Pete waited a few rings for the tech boys to be ready to trace before finally picking up the line and answering. He didn't say anything and waited for the Prophet to begin the conversation. For the time being, Pete was going to play dumb about Jones and her escape, hoping that if he didn't know about it yet and was calling for a different reason, it might help stall for time and help the tech boys trace the call.

     "Always busy down there, eh, Pete?" the Prophet finally said.

     "I don't know what you're talking about," Pete replied.

     "Don't insult my intelligence and answer the question," Geronimo responded with a rather harsh tone.

     "We found your mole," Pete said. "So now you're in the dark just like we are. Now we'll be able to see how smart you really are."

     "You don't think I'm smart?" the voice on the other end asked.

     "As of right now; not really," Pete replied. "All this time, you've been spying on us, and that's how you were a step ahead. Now that advantage is gone, so it's only a matter of time before I nail your ass to the wall."

     "Doesn't sound very nice," Geronimo countered. "I wouldn't recommend that."

     "And why is that?" Pete asked.

     "Because Mr. Blitzer wouldn't appreciate that," the Prophet answered. "He can still pay for your mistakes should you choose to not do as I say."

     "Then what do you want me to do?" Pete asked, pushing his luck. "I'm not even on your case, the feds have taken over."

     "I don't give a shit about the feds!" the Prophet screamed, clearly frustrated. "You will do whatever I say or he dies. Understood?"

     "Yes, I understand," Pete repeated. "What do you want?"

     "I want you to meet me at the subway on Queen Street," the killer said. "Go alone or he dies. Try to screw me and he dies. Seeing the pattern?"

     "I am," Pete said as he looked at his watch. "How much time do I have?"

     "Twenty minutes and no cars," the Prophet answered. "Start walking and you should be there with a few minutes to spare."

     "Alright, I'm moving," Pete said as the line went dead.

     "What does he want?" the captain asked.

     "For me to walk to the Queen Station," Pete asked. "Alone."

     "Good choice," Avery said. "Underground location takes out any chance to hit him with a sniper."

     "Doesn't matter," Pete said, as his mind was made up. "This is the best chance we have to take down the man with the plan. Jones is just a worker; this guy is the one pulling the strings. We take him down and this is all over."

     "I don't know," Avery said. "This seems like another ploy. Could he be trying to get us away from someone else again?"

     "Maybe, but this time we won't fall for it," Pete said as he turned to his captain. "No one leaves their posts this time. All targets stay secure, alright?"

     "Understood," McManus concurred. "I'm going to double the guards but I still want officers and agents blocking all exits so no one else can go in and interrupt your one on one with our suspect."

     "Sounds good to me," Pete said. "Let's get down there."

     The Prophet had likely assumed that using the subway would prevent his wires from working, but Avery took care of that. Before Pete, Avery put a US Flag pin on his person.

     "What's with the patriotism?" Pete asked.

     "It's a new high-tech wire." Avery explained, also handing him an ear bud. "This works wonders because no one ever suspects the flag and respects it too much to mess with it. It works off the wi-fi as well so there should be no problems in the subway, so get going."

     Pete took his coat and walked out of the station, taking the walking route that the Prophet had ordered him to take. He knew the bad guys were watching, so he did his best to look like he was complying with the mad man's demands. The stroll to the subway wasn't that bad, and it took less than twenty minutes, like Geronimo had told him it would. The time spent walking also gave the police and Homeland Security time to surround the station and set up snipers at each exit. Pete was also wired with some of the best wiring tech that taxpayers could buy, so everyone would be listening in on what was going to be said. As Pete strolled across the last street to make it to the subway entrance, he could tell where the plain-clothed officers were and he paused for a moment at the top of the entrance.

     "We ready?" he asked, aware everyone was listening.

     "We are," Avery said back into his ear. "If things start going south, your panic word is Alabama. Say that word and our people come rushing in."

     "Understood," Pete said as he started to descend the staircase into the station that waited below. "I'm entering the station."

     "Good luck, Detective," Avery said.

     Pete disregarded the statement and instead chose to concentrate as he entered the station. He resisted the urge to immediately pull his gun, but had the latch removed just in case he needed to grab it quickly. The station was thinned out a bit, which was all right with Pete, because the less collateral damage walking around, the better. If he bumped into any pedestrians while walking to the tracks, he took the time to show them his badge and ask them to leave. While he was doing that, one of the station guards walked up to see what was going on.

     "Excuse me, sir," the guard called out.

     "Detective," Pete corrected him as he flashed his badge. "You need to inform these people to leave; this station needs to be cleared."

     "They're just trying to get home," the guard replied. "How will delaying the end of their day benefit anyone here, Pete?"

     Before Pete could reach for his gun, the guard already had his one pulled out and inches from his spine.

     "Use your left hand and pass it over," the guard asked nicely. "No sudden moves or I add a little more iron to your diet."

     "Alright," Pete said as he put his hands up a bit to indicate surrender. "There's no need to be trigger happy. I'll comply."

     "I appreciate that, Pete," the Prophet said with a smile.

     Pete grabbed the hilt of his gun with the opposite hand but the guard didn't notice Pete turned the safety on while he slowly passed it over. "Nicely played, Geronimo."

     "I'm not an idiot, Pete," the man replied. "I had a plan coming in here. Put as many men and women out there as you want. The entrances are still funneled and there are still a lot of innocent shields to use, too."

     "I thought you were only against the one percent," Pete said, not hesitating to start verbally attacking his moral crusade. An attack that seemed to hit home with his captor as his face showed absolute disgust.

     "I am doing what I can to help them," he snarled back.

     "By shorting the companies you attacked?" Pete asked, knowing this would get him even angrier. "Getting rich makes you the one percent; it doesn't protect the poor from them."

     "They will know my sacrifice was made for them," Geronimo said as he tossed Pete's gun across the tracks, far away from his reach. "That money is not for me, Pete. I knew a long time ago I was never going to live long enough to spend it."

     "I see," Pete said as he thought about it. "So this has been a suicide mission from the start?"

     "It has," the Prophet confirmed. "You can't kill someone who is already a dead man walking. This is why I've been winning so far; I have nothing to lose and wasn't afraid to fail."

It was all beginning to make sense to Pete. "How much time did the doctors say you had left?"

     "Not nearly enough to make up for my sins." The man backed away just a bit to keep his distance. "I was one of them, you know. Those greedy traders who helped contribute to the billions of dollars being taken away from hard workers who didn't deserve to be screwed out of their life savings. Where was their bail out? The people who caused this mess should be in jail, but instead the taxpayers lost pensions and jobs. That isn't fair, so every one of those CEO pieces of shit had what was coming to them. They didn't deserve to party and dance while everyone else suffered from their ignorant and reckless actions. This isn't how things are supposed to be. If you work hard, you're supposed to get a payoff and not get it up the ass. You may find what I did here awful and maybe even evil, but I call it justice."

     "Real justice is you paying for your crimes," Pete countered.

     "Time is something I don't have to spare," Geronimo said as he patted his chest with the barrel of his gun. "Unless you strap me to a table and needle me on the spot, you'll never get your pound of flesh from me. You'll not going to get the satisfaction of seeing me do a single percent of the time I deserve to rot for. You'll never get the payback you and your blood-thirsty public wants, and that is how I spit in your face and the face of your justice system. You deserve nothing less for letting all those assholes on Wall Street walk for crimes that should have landed them in jail for decades. You and the SEC failed to do your jobs and make them pay for screwing us all over. You all enabled those greedy fucks. The government enabled them. Well, the enabling stops here, big guy. The Prophet isn't just one man, he's an idea. An ideal that cannot be silenced and the money I've raised will see to it. This isn't the end of the Prophet, Pete, it's just the beginning. More will rise to take my place and carry on."

     The bad guy tossed something to Pete. It was a key with specific markings that easily let him know that it was a storage locker.

     Pete looked back up at the Prophet. "What the hell is this for?"

     "To tie up loose ends," his captor replied. "Goodbye, Pete."

     The subway train was just arriving, and the Prophet's next move should have been obvious, but Pete wasn't able to catch on until it was far too late. The man took two steps to his right off the platform and into the path of the oncoming train, which had no time to apply the brakes.

     "NO!" Pete screamed, as the Prophet committed suicide right before his eyes. The train never stopped and death came to him instantly.

     Upon hearing him call out, Avery sent in his men and they stormed the station and secured it from further threats. When Agent Avery arrived on the scene, he looked at the tracks beside Pete and could tell what happened.

     "That was unexpected," Avery called out. "Are you okay?"

     "I'll be fine," Pete said, examining the key the Prophet had tossed over to him before jumping. He noticed there was a speck of blood on one of the keys. "I have a feeling I know where we can find Mr. Blitzer. Let's just hope he's still alive when we get there."

     "Well, there's news from the other side of town," Avery said. "We got word that Scott Frisby is dead."

     "How?" Pete asked.

     "According to his wife, a woman showed up claiming to be a police officer," Avery answered. "When Frisby went to the door to be as cooperative as he was with us, the woman shot him in the head, point blank. Sound familiar?"

     "Jones," Pete said. "This means she's likely responsible for the vendor downtown as well."

     "I have forensics looking over that right now," Avery confirmed. "I think we'll likely get a match."

     "She's tying up loose ends," Pete said as he showed Avery the key. "Let's get to this storage locker before she does. I have a feeling that Mr. Blitzer might be on her to do list."

     "Alright," Avery replied. "Let's get going."

     The key the Prophet had given Pete didn't need much investigating to figure out what door it opened. The name of the storage company was on one side and the number of the unit was on the other. It took Pete and Agent Avery only a few minutes to drive out to the storage facility. Avery's men were already out there, waiting for them to arrive. The locker had been secured and no one had attempted to access it since they arrived.

     Pete walked up to the locker and used the key to take off the lock. The agents all held their weapons at eye level as Pete opened the unit; ready for anything that might be inside. There was an assortment of book shelves with bomb-making materials and a desk and chair where someone could put them all together. But strapped down to that chair with Duct tape was a scared man who was missing a hand. It was Kyle Blitzer, hurt but still alive.

     The agents did a quick sweep to make sure there were no traps or bombs planted. Once the room was secure, they took the tape away and slowly freed Blitzer from his chair.

     "We're with the authorities," Avery told the man as he removed the tape from his mouth slowly. "We're here to bring you home."

     "Where is that psycho?" Blitzer asked, his voice shaking with fear.

     "He's dead," Pete answered. "He can no longer harm you. You're safe now."

     Blitzer didn't say much more as he was handed over to the paramedics waiting to whisk him off for the hospital. Pete didn't need to look through the storage unit, as he was ready to write off the whole case. The Prophet was dead and Blitzer was rescued from his clutches, which meant there was only person left to take care of.

     "We're lucky Jones didn't come here," Pete said as he looked back at Agent Avery. "Any idea what she thought was more important?"

     "Maybe," Avery said as he got off the phone. "She was spotted in the lobby of your safe house. She's going after your family."

     Both men went back to the car and screamed over to the building where the Marshals were protecting his family. As they were driving there, calls came out over the radio to report shots had been fired. Pete had the lights and the sirens wailing as they sped up and got to the building downtown as quickly as they could.

     As Pete parked between two squad cars, he jumped out and ran into the lobby. As he was coming in, one of the Marshals was being carried out on a stretcher. He had been shot in the shoulder but was going to be all right according to the medics.

     "How is everyone else?" Pete asked. "Where's Jones?"

     "Your family is fine," the Marshal answered. "Jones is dead."

     The medics didn't let the Marshal say anything else as he was carted to the waiting ambulance that immediately sped off for the nearest hospital. Pete didn't wait to see who else was in the lobby and took the elevator to the top floor, eager to make sure everyone was safe with his own eyes. When he and Agent Avery walked into the foyer of the big condo, the other Marshal was sitting at a table and looked exhausted. Waiting for him in the foyer was Clive, who had a stern look on his face.

     "I'm sorry, Peter," Clive said as he nodded to his left. "I had to break one of my rules, but it was either her or us."

     Pete looked to where he was pointing with his head. Lying in the middle of the living area was the body of Officer Jones. Pete walked over and closely inspected the body. He then looked over at the wall to see that she had fired some shots, one of which probably went into the Marshal's shoulder. From what he could tell by examining Jones' body, Clive had taken her by surprise, disarmed her, and then snapped her neck like a twig which ended her life immediately. Despite going against one of his rules, Clive had made her death as quick as possible, but he had still killed a woman.

     "Is everyone all right?" Pete asked as he walked up to Clive.

     "They're fine," Clive said as he pulled out Jones' gun. "I think you should have this. I have a feeling forensics will likely want to have a look at it."

     "Thank you," Pete said as he took the gun. "Was it necessary to break her neck as well?"

     "Well, I didn't know if she had more than one gun," Clive honestly answered. "So I chose to take no chances. Funny thing about immunity, Pete, is that it doesn't start until you testify. Mine hasn't kicked in yet so this homicide will be swept under the rug with the rest of them."

     "I was aware of that," Pete confessed, "But any district attorney with a brain can see that this is a clear-cut case of self defense."

     "Touché," Clive replied, grinning back at him.

     "Where's my family?" he asked the criminal.

     "They're in the master bedroom," Clive answered, "See to them, Peter. They need you right now."

     Pete didn't need to say anything else as he walked away and into the master bedroom where the kids and his ex-wife were waiting. He hugged them all and held them tight.

     "It's over," he told them. "The Prophet and his people are all gone."

     "Does this mean we can go home?" one of his sons asked.

     "Yes," Pete said, as he looked at his ex-wife. "You guys are all welcome to stay at my place while we take care of your mom's house. No more staying in the hotel with the Marshals."

     "It's really over?" Gabby asked with a tear in her eye.

     "It is," Pete said as he wiped the tear from her cheek. "Let's get out of here."