In his ears, the screaming of the victims died as the gunman's raging voice lifted over the echoing din of gun thunder.

"Unbelievers! I drink in your disbelieving eyes! I rejoice in your misery. God is grape! He commands you to accept the deaf penalty meted out by his lawful messenger!"

No one answered. They were already beyond hearing, beyond caring.

"My God!" the guard muttered. "He's gone postal. Completely postal."

It was over in less than five minutes.

The guard sensed the gunman stepping over him, hard heels clicking down the marble hall. The ding of the elevator signaled his escape.

That was the final thing he remembered before the FBI started questioning him. It was the last clear memory he carried with him to the grave.

THE FBI WERE ON THE SCENE in less than ten minutes. They could have been there in five. Their local office was on the twentieth floor, but the new federal building had been constructed like a bunker. Bombproof. Bulletproof. Soundproof.

No one had heard the shooting and dying. Until the lunch crowd began filtering back to the sixth floor and the guard was discovered in a welter of his own blood, no one suspected anything violent had happened.

One look inside the half-open courtroom door changed all that.

By the time the FBI got organized and ordered the building sealed, it was far too late.

The faceless man in the respected uniform had quietly left the building and melted into the streets of Oklahoma City. No one would have thought to detain him anyway. No one would have dared search him or his big leather bag. He was inviolate.

For everyone understood his mission. And although a tragedy had occurred, he could not stop or be stopped.