The naked edge

27

"What's this about?"

In the communications truck, an FBI agent pointed toward a monitor.

"Where?"

"Here. This."

Cavanaugh and Jamie walked toward it.

"Somebody's in an awful hurry to go the wrong way," the agent said.

"Not one person. Three," Jamie noted.

The camera was angled downward from a roof. The screen showed the crowd filling the street, countless protestors shifting away from the conference center. Breaking the pattern, a line of three men charged in the opposite direction, thrusting their way through the demonstrators.

"Seems like the guy in back's chasing the others," the agent said. "Look at how frightened they are. They keep glancing back to see if he's gaining on them."

"And what about this?" Another agent pointed toward a monitor that showed a commotion nearby. People formed a circle around a man scrunched sideways on the pavement. He held his stomach, which was dark with spreading liquid. A woman raised her face and soundlessly screamed.

"Looks like he's been shot," an agent said.

Cavanaugh concentrated on the three men forcing their way south as everyone else went north. "Can you get a closer view of the guy in back, the one who seems to be chasing the others?"

"Sure."

The agent twisted dials. Immediately the camera magnified the man at the rear of the line.

As the face got larger, Cavanaugh felt a chill speed along his nerves. "Not shot. Stabbed."

"How do you know?"

"Because the guy chasing the others is Carl."