INSIDE 722 SEVENTH STREET, everyone and everything was going crazy.

Robert, the vet, had grabbed an automatic rifle and was crouched below one of the front windows, sizing up the scene outside. "There's an army out there! Cops everywhere I look!"

Julia was screaming and acting like a crazy woman. "I told you to get out of my house! I told you to get out!" She looked toward Mal. "What are we going to do now? What are we going to do?"

Mal seemed calm. He went over to the window, peeked through the curtains. Then he headed into the other room and came back wheeling a black case. "Probably die," he answered.

Michelle's heart seemed to be beating a thousand beats per second. Any moment, armed, uniformed men could burst in. Part of her was gripped with fear, part was ashamed. She knew she had let down her friends. Ended everything they had fought for. But she had helped murder women and chil-dren, and now maybe she could stop the killing.

Suddenly the phone rang. For a second everyone turned, eyes fixed on the phone. The rings were like alarm bells going off.

"Pick it up," Robert said to Mal. "You want to be the leader. Pick it up."

Mal walked over. Four, five rings. Finally he lifted the phone.

He listened for a second. His face didn't register fear or surprise. He even told them his name. "Stephen Hardaway," he said proudly.

Then he listened for a long time. "I hear you," he answered. He put down the receiver, swallowed, and looked around. "They say we have this one chance. Anyone who wants to leave, you'd better go now."

The room was death............