When the word Wall Street left Pete's mouth, the captain nearly pissed himself. The answer had been hanging over them, and they had taken so long to figure it out. The Prophet was waiting for the opening bell to strike at the heart of the wealthy and corrupt; the stock exchange. If something happened over there, it would be 9/11 all over again. The markets would plummet and a mini recession would follow, possibly a full blown depression if the bastard was lucky.

     The first team called in was the bomb squad. The Prophet had just used a bomb to down a few airplanes in mid-flight, so a building as large as the stock exchange would likely need far more firepower to even dent that target. Every bomb expert and bomb sniffing mutt they had was sent down to the exchange building as they had to move fast. The market was due to open in less than several hours. Pete and Grozza went to the exchange building as well to look for clues, anything that might be out of place in an effort to help them find out what the Prophet had cooked up over the weekend.

     "There's no time to speculate," McManus told them all as they left the station. "Assume the worst and try to find it first and then work your way down."

     When Pete made it to the empty floor of the exchange, his captain was already there, walking the empty floor with the director of the exchange, discussing plans on what to do next. The director seemed rather steamed so Pete felt it was necessary to step in and offer backup for his boss.

     "Do you have any idea what would happen if we didn't open on time?" the director yelled at McManus as Pete walked up.

     "I think so," Pete replied. "But do you have any idea what would happen if we let you go full steam ahead and a bomb killed your traders while they were trying to do your work? Could you imagine the lawsuits if the families knew you had prior knowledge and just knowingly sent them into the slaughter?"

     "We get threats on a daily basis," the director countered. "If we shut down every time we got a threat, we'd never be open!"

     "Of all the threats you have," Pete said as he walked closer. "How many were made by someone who's killed over twenty people in various attacks in the last week?"

     The director stood there and looked at both men, unable to answer.

     Pete turned to his boss. "You didn't tell him?"

     "Tell me what?" the director asked, more worried than before.

     "We have unverified Intel," McManus explained. "The threat might be coming from the Prophet."

     "That madman who killed a few CEOs last week?" the director asked, suddenly a little pale.

     "The very same," McManus said. "He's been quiet all weekend and while he gave us an excuse for this, we think he's planning something bigger. We are checking here to make sure you're good to go because you're the most obvious target that's not open during the weekend."

     "What if you find nothing?" the director asked.

     "That gives you deniability," Pete answered for him. "If something happens, you can say you cooperated with the police and did whatever you could to make sure tomorrow's trade was as safe as possible. We'll leave extra officers here, too, just to make sure even if we don't find anything."

     "We're here six hours early for a reason," McManus told the director as he attempted to reassure him. "To get this over with now so you can open the markets on time and not lose any confidence."

     "Thank you," the director said, suddenly on the same page. "I'll do whatever I can to help out. All of us are at your service."

     "We appreciate that," Pete said as he placed a caring hand on the director's shoulder. "We'll try to get out of here as quickly as we can."

     Pete took his boss aside after the director left and the two watched as the man in charge of the exchange stormed off.

     "I had everything under control," McManus said as he clearly didn't think he needed the backup.

     "I know," Pete said as he let it pass. "We need more bodies down here to search for whatever the hell we're looking for."

     "We've got all we can afford to spare," McManus replied. "The last thing we need to do is make the rest of the city easier for the Prophet to hit. With the guys patrolling the roads and those guarding potential targets, we're stretched pretty thin as it is. Just work with what you have and do your best."

     "Yes, Sir." Pete said, walking away frustrated but determined to keep trying. He wasn't willing to give that sick bastard the chance to ruin his morning. They still had more than a few hours to find something. He was confident his people and those from the squad would find something. It was only a matter of time. Less than an hour later, Officer Jones ran up to him in her plain clothes.

     "We got something," she called out. "And it's big."

     Pete ran with her to see what was going on. As he got closer, there were a lot of cops, plain and uniformed, standing near an office where it was all hitting the fan.

     "It's right over here," Jones said as she pointed. "One of the guards here noticed that the door's locks had been changed. If you look, most of the door handles are gold and this one is silver. It stood out like a naked guy in a crowd with his hair on fire."

     "Not exactly hiding it, is he?" Pete said, confused.

     "It might not make a difference, boss." Jones gestured to the door.

     Pete walked into the office to see that all of the furniture and filing cabinets had been moved to one side to make room for the new addition: a bomb. With barrels attached to it and even more attached on top, this was a massive explosive device. There was also a timer that was slowly counting down.

     "Sweet Jesus," Pete said, as he walked closer. "What the hell are we dealing with here, Jones?"

     Grozza looked back up at Pete. "Look at this, Pete. The Geiger reader is going off. Whatever this bitch is, it's radioactive."

     "A dirty bomb?" Jones asked.

     "Looks like it." Grozza looked back at the door. "We have no idea if this thing is leaking. We need to clear everyone out, now!"

     "You heard the man," Pete said as he called out to everyone in the hall. "Evacuate the building and secure all entrances."

     "What about us?" Jones asked.

     "No one touches this thing," Pete ordered. "Look at the clock; we've got at least five hours left till it goes off. What's the status of the bomb squad?"

     "They'll be here in five minutes," McManus replied as he walked in to see what they had found with their own eyes. "Oh, Son of a bitch..."

     "You think the squad can take care of this?" Pete asked.

     "I'm not sure," McManus answered. "I've reached out to the feds and asked them to ship in any experts who might be able to help."

     "Good idea," Pete said as he looked at the clock. "This thing is set to go off a half hour after the opening bell."

     "Bloody hell," Grozza said with a sigh. "He was attempting to get the highest possible body count."

     "Sick bastard," McManus cussed under his breath. "Let's take care of this thing and not give him what he wants. Understood?"

     "Yes, sir," Grozza answered. "Let's see what the bomb squad says first."

     It took another ten minutes for the bomb squad to show up. Upon seeing the set up as well as the readings from their own meters, they kicked everyone out of the room and started to inspect the bomb without anyone looking over their shoulders.

     Standing out in the hallway for close to twenty minutes, the task force waited for someone to come out and update them. Finally, the sergeant from the bomb squad emerged from the office, beads of sweat running down his face.

     "What's going on in there?" McManus barked at him.

     "It's a nightmare," the sergeant replied. "There are over a dozen fail safes as well as triggers that prevent us from moving it. We try to break this thing up or move it and it will go off. Our only option is to attempt to disarm it. With all those fail safes in place, it's going to take a while."

     "How long are we talking?" McManus asked. "Will we get it disarmed before the opening bell?"

     "Dude," the sergeant said as he wiped his brow. "I don't even know if I can disarm it before the timer runs out. Get everyone out of this building and no one comes in until we give the all clear. If this thing goes off, it will be huge. You should consider evacuating at least a block in all directions."

     The captain didn't like to hear talk like that but he did everything the sergeant asked and made sure the building and the surrounding buildings were all evacuated. The media smelled a story but they were all asked to keep quiet to avoid panic. McManus himself threatened to press formal charges if they didn't keep it to themselves and allow them do their job without further pressure. They had never seen him that angry before and all backed away without protest.

     The Bomb Squad had their work cut out for them and even when the federal expert showed up, the process was still slow and very tiring for them all. It wasn't any easier for the officers and detectives waiting for something to happen. Just one mistake, one fail safe not accounted for, and the bomb would go off and take many people with it. It would also flatten the building that was the nerve center of the country's economy, which would hurt every investor where it would really count; their wallets. Pete had no idea it would come to this; a dirty bomb, a weapon of mass destruction in the middle of the city, counting down to what could be certain doom. Pete hated being on the sidelines, but this was way beyond his pay grade. He had no idea what to do and didn't want to be anywhere near that explosive if it went off.

     With less than two hours before the bomb was supposed to go off, Pete's cell began to ring. He picked it up, assuming it was his daughter, distracted by what was going on.

     "How are the kids?" he asked after the line picked up.

     "I'm not sure, Pete," the Prophet answered. "They're probably fine."

      Pete's face went cold as he looked over at Grozza and slapped his shoulder. "What the fuck do you want, Geronimo? Calling to hear me sweat it out?"

     "Hey, language." Geronimo replied, obviously not liking Pete's tone.

     "Or what?" Pete asked, not in the mood for games.

     "Or I'll kill you," the Prophet answered. "That bomb also has a remote trigger. You start showing some manners or I'll flip the switch right now. Are we clear?"

     "Alright," Pete said as he sighed. "I'm sorry."

     "Now, where are you?" Geronimo asked. "I'm checking all the channels but I can't see you or your people in the chaos."

     "We're inside the building," Pete replied. "In the lobby."

     "Alright, close enough," Geronimo said. "I want you to head back to the office where I put that bomb. I'd like you to ask for an update from the bomb squad without telling them that I'm on the line. And if you try anything, I'll flip the switch."

     "Okay, just take it easy." Pete started to walk toward the office.

     As Pete strolled through the lobby, he walked right past a bunch of officers, including McManus, who wasn't pleased that he strolled by without stopping. The captain jogged up to Pete, who had actually slowed down to let the old man catch up without making it look too obvious.

     "Where are you going?" he quickly asked.

     "Sorry, Cap," Pete replied. "I'm on an urgent call."

     McManus was about to lose his shit but stopped when he saw something. Pete had made a hand gesture so small it was missed by most of the people in the room. Working in his department for over ten years, both he and the captain worked out hand signals going back to when McManus was a detective himself. The signal that Pete had subtly given him was one of duress, meaning that he was not in control of the situation, which told McManus all he needed to know.

     "No problem, Pete," he said, trying to sound a little annoyed. "Get back to me when you have a moment with an update."

     "Will do, sir," Pete said as he kept walking.

     "Hope I didn't just get you into hot water," Geronimo said, amused by Pete brushing off his boss like that.

     "He'll get over it," Pete replied. "I've done worse."

     "Fair enough," Geronimo said. "Don't talk to anyone else and get your ass to that bomb."

     "Alright," Pete said as he picked up the pace. Now that McManus had the message, there was no need for him to stall. People were tracing the call, so all he had to do was keep the Prophet talking long enough for the tech nerds to triangulate his position. Not an easy feat, but he was going to give it a try.

     "Thanks for letting me have the weekend with my kids," Pete said as he tried to appeal to the killer's good side. "I don't get a lot of time with them."

     "Men don't get a lot of time, ever," Geronimo said, Pete's words seeming to hit a nerve. "Even if we don't lose custody in court, we are worked so hard there is barely enough time and before you know it they're in high school and are too cool to hang out with you. Time flies, Pete, so enjoy the time with them while you can."

      "I hear that," Pete said as he kept walking. "I have a daughter who is already in college; feels like yesterday she was in my arms like a football."

     "We are never given enough time," Geronimo said, sounding more bitter with each word. "We are forced to give our time away for shit wages and barely keep food on the table while the rich take all the money and horde it overseas to avoid paying taxes. How is that fair, Pete?"

     "It's not," Pete admitted. "I don't like it any more than you do but taking the law into your own hands isn't the way. We can't be like them..."

     "I am not like them!" Geronimo roared. "Those CEOs are willing to commit genocide to get what they want. Men, women and even children to get the minerals to make the product as cheap as possible, it's not right!"

     "No, I agree," Pete said as he tried to backtrack. "But you planted a bomb here; you don't think women or kids could get hurt?"

     "It's Wall Street," Geronimo replied. "I doubt there are any kids there, especially on Monday."

     "You need to realize we're not going to let you get away with this," Pete said as he was getting close to the room. "So what point will you make by blowing up the building? Seriously, I want to know."

     "If I wanted the building destroyed, I'd just flick the switch," the madman answered. "I believe in fair play. If your men can stop it, I will give them the chance. I just want to know how they're doing, so stick your head in and ask for an update. Ask them how many of the fail safes have been disabled."

     Pete walked up the office he had been in less than two hours ago and peeked his head around the door frame leading inside the room. There were at least three experts working on the machine, looking at everything with flashlights, trying to find every detail so they wouldn't miss anything.

     "They look busy," Pete said into the phone. "I'd rather not bother them."

     One of the sergeants from the bomb squad realized Pete was there and walked up. "You were given orders to leave the building."

     "I know, but I have new orders," Pete said as he jiggled the phone. "He wants to know how many fail safes you guys have left."

     "Who does?" the sergeant asked.

     "Just answer the question," Pete said with a harsh tone. "Or it won't matter how many fail safes you have left."

     The sergeant paused for a moment and looked Pete in the eyes. He was about to ask the obvious question, but Pete held up a hand and nodded to answer it without speaking. The sergeant paused for a moment and then answered the question.

     "We've disabled six out of eleven," he told Pete. "We are looking good so far."

     Pete put the cell back to his ear. "Did you hear that?"

     Pete paused for a moment and listened carefully as he was given instructions from The Prophet. He looked back up at the sergeant after the line went dead.

     "What the hell did he say?" the sergeant asked.

     "He's says good luck," Pete said, before taking a deep breath. "And he also wanted to let you know there are twelve fail safes, not eleven."

     The sergeant's eyes grew as big as saucers. "We checked several times!"

     "Check again," Pete said as he put the cell in his pocket. "Be sure."

     The sergeant nodded and then went back into the room and told everyone at the bomb to stop working as he gave them the new intel. Pete could tell from the reaction that it wasn't taken well. They had missed something and needed to find it before moving on. They had time, but they also had to be careful. Pete left the hallway and went back toward the lobby, where he bumped into his captain. He hoped they had gotten something he could work with. The day had barely started, and Pete was already feeling the pressure of the city on his shoulders.

     It was an hour later when Pete was sitting in the lobby when he heard a commotion from the bomb room. Jones ran over, smiling.

     "What is it?" Pete asked.

     "They did it!" she called out. "The bomb is disarmed!"

     "Thank God," Pete said as he sat back in his chair and exhaled deeply.

     "You alright?" Jones asked.

     "I'll be fine," Pete said as he huffed up from where he sitting. "We need to get back to work. Get the security tapes from this building. Let's see if we can find our man delivering the package and what vehicle was used too."

     "Yes, sir," she replied as she took notes. "Can't we take a moment to celebrate?"

     "No," Pete said without hesitation. "Not right now. It's not over."