And then he heard the crowd over the hum of six lanes of traffic on Geary. News! And – astoundingly – he was here. Prepared. Hooey!

But the light – the fantastic light – had changed. With the sun now just under the rim of the horizon he'd need his flash on the north- south street, where the action was. He had to get it attached, change his stops. All almost automatic, but taking time.

He did it all before crossing to the south side. But something was really happening over there, like a rally or something. He made his way, jay-running, through the eastbound lanes, waited on the center strip, darted forward.

Cars were stopped in the right lane, swerving around, causing a slowdown. He squeezed off one shot, figured it was a waste, got to the other side. There was no chance of seeing above the crowd so he stood on the hood of the nearest car. You had to take some chances if you wanted to get ahead.

Finally he saw what was happening.

The mob around him pulsed back and forth, rocking the car he stood on, then moving away from it. He didn't know how long he'd get. If anybody saw him…

But there was some guy, his arms around a hanging man, holding a knife to his throat. God, what a shot! The shot of a lifetime.

His hands were shaking but he had to get the focus, he had to take the time.

There! One.

Snap. Another.

Someone below was grabbing at him, yelling. 'Hey! Get this guy!'

He kicked out, jumped off the back of the car and ran like hell. He was home in three minutes.

5

The crowd closed in. Someone hit Shea at the knees. The knife fell, clattering to the street. Above him, he heard a creak and a guttural sound – a deep hnnh as the rope took the man's full weight again.

The men who held the other end of the rope were coming toward Shea now. There was a fire hydrant he saw for the first time. They were looping the rope around it.