Ernst nodded. "We did. But that was as close as we came. It turned out to be a dead end."

"I thought we gave up on her."

"The One, apparently, has not."

He dropped his lanky form into a chair. "He says 'boo' and your bosses drop everything, right?"

Ernst sighed. "The Ancient Fraternal Septimus Order-"

"Is this where you remind me once more that you and your Order have loaned this building to me and my guys? I know that. And we're grateful."

Thompson's posturing could be entertaining at times, tiring at others.

"The Order is devoted to the One's cause. I am an Actuator for the Order. It is my duty to carry out his wishes. It is to your benefit to do the same."

"Says who?"

"The One." Ernst pointed to the corner behind Thompson. "Why don't you ask him yourself."

It gave him enormous satisfaction to watch the color drain from the man's face as he did a slow turn, then flush with anger when he realized he'd been had.

"You son of a bitch!"

Ernst allowed a smile. Thompson was an odd case. A combustible farrago of intelligence and animal cunning. An ex-con who'd had the drive to write an internationally bestselling… how to classify his book? Kick was a manifesto and a memoir and a call to arms. A Mein Kampf without the racism. His call to kick down the doors that penned you in and evolve into something new cut through racial, religious, and ethnic barriers.

It is time to separate yourselves from the herd. You know who you are. You know who I'm talking to. You don't belong with the herd. Come out of hiding. Step away from the crowd. Let the dissimilation begin!

People everywhere-mostly males, an unusually high percentage of whom came with criminal records-answered the call and began thinking of themselves as "Kickers," even going so far as to have the Kicker Man, the symbol of what Thompson called "the Kicker Evolution," tattooed on their hands.