gun into the old man's skull. "I don't have to tell you the odds. Every second you go on living means you might get another. Do as I say. I'm going to press the button-the same button you pressed before. You're going to give the following order. Say it right or you won't ever say anything more. You tell whoever answers: 'Send in the guard from the conference room, the one with the submachine gun.' Have you got that?" He shoved Guiderone's head down over the console and pressed the button.
"Send the guard in from the conference room." The words were rushed, but the fear was not audible. "The one with the submachine gun." Scofield viced his left arm around Guiderone's neck, dragged him over to the drapes, and pulled them open. Through the glass, across the conference room, a man could be seen approaching the guard. The guard nodded, angled his weapon to the floor, and walked rapidly across the room toward the archway exit.
"Per nostro circolo," whispered Bray. He yanked up with all his strength, the vise around Guiderone's throat clamping shut, crushing bone and cartilage. There was a snap, an expulsion of breath. The old man's eyes protruded from their sockets, his neck broken. The Shepherd Boy was dead.
Scofield ran across the room to the door, pressing his back against the wall by the hinges. The door opened; he saw the angled weapon first, the figure of the guard a split second later. Bray kicked the door closed, both his hands surging forward toward the man's throat.
The harassed desk sergeant at the precinct on Boylston Street looked down at the thin, prim-looking woman whose mouth was pursed, eyes narrowed in disapproval. He held the envelope in his hands.
"Okay, lady, you've delivered it and I've got it. Okay? The phones are a little busy tonight, okay? I'll get to it soon's I can, okay?" "Not 'okay,' Sergeant... Witkowski," said the woman, reading the name on the desk sign. "The citizens of Boston will not stand idly by while their rights are being abridged by criminal elements. We are rising up in justifiable outrage, and our cries have not gone unheeded. You are being watched, Sergeant! There are those who understand our distress and they are testing you. I'd advise you not to be so cavalier--' "Okay, okay." The sergeant tore open the envelope, and pulled out a sheet of yellow paper. He unfolded it and read the words printed in large blue letters. "Jesus Christ on a fuckin' raft," he said quietly, his eyes suddenly widening in astonishment. He looked down at the disapproving woman as if he were seeing her for the first time. As he stared, he reached over to a button on the desk; he pressed it repeatedly.
"Sergeant, I strenuously object to your profanity.
Above every visible door in the precinct house, red lights began flashing on and off; from deep within, the sound of an alarm bell echoed off the walls of unseen rooms and corridors. In seconds, doors began opening and helmeted men came out, hastily donned two-inch shields of canvas and steel strapped over their chests.
"Grab her!" shouted the sergeant. "Pin her armst Throw her into the bomb room!" Seven police officers converged on the woman. A precinct lieutenant came running out of his office. "Mat the hell is it, Sergeant?" "Look at thisl" The lieutenant read the words on the Yellow paper. "Oh, my Jesusl"
To the Fascist Pigs of Boston, Protectors of the Alabaster Bride.
Death to the Economic Tyrants! Death to Appleton Halll As Pigs Read This Our Bombs Will Do What Our Pleas Cannot. Our Suicide Brigades Are Positioned To Kill All Who Flee The Righteous Holocaust. Death to Appleton Haill Signed: The Third World Army of Liberation and Justice
The lieutenant issued his instructions. "Guiderone's got guards all around that place; reach the housel Then call Brookline, tell them what's going down, and raise every patrol car we've got in the vicinity of Jamaica Way; send them over." The officer paused, peering at the yellow page with the precise blue letters printed on it, then added harshly, "Godamn it! Get Central Headquarters on the line. I want their best SWAT team dispatched to Appleton Hall." He started back to his office, pausing again to look in disgust at the woman being propelled through a door, arms pulled, stretched away from her sides, prodded by men with padded shields and helmets. "Third World Army of Liberation and Justicel Freaked-out bastar" Book herl"