“You see, in America, we can't escape the heritage of religious tolerance. We're so damn proud of it. Oh, we'll lynch a man because he's black, persecute him because he's a Communist, despise him because he's poor or because he's Irish or Italian. But his religion? No. That is not a prejudice that flies in America, the way it would in Europe. And you know why? Nobody really cares about religions here.”

“But what about Jim Jones? He was American.”

“People may kill to protect their religion. And these Sword of Jesus people, if there is such a thing, unquestionably come from conservative, military backgrounds and a love of firearms and hunting. They'd kill abortionists. But, see, that's to save lives. Killing purely to further a system of morality... Well, I could see some Islamic sects, some primitive religions doing that. But not in America, not a Christian group. Remember, Christians were the folks that brought you the Crusades, and the reviews were not good at all. We've learned our lesson.”

“Would you have any idea where I could find out if they're real?”

“You're talking to the best source, young lady, and I'm afraid I can't help very much. Is this going to be network?”

She said, “Maybe even in the movie theaters.”

A caterpillar of ash fell onto his shiny pants and he brushed it away to join the other fractured, gray bodies at his feet. “I have tenure, you know, but still, every bit helps. Now, if you still have some tape left would you like to hear about the Sioux Sun Dance ceremony?”

In his most cheerful Down Under lilt, Larry was saying, “What it is, we're gonna give you a raise.”

Rune was unplugging the tungsten lights. They'd just finished interviewing people for a documentary on day-care centers. Rune was exhausted. She'd been up until three that morning poring over books about cults — and finding nothing about the Sword of Jesus — and rewatching Professor Miller's less-than-helpful tape. Now she paused and stifled a yawn. Looked at her boss.

This was Larry, wasn't it?

Occasionally, when she had a hangover or was tired or it was early in the morning, she had trouble telling them apart. Bob, she had to remember, was a little smaller, with a trimmer beard and a tendency toward beiges and browns, while Larry wouldn't be found south of Dutchess County in anything but black.

“A raise?”

He said, “We figure it's time you took on a few more things.”

Her stomach gave an excited lurch. “A promotion? I get to be a cameraman?”

“Something like that.”

“How much 'like that'?”

“We were thinking: an administrator.”