The generators moaned uphill to full strength. The harsh yellow lights dimmed slightly as the electricity drained into the chair room.

Haines shook his head and turned the juice back down. The generators resumed their low, malevolent hum, but just didn't sound right. Nothing was right about this execution. Was it the three-year layoff?

Haines adjusted his gray cotton uniform, starched to almost painful creases. This one was a cop. So Williams was a cop. So what?

Haines had seen four go in his chair and Williams would be his fifth. He'd sit in the chair too petrified to speak or move his bowels and then he'd look around. The brave ones did that, the ones who weren't afraid to open their eyes.

And Harold Haines would let him wait. He'd delay turning up the voltage until the warden looked angrily toward the control room. And then Harold Haines would help Williams by killing him.

"Something the matter?" came a voice.

Haines spun suddenly around as though a teacher had caught him playing with himself in the boys' room.

A short dark-haired man in a black suit, carrying a gray metallic attache case, was standing beside the control panel.

"Something the matter?" the man repeated softly. "You look sort of excited. Flushed in the face."

"No," Haines snapped. "Who are you and what do you want here?"

The man smiled slightly, but did not move at the sharp question.

"The warden's office told you I was coming."

Haines nodded quickly. "Yeah, that's right, they did." He turned back to the control board to make the final check. "He'll be here in a minute," Haines said, glancing at the voltmeter. "It's not much of a view from where we are, but if you go to the glass partition, you can see fine."

"Thank you," the dark-haired man said, but made no move. He waited until Haines involved himself with his toys of death, then examined the steel rivets at the base of the generator cover. He counted to himself: "One, two, three, four... there it is."