The naked edge

21

Eight.

Mingling with demonstrators across from the conference center, Jamie felt pushed and shoved. The heat of so many bodies increased the humidity, making her sweat. Someone stepped on her shoes. They had steel caps under the leather: standard equipment for protectors. Even so, she felt the jolt. But she was less concerned about damage to her body than she was about someone bumping against the weapons under her blazer, realizing what they were and trying to take them. She kept her elbows tight against her sides, bracing them against her handgun and her knife.

Although the conference wasn't scheduled to start for another hour, the demonstrators were already shouting their complaints about Third World sweatshops, increased pollution, climate change, the vanishing rain forests, the over-fished oceans, and chemicals in the food supply.

"Wait'll the motorcades arrive," someone said. "We'll stop those greedy bastards from getting into the building."

"If we need to, we'll push their cars over," someone else vowed.

Jamie pretended to be listening to her cell phone. She hurriedly lowered it and blurted to the people around her, "My friend says she saw on television that the cars won't be coming."

Someone overheard and asked, "What?"

"They just announced the conference was postponed."

"Bullshit."

"No, it's true," Jamie said, the crowd banging against her. "The chief of police just made an announcement. Something happened at four hotels last night. Smoke and tear gas. The trade ministers were moved out of town."

*

"… ministers were moved out of town," Cavanaugh said.

"Harry, listen to this guy. They cancelled the conference."

"Like hell."

Cavanaugh pointed toward his cell phone. "That's what my friend just told me. He saw it on television."

"A trick. They want us to give up and leave. Close to nine o'clock, those pigs'll arrive in their limos. Bet on it."