Jack picked up the radio and keyed the mike. “NCD-1 in position front of house. All quiet.”

“I thought I was NCD-1,” replied Mary over the airwaves. “I’m in the front line today.”

“No, you’re NCD-2. Ashley’s NCD-3, and Baker and Gretel are NCD-4 and -5.”

“I should be NCD-3,” cut in Baker. “I’ve been working part-time at the division longer than anyone.”

“Shall we stick to names?” asked Mary. “It’s going to be a lot easier.”

“Whatever. Spratt at front of house, nothing to report.”

“Good,” replied Mary. “We have thumb reentry in T minus? five minutes.”

This time there’d be no escape for the Scissor-man.

Inside the house Mary was briefing Conrad’s parents for the last time. They stared at her anxiously, but with both Jack and Ashley at the front and Gretel and Baker at the back, it seemed as safe a sting operation as they could make it.

“Your backs are to be turned for Conrad’s thumb to go in at 2330,” explained Mary as she checked her watch. “At the same time he should lean back on his chair, refuse to eat his soup and play with these matches. I’ll be in the closet and on the radio, so if we can’t catch the Scissor-man before he reaches the house, I’ll give the thumb-out order and Conrad aborts all actions. Do you understand?”

Mr. and Mrs. Hoffman looked at each other and then at Conrad, who at seventeen was old enough to understand the risks. Like many of the children in the area, he had lived in a condition of understated terror for so long that he now barely noticed. He had never had a brush with the cautionaries himself; the presence of Roland Snork in the neighborhood was enough for most children. Roland’s face was frozen in an ugly grimace because the wind had changed while he was making a face, and although the thirteen cosmetic surgeries had alleviated the problem somewhat, he was one of the more obvious warnings to uncautionary behavior.