AN: Does anyone have a plan of the 35th floor crime lab? I THINK I have things laid out right, but I want to check...

Chapter 4

Danny Messer and Sheldon Hawkes knelt on either side of Lindsay Monroe. The two men stared at one another with identical expressions of horror.

Danny turned to the man with the gun, his raging temper held in check by a frayed thread. How could this bastard talk so casually about killing other human beings? How could he blithely state his intention to murder everyone in the room, including himself, if his demands weren't met?

The silence stretched until Mac Taylor, his voice tinny through the wall phone's single speaker and throaty with suppressed emotions, said, "None of us wants anyone to die, do we, Professor. I'm still waiting to hear your demands."

Collier smiled and tilted his head toward the phone, as though bowing to the man on the other end of the line.

"Ah, yes. I have one demand. Singular. Before I give it to you, I must enlighten you regarding several key facts. I am a widower. My dear Elizabeth passed away from complications of diabetes some twenty years ago. We had one daughter, Rachel, who in turn begat a single child--a boy named Gavin. Rachel and her husband died in a car accident when Gavin was twelve--a lethal encounter with an inebriated driver on New Years' Eve. I became the boy's legal guardian. Gavin was a bothersome youngster who grew into a violent and disturbed young man. He is now 27 years old and incarcerated in the Clinton Correctional Facility."

"Clinton!" Hawkes gasped, jaw slack and eyes wide with surprise. "That's the most secure unit in the state!"

"As I am sure you are aware," Collier ignored the interruption and continued with his pre-planned spiel, "CCF is a maximum security prison located 15 miles west of Plattsburgh, New York. Gavin is housed on their death row--the unfortunate result of a conviction for having killed seven people on the Staten Island ferry in September, 1999."

Danny Messer muttered loud enough to be heard, "So it runs in the family. Guess we know which side he got it from."

"I will not debate the morality of my mission with you at this time, Detective Messer." Professor Collier tired of the interruptions. A hint of stone hardened his expression. For the first time, Danny and Sheldon felt serious menace. If provoked, this man would kill them without hesitation. "While I sympathize with your frustration, remember who controls your life, and the lives of your two friends."

The revolver rose to target the most volatile of his three hostages. Collier thumbed back the hammer with an audible double-click.

"Do not goad me to anger, young man. I do not deal well with that particular emotion."

Sheldon Hawkes reached across Monroe's prone body and pressed the blood-covered fingertips of his left hand hard against Danny's chest, a desperate caution against losing his temper.

Hawkes hissed at his friend, "Let Mac handle it."

"Danny," Mac called over the phone, "you heard what I said. Don't antagonize him."

Messer struggled to comply with both friends' sound advice. Every time he acquired partial control of his runaway fears, one look at Montana's still body and milk-white face wiped it out. Each breath brought the metallic aftertaste of spilled blood--iron and copper, a familiar tart-sweet odor.

He couldn't stop stroking her hair with his trembling hand.

Montana. Sweetheart. You're so still. I've never seen you when you weren't movin'. Not even when you're asleep. You're always kickin' off the covers, or wigglin' around 'til I'm about ready to tie you down so's I can get some sleep. This son of a bitch--and Mac Taylor--need to remember what's important here ... You.

"Mac, if you were in here, seein' Lindsay's blood all over your hands, all over her, wouldn't you want to tear this sick bastard's balls off with your bare hands and feed 'em to 'im with extra salt and vinegar?"

"No, I can't say I wouldn't feel any different," Taylor admitted. A voice in the background (belonging to Captain Baynes) hissed at Mac to remain calm. "But I wouldn't let my desire for revenge blind me to the circumstances. Everyone in this situation needs to remain calm and reasonable. That includes you, Messer. And you, too, Hawkes. For Lindsay's sake, we have to resolve this as quickly as possible."

Taylor's voice softened, cajoled. "Can you do this, Danny? Can you rein it in long enough to settle this?"

Strung by his mentor's rebuke, Danny Messer hung his head. His face burned with shame, even as his anger simmered just beneath the surface. The slightest spark would set it off again, regardless of what Mac, Sheldon, or anyone else might say.

"Danny?"

"Yeah, Mac." His head jerked up and down. "I can do it. For Lindsay, yeah. I'll do it."

"Good man," Taylor said.

"Now that the additional drama is past," Nathan Collier regained control of the conversation, "back to the matter at hand."

"You said Gavin was convicted and sentenced to death," Mac recapped. "Are you claiming your grandson is innocent?"

"No, Detective. I know my grandson well enough to say with absolute certainty, he murdered seven people on the Staten Island ferry."

"Then what-"

"I am dying," Collier said. "An inoperable brain tumor. The doctors tell me I have a two weeks, a month at most, to live. I want my sole surviving relation to outlive me, even if it is only by a few days."

"You must know the Governor can't commute his sentence," Mac argued. "That would be impossible. You're asking for something that can't be done!"

"I understand that, Detective."

Mac's voice took on a frustrated edge. "Then what do you want me to do?"

"According to Adams, 'Law is merely the expression of the will of the strongest for the time being.' Thirty years ago, different laws ruled. Thirty years from now, new laws will be in effect. We can only deal with the laws as they stand at this particular day and time. In this day and time, the Governor can grant a temporary stay of execution. I'm not asking for much. Thirty days would be more than sufficient."

I dunno what I was expecting, Danny thought, his whole body gone numb with fear, but it sure as hell wasn't THAT! He's insane, as in certifiable! There's no way in hell the Governor will do what this crackpot wants.

Danny looked up at the clock on the wall over the utility room doorway. The analog hands of the white-faced timepiece read 5:21.

Unless Mac can pull a rabbit out of his ass, we have six hours and thirty-nine minutes to live.