Last year Jeddy Barnes had stopped Wayne Sampson from going to the police after the dairy farmer had found the minister with Sampson's thirteen-year-old daughter in the playground he'd built behind the church. It occurred to him now that Barnes had played mediator solely to get some leverage on him. "Please, look—"

"Clara wrote a nice letter, which I happen to have. D'I mention I asked her to do that last year? Anyway, she went and described your private parts in more detail than I personally wanna read about but I'm sure a jury'd appreciate it."

"You can't do this. No, no, no . . ."

"Don't wanta argue the matter with you, Ralph. Here's the situation. If you don't agree then come next month you'll be doin' the same thing to niggers in prison that you had Clara Sampson doin' to you. Now, what's it gonna be?"

"Shit."

"I'll take that as a yes. Now, lemme walk you through what we have planned."

And Barnes had given him a gun, the address of a hotel and the location of Grady's office then shipped him off to New York City.

When he'd first arrived, a few days ago, Reverend Swensen had spent several days doing recon work. He'd gone into the state government building late Thursday afternoon and, with his slightly baffled demeanor and wearing his minister's garb, had wandered the halls unchallenged until he found a broom closet in a deserted corridor, where he hid until midnight. Then he'd broken into Grady's secretary's office and found out that the prosecutor and his family would be attending the recital at the Neighborhood School tonight; his daughter was one of the young performers.

Now, armed and edgy with cat nerves, the reverend stood fidgeting in front of the school and watching Grady's bodyguards talking with the prosecutor in the backseat. The plan was to kill Grady and his guards with the silenced pistol then drop to the ground himself, screaming in panic that a man had just driven by and was shooting from a car. The minister should be able to escape in the confusion.

Should be . . .

He now tried to say a prayer but, even though Charles Grady was a tool of the devil, asking help from the Lord our God to kill an unarmed white Christian bothered Reverend Swensen considerably. So he settled for a silent Bible recitation.

I saw another angel come down from heaven, having great power; and the earth was lit up by his glory . . .

Reverend Swensen rocked on his feet, thinking that he couldn't bear to wait any longer. Cat-nerves, cat-nerves . . . He wanted to get back to his sheep, his farmland, his church, his ever-popular sermons.

Clara Sampson too, who was nearly fifteen now and for all intents and purposes fair game.

And the angel cried mightily with a strong voice, saying, Babylon the great is fallen and is become the habitation of devils, and the hold of every foul spirit . . .