eted on the van and what was going on inside。 They seemed ready for something。Too ready。 And there was the cameraman； still lining up the kids； as if he； too； was expecting something to happen at any moment。
D'Agosta felt an almost unbearable sense of apprehension。 He asked himself why Bullard's men had gone to such trouble to place themselves in the midst of these kids。 They had no inkling they were under surveillance。 The tension was between them and their customers； the Chinese。 He'd gathered as much from the wiretap； and now it was playing out here。
He started to calculate what would happen if the Chinese thugs pulled out weapons and opened fire on the van。 The kids would be caught in cross fire。 That's what it was all about： the kids were protection。 Bullard's men wereexpecting a firefight： the cameraman was lining up the kids as a human shield。
D'Agosta dropped his coffee and donut and rose from the bench； hand on his piece。 At the same moment； the back doors of the van flew open； and the little Chinese man got out as quickly and lightly as a bird。 He began striding across the baseball diamond。 He flicked his hand toward the two thugs…just the barest gesture…and broke into a run。
D'Agosta saw the two reach for their weapons。
Immediately； he dropped to one knee； steadied his grip on his handgun； and aimed。 As soon as a weapon appeared…an Uzi； by the look of it…he squeezed off a round； and just missed。
Abruptly； all hell broke loose。 There was thepop！ pop！ pop！ of semiautomatic…weapons fire。 Kids scattering； grown…ups yelling； grabbing their kids and running in terror or throwing themselves to the ground。 An Uzi appeared in the cameraman's hand； too； but before he could fire； he was struck in the chest by a hail of gunfire and flew backward； slamming against the side of the van。
D'Agosta fired a second time at the goon he'd missed； stopping him with a well…placed round to the knee。 The other turned toward the unexpected fire； swinging his Uzi and spraying automatic fire across the outfield； Pendergast； shielding two children with his own body； coolly dropped the man with a shot to the head。 As the man went down； his Uzi swung wildly； still firing； small clouds of dirt erupted in the grass before Pendergast； then the agent fell sharply back； pushing the children out of harm's way as a spray of blood suddenly darkened his arm。
〃Pendergast！〃 D'Agosta screamed。
The goon D'Agosta hit refused to stay down。 Now the man had rolled over and was firing on the van； the rounds whanging its side and sending chips of paint flying。 A burst of fire came from its front seat； the Chinese goon went down again； and the van pulled away with a squeal of tires。
〃Stop them！〃 D'Agosta yelled at the two agents。 They were already up and running； firing futilely； their shots ringing off the van's armored sides。
Now the head Chinese had reached the black Mercedes。 As it roared to life； the two agents turned their fire toward it； blowing out the back tires as the car swerved into the lane。 A round hit the gas tank； and the vehicle went up with a muffled thump； a ball of fire roiling skyward as the car left the lane and rolled gently into a grove of trees。 The door flew open and a burning man got out； took a few halting steps； paused； and slowly toppled forward。 In the distance； the television van was careening out of the park； vanishing into the warren of streets to the west。
The park was bedlam： kids and adults scattered across the ground； cowering and screaming。 D'Agosta rushed to where Pendergast had fallen； relieved beyond measure when he saw the FBI agent was sitting up。 The two Chinese were dead； and the cameraman； who'd practically been torn in half； was obviously on his way out； too。 But no civilians had been so much as scratched。 It seemed a miracle。
D'Agosta knelt in the grass。 〃Pendergast； you all right？〃
Pendergast waved； face ashen； temporarily unable to speak。
One of the other FBI agents came running up。 〃Wounded？ We got wounded？〃
〃Agent Pendergast。 The cameraman's beyond help。〃
〃Backup and medical are on the way。〃 And； in fact； D'Agosta could now hear sirens converging on the park。
Pendergast helped one of the children he'd protected…a boy of about eight…to a standing position。 His father rushed over and clasped the child in his arms。 〃You saved his life；〃 he said。 〃You saved his life。〃
D'Agosta helped Pendergast up。 Blood was soaking through one side of his dirty shirt。
〃That fellow winged me；〃 Pendergast said。 〃It's nothing； a flesh wound。 I lost my wind； that's all。〃
Slowly； hesitantly； people began converging on the park from the surrounding houses； crowding around the burning hulk of the Mercedes and the nearby corpse。 Newly arrived cops were shouting； covering the corners； setting up a cordon； yelling at the gathering crowd to keep back。
〃Damn；〃 said D'Agosta。 〃Those fuckers from BAI were expecting a firefight。〃
〃Indeed they were。 And no wonder。〃
〃What do you mean？〃
〃I overheard just enough to learn Bullard's men were calling the deal off。〃
〃Calling the dealoff ？〃
〃On the very eve of success； apparently。 Now you can see the reason for the elaborate setup…the park； the children。 They knew the Chinese would not be pleased。 This was their attempt to avoid being shot to pieces。〃
D'Agosta glanced around at the carnage。 〃Hayward's gonna love this。〃
〃She should。 If we hadn't run that wiretap and been here to take down those shooters； I hate to think what might have happened。〃
D'Agosta shook his head and looked at the burning Mercedes； now being hosed down by a fire truck。 〃You know what？ This case just keeps getting weirder and weirder。〃
36
The Reverend Wayne P。 Buck Jr。 sat at the counter of the LastGasp truck stop in Yuma； Arizona； stirring skim milk into his coffee。 Before him lay the remains of his usual breakfast： white toast with a little marmalade； oatmeal without milk or sugar。 Outside； beyond the flyspecked window； there was a grinding of gears： a large semi pulled off the apron； its steel tank flashing in the brilliant sun； heading west toward Barstow。
Reverend Buck…the title was honorary…took a sip of the coffee。 Then； methodical in everything he did； he finished his breakfast； carefully cleaning the bowl with the edge of his spoon before setting it aside。 He took another sip of coffee； replaced the cup gently in its saucer。 And then at last he turned to his morning reading： the ten…inch stack of periodicals that lay tied in heavy twine on the far end of the counter。
As Buck cut the twine with a pocketknife； he was aware of a sense of anticipation。 His morning reading was always a high point of the day： a trucker； whom he'd cured of fits at a camp revival several months before； always left a bundle of outdated newspapers for him outside the truck stop every morning。 The papers varied from day to day； and Buck never knew what he'd find。 Yesterday there'd been a copy of theNew Orleans Times…Picayune in among the more monPhoenix Sun andLos Angeles Times 。 But his tingle of anticipation； he knew； extended beyond the selection of reading material。
Reverend Buck had been in the vicinity of Yuma almost a year now； ministering to the truckers； the waitresses and busboys； the migrant workers； the broken and wandering and uncertain souls that passed through on their way to some place and rarely lingering long。 The work was its own reward； and he never plained。 The reason there were so many sinners in the world； he knew； was that nobody had ever bothered to sit down and talk to them。 Buck did just that： he talked。 Read to people from the Good Book； let them know how to prepare for what was ing； and ing soon。 He'd talk to the drivers； one at a time here at the counter； long…haul truckers just stopping in for a leak and a sandwich。 He'd talk to groups of two or three regulars in the evenings； out back by the picnic tables。 On Sunday mornings； fifteen； maybe twenty； at the old Elks lodge。 When he could get a ride to the reservation； he'd preach there。 Most people were receptive。 Nobody had explained the nature of sin to them； the terrifying implacable promise of the End Days。 When people were sick； he'