel, looked up and asked, "What'cha got?"

"...Report on the sweep of the block. The black van...VIN# has it stolen from Jamaica, Queens three days ago...stolen plates belong to a green Toyota Tundra pick up truck...reported stolen four days ago from Long Island City...gotta' be the getaway vehicle," he said while flipping to the next page. "Sanchez, look at this," he said excitedly. "Black Infiniti down the block...gold shield in the window...it's Jimmy Deakins' car!"

Marino looked up, keeping one eye on the screens. "I was up and down this block half a dozen times before I came in here. I didn't see Deakins anywhere."

Sanchez offered, "He could be in any office or store along the block."

Schultz shook his head. "Not with all this goin' on! I know Jimmy Deakins. If he was anywhere near this action, he would've..." Schultz was interrupted by the squawking of the radio. Marino answered: "SWAT MCU, Sergeant Marino. He's right here, hold on," he said, vacating his seat so that Artie Schultz could sit.

"This is Lt. Schultz. Who's this?"

"This is Detective Alexandra Eames of the Major Case Squad."

Schultz', Sanchez' and Marino's ears perked up. Getting a call from Major Case – – Captain Deakins' unit, couldn't be a coincidence.

"Go ahead, Detective," Schultz said.

"We've got a caller on the line, we think from a cell phone, from inside the bank."

Schultz nodded, "We were just figuring that out. We found Captain Deakins' car parked a half block away from the bank."

"Yeah, well," Eames said, "It's not the Captain on the inside, he's on a plane to Vegas. It's his wife."

The three men in the MCU traded a more-worried glance. "Damn," Schultz muttered.

Eames continued, "My partner's still listening on the line. He wants you to stop trying to call the bank...it's only making the gunman more agitated."

"What else can ya' hear going on in there?"

"Just that the guy was barking orders to cover up something...cover blood, said something about a 'filthy pig' and telling the hostages to sit down and not move."

"We saw it on the monitor. The guard is dead. They were coverin' up the bodies," Schultz said.

"Can you tell how many gunman?" Alex asked.

"We've only seen one, so far, wavin' a gun around – has a ski mask on." Schultz answered. "There's another body not in camera range – all we can see is legs, but they haven't moved in 15 minutes, so we're guessing injured or dead – could be one of the robbers, maybe shot by the guard, or could be a civilian. We just don't know enough yet."

"Okay, Lieutenant, keep the line open and we'll be back in touch," Alex told him.

"Hey!" Artie said, "Who's gettin' in touch with Deakins to tell him what's going on?"

"Nobody, yet," Alex responded. "Not until we know, for sure. Not until we have more facts."

Schultz and Sanchez shared a glance, with eyebrows raised. They weren't sure if keeping Deakins out of the loop was the best way to proceed – – but conceded. It wasn't their call to make and they already had their hands full.

"All right, Detective, that's your call. You guys get back to me, though, the second you hear something of value."

"We will, Lieutenant."

Schultz stood, relinquishing the chair back to Marino. "Maybe the lab will turn up some prints from the van. A guy doin' something like this has gotta' have priors – once we find out who he is, maybe we'll find a better way to deal with him."

5:10 p.m.

Major Case Squad

Alex rejoined Bobby in Deakins' office. "Anything new?" she whispered. Bobby shook his head, whispering his reply, "No, it's been pretty quiet. You reach Schultz?"

"Yes. They found the Captain's car parked on the block by the bank. They thought it was him on the inside."

Alex took a seat across from Bobby. There was no hiding the worry and concern on her face. "When are we gonna' tell the Captain?"

"He should be landing in Vegas at around 6:15 our time – I already had Morris book him on a return flight almost as soon as he touches down. Airport security is meeting him at the arrival gate."

Alex sighed, "Gonna' be a heck of a flight back."

Bobby nodded, letting out a sigh of his own.

6:00 p.m.

Inside the Chase Manhattan Bank

The hostages remained seated and quiet. The gunman had been pacing, appearing to be lost in thought and only glancing at them from time to time. He had been talking to himself in a mumbling whisper, but his words were inaudible to the terrified group.

Cathy Deakins nudged Dave Conroy's arm, as she watched the gunman making his way over to the guard's covered body. Panic caused her stomach to flutter. The robber stood above the body, then slowly circled it, oblivious to the sickening sound caused by the suction of the blood and plastic underfoot. She knew what he was thinking. His head shot up; his eyes wild with his own panic, glaring at the hostages.

"Where's his gun!" he demanded. He stormed towards the cowering group.

No one answered.

"Where's his fucking gun!"

Again, no response.

"All of you! Get up! Face the wall – hands against the wall!"

Cathy Deakins had to think fast. If she stood, he'd be able to see the cell phone that was hidden behind her back. She began to rise, quickly passing her pocketbook around her to conceal the phone. She stood, holding the purse in place between her feet.

The gunman made his way down the line, quickly patting down the three men beside her – satisfied that they weren't concealing anything. He approached Cathy from behind, examining her form. There were no obvious bulges in her clothing. He quickly ran his free hand over her back and down her legs.

"Turn around!" he shouted at her.

She turned, hands still raised, looking the gunman in the eye.

"Lift your blouse!"

She looked at him, slowly raising her top above the waist of her slacks. "Is that high enough?" she asked, trying to appear a bit shy, but respectful towards him, at the same time.

"Spin around!" he instructed.

She slowly turned, giving the robber his proof. She was hiding nothing in her waistband.

"Everybody sit back down!"

Cathy was only too happy to oblige. A slight sense of relief came over her, but the gunman bent down in front of her, close to her face. She could smell the scent of his perspiration, the cigarette on his breath.

"Give me that purse," he whispered.

She handed him her pocketbook and watched as he retreated a few steps and dumped its entire contents on the floor. She could tell he was satisfied there was no gun. He removed the cash from her wallet and paused, briefly, to read the name from her driver's license.

"You're a lucky lady, Cathy," he taunted. "I think you know what I would've done to you if I found that gun in here," he sneered, dangling the purse by its straps in front of her, and tossing his head towards the figures of the dead tellers.

She nodded.

The gunman was appeased, for now, that none of the hostages was in possession of the guard's weapon. He was still uneasy with the fact that he didn't know its exact location, but satisfied that none of the hostages had it. He resumed his pacing.

6:10 p.m.

Major Case Squad

Bobby and Alex, along with several other MCS detectives who had gathered in Deakins' doorway, now listening via the speaker phone, breathed a sigh of relief that that situation had, for the time being, been diffused.

Alex watched Bobby's face. She could read him like a book. Something was still on his mind, gnawing at him.

Bobby turned towards the Detectives in the doorway, "Any word yet from the MCU or the lab about the fingerprints on the van?"

"I'll check on it," Jerry offered. The doorway group dispersed.

"What are you thinking?" Alex whispered.

Bobby held a hand over the phone's speaker/mic, leaning forward in the chair, "Th-the guard's missing gun, for one thing. If one of the hostages does know where it is and tries to use it..." his voice trailed off.

"And what else?" Alex questioned, eyebrows raised in typical fashion.

"Let Schultz' team know that the guard's gun is missing – one of the hostages may know where it is – hopefully, they won't try to use it."

Alex shot him a doubtful look. Bobby knew that that wasn't the answer to the "what else?" she was looking for. He looked at the clock on the wall and said, "6:15 – the Captain should be landing," and returned his attention to the phone.

6:18 p.m.

Continental Flight 1701

Jimmy, Don and Bill were anxious to get out of their seats, stretch and begin their Convention fun. The flight had just touched down and began slowly taxiing to the terminal. They spoke among themselves, laughing and planning their dinner and gambling schedules for the evening, while only half listening to the announcement by the Captain.

"...so, once again, welcome to Las Vegas. We hope you enjoy your stay. For those of you making connecting flights, a representative will be at the gate..."

Bill laughed and punched across the aisle at Jimmy's shoulder. "Hey, Jimmy...you remember those dancers at the Flamingo back in '92?"

Deakins smiled, "How could I forget?"

"...please remain in your seats until the 'seatbelt' sign is turned off and we reach the jetway. On behalf of myself and your flight crew, thank you for choosing Continental."

The plane finally came to a halt. The passengers were out of their seats, retrieving their carry-on luggage from the overhead compartments – all of them anxiously awaiting the opening of the door to disembark.

The door was finally unlatched but, as soon as it opened, an Airport Security Officer immediately stepped aboard, blocking the doorway. There was no getting by his 6'2" frame, as his baritone voice instructed the disgruntled first-class passengers to return to their seats. The instructions filtered down the aisle through the rest of the cabin, as the Captain once again spoke over the loudspeaker.

"We apologize for the delay, ladies and gentlemen. We have to ask everyone to return to and remain in your seats."

There was the expected complaining and buzzing among the passengers, who were wondering what the delay was all about.

Bill, Jimmy and Don looked at one another, shrugging their shoulders, as Don asked, "Wonder what's going on?"

They returned their attention to Captain Hastings.

"Will passenger James Deakins please come forward."

Deakins' eyes widened, now more than curious as to what was going on. He was worried.

He looked at Bill and Don as he rose from his seat. They could see his concern. There was an ominous feel to the events and their policemen's guts told them that something was wrong.

Bill stood up, determinedly stating, "I'm going with you." Don followed suit.

The other passengers watched with curiosity, as the three men made their way down the aisle.

Deakins arrived at the door, looking the Security Officer in the eye as he threw his thumb backwards towards Don and Bill. "These are my friends." The Officer eyed them for a second, but immediately said, "Come with me, Captain Deakins."

They proceeded up the jetway as Deakins wondered to himself, "How'd he know I was 'Captain' Deakins. Panic was setting in Jimmy's stomach – he surmised that there was some type of emergency involving his family – maybe Cathy or one of the kids was hurt – in a car accident or something. He was preparing himself for the worst. The thoughts swirling through his mind had only taken a couple of seconds, as he impatiently asked the Officer, "What's this about?"

The Security Officer's only reply was, "Please follow me."

The walk through the terminal was almost surreal; like something from a movie -- the sounds of the laughing and shouting as slot machines' lights flashed and bells rang were distorted in Deakins' ears; the grim, worried faces of the men were in stark contrast to their surroundings. They neared a door in the terminal marked "Authorized Personnel Only." The Officer opened the door, allowing Deakins, Kowalski and Cragen to pass through.

A man in a dark gray suit was seated at the desk, on the telephone. An older man, in a navy blue suit crossed the room, extending his hand towards Deakins. "Captain Deakins. My name is Ray Noble – head of airport security."

Deakins shook his hand, asking, "What's this all about, Mr. Noble?"

Noble couldn't hide the look of regret on his face. He hated being the bearer of bad news. He remained calm, controlled, and merely said, "There's an incident presently occurring back in New York."

The man at the desk interrupted, "We have him on the line, Mr. Noble."

Noble gestured towards the phone, as the man at the desk handed the receiver to Deakins, whose face reflected his worry, fear and puzzlement.

"Deakins," he firmly snapped, trying to mask his nerves.

"Captain, it's Bobby."

"What is it, Goren?"

Cragen and Kowalski looked at Deakins, then at each other. It must be something big – and important – for the office to have tracked him down like this.

"Captain, there's a situation at- downtown at the Chase Manhattan Bank."

Deakins knew, immediately. This was going to be bad news about his wife. He felt his legs almost buckle underneath him and reached his left hand out, to steady himself on the desk.

He prepared himself to hear the worst news possible – that his wife was dead. He sensed Don's and Bill's presence closer behind him, ready to give support.

"Bobby?"

"It's an attempted robbery – a hostage situation. Your wife is inside."

Bobby waited for a reaction, but there was only silence. On the other end of the phone, Deakins was simultaneously relieved and filled with panic. She was still alive– there was still hope that she'd come out of this okay.

"Captain, you're booked on the next flight back to New York. Artie Schultz' S.W.A.T. team is on the scene. Mrs. Deakins seems to be all right...we've been monitoring the inside from a call she placed with her cell phone to your office. We've identified the vehicle the perps used – we're waiting for the lab to get back to us with any match on the prints."

"What are his demands?" Deakins asked, trying to remain professionally objective.

"Nothing yet, Captain. There's been no contact. Schultz tried talking to him on the bullhorn ...tried calling inside, but he won't pick up the phone."

"Any shots fired?"

"The guard's dead. There's at least one other victim we can see...but only the legs...we believe a male...possibly the gunman's partner, maybe a customer, we just don't know yet," Bobby recited, matter-of-factly, trying to transfer calmness to the Captain.

Ray Noble interrupted, "Captain, the other flight is boarding. We've gotta' get you to the gate."

"Listen Bobby, I've gotta' board the flight back. You call me on my cell the second you know anything new, got it?"

"Yes, sir," Bobby assured him. He paused for a second; "Captain...we'll get her out."

Deakins had no answer. He hung up the phone and headed towards the door with Ray Noble.

Kowalski yelled from behind, with Don by his side, "Jimmy! What the hell's goin' on?"

6:45 p.m.

Outside the Chase Manhattan Bank

Schultz, Sanchez and Marino had been strategizing, but deciding that most of their alternatives were too risky to the hostages.

Marino tossed his pen on the desk, with a sigh of exasperation, "Sooner or later, the guy's gotta' break. He's gonna' get thirsty, or hungry or tired...the hostages, too...they're gonna' need a bathroom break...sooner or later, an opportunity's gotta' open up." He rubbed his hands over his face and leaned back in the chair.

Schultz nodded. Any one of those things could work for us or against us. Those people start griping, who knows what he'll do – not to mention that those bodies are gonna' start stinkin'.

Sanchez' head tilted, "Maybe we cut off the air and help that situation along," he said, with almost a grin.

"Not with this guy," Schultz answered. "I'm not gonna' start playin' games with him, guys...if Goren said that the ringing phone was pissing him off..."

Marino nodded, "So...we wait. He's gonna' want something from us..."

Marino was interrupted by another of the Team's officers who came into the MCU. "Lt. Schultz," he said, out of breath, "the lab results," he said, offering the results, along with the perp's 2 inch thick rap sheet to the Lieutenant.

Sanchez and Marino stood over the Lieutenant's shoulders, reading along with him.

"Quite a pedigree," Marino commented.

Schultz continued flipping through the pages, absorbing what he could in his brief purview. He turned towards Marino, "Get Goren back on the line."

7:00 p.m.

Major Case Squad

Bobby grabbed his phone before the end of the first ring. "Goren."

"Detective Goren, Sgt. Marino at the MCU. Lieutenant Schultz wants to talk to ya'," he said, handing the phone over to his commander.

"Schultz here. We got the lab results on the fingerprints...one set belonged to a Michael, "Little Mikey" Fagen...nothing major – couple of drug pops when he was young...shoplifting...assault beef with an ex-girlfriend...been off the radar for a few years. The other, a Goddamn career criminal –– rap sheet's two inches thick..."

"What's the name, Lieutenant?" Bobby impatiently asked, tapping his fingers on the desk. Alex was seated across from him, listening attentively.

"Benjamin 'Benny' Vasquez."

The line was silent. Bobby's face turned an ashen color, the likes of which Alex hadn't seen before, (well, at least not since the New Year's Day morning four years earlier that he spent kneeling over the toilet, while she tended to him and his hangover).

Suddenly, he spoke, "Don't do anything. I– I'll be right there!" he exclaimed, while rising from is chair and motioning a "let's go" to Alex.

"Whoa," Schultz said, "What are you gonna' do?" He was both curious and indignant – he didn't like people interfering with his job specialty.

"I'm gonna' get him to pick up the phone," Bobby defiantly said. He slammed the receiver down and he and Alex bolted for the door.

END Chpt. 4.