4

Luther Brady moved in a daze.

A chain ran between his feet. His wrists were chained to his waist. A cop led him down a hallway of the detention center. Another followed, and one on either side guided him by the elbows. They were moving him quickly toward a rectangle of light—a doorway to the outside. And beyond that, a van to take him to Riker's.

Visions of being gang-raped by a parade of huge laughing black men weakened his knees. There had to be Dormentalists in prison. All he needed were a few… for protection…

And then he was squinting in the sudden glare of sunlight. After a second or two he realized that it wasn't the sun alone, but camera lights as well. And reporters flanking his path to a police wagon, machine-gunning questions as they shoved microphones at his face.

He blinked, then straightened as he realized that this was his chance to present his case, create sound and video bites that would air again and again.

"I'm innocent!" he shouted, slowing the pace of his walk. "Innocent, I swear it!"

He scanned their faces. Some he knew, some he didn't. Through hundreds of public appearances he'd honed his natural ability to project sincerity and dignity. He called on that ability now, looking them directly in the eyes and showing no fear.

"But what of the evidence, those photos?" someone said.

"Lies and forgeries. This is all a colossal frame-up to discredit me and Dormentalism! You'll see! The truth will out! The truth—!"

The words died in his throat as he recognized a face in the crowd, toward the rear. Not a reporter. No, he'd seen this face in the temple. He was the one who'd pretended to be Jason Amurri, the one Jensen had wanted so badly to find.

As their eyes locked, Luther Brady saw something there, and it ignited an epiphany: This man was behind it all.

No. He couldn't be. That would be saying that one man had exposed Opus Omega, killed Jensen, and framed Luther for murder.

Impossible!

But then the man lifted his right hand, folded it into a gun shape, and pointed it at Luther. He smiled, cocked his head, and snapped down the thumb trigger.

"There!" Luther shouted. "Over there!" He struggled against his chains. If only he could point! "There's the man responsible for all this! There's the real killer! Grab him and ask him! He'll…"

People turned to look, but the man was gone.

And all the cameras were still running.

Luther Brady put his head back and screamed out his anger, his frustration, his helplessness, and most of all, his horror.