Why then is it hard to believe He can still act in our present age? We have no trouble accepting the plagues of ancient Egypt. So why is it so hard to accept the plague of modern America? And woe to him who does not take heed. The sinners, Miss. Lowell, there is no place left for them to hide. If AIDS is not a sign of what is to come, if AIDS does not make you accept the Lord as you only salvation and repent, then nothing will show you the light. You are doomed."

Sara closed her eyes and tried to keep her temper in check.

She knew that she should keep to her line of questioning, that it would be a mistake to get off the subject of his financial improprieties. But her temper had other ideas.

"And what about the other victims, Reverend Sanders?" she asked, struggling to maintain an even tone.

"The other victims?"

"Yes, what about the so-called innocent victims of AIDS, the newborn babies born with the deadly disease or the people who contract the virus through blood transfusions? How do you explain the fact that AIDS is now the leading cause of death among hemophiliacs?"

Again that damn smirk of a smile.

"I do not explain it, Miss. Lowell. I explain nothing. The Bible does it for me. Read the Lord's words and you will see for yourself. The Bible tells us that not all living creatures in Noah's time were cruel and heartless, yet the Lord chose to save only the creatures upon Noah's ark. And in the story of Moses, why were the innocent forced to suffer through the hosts of plagues that besieged Egypt? The Bible gives us a simple answer, Miss. Lowell. The Lord moves in mysterious ways. Who are we to question His ultimate plan? I know, I know, it's an old cliche, but it happens to be true. You cannot deny that the vast majority of those stricken with God's plague are abnormal people with perverse lifestyles, but yes, the innocent must on occasion pay for the sins of their brethren. That is why I ask all of you to return to God now, repent before it's too late. God will not allow a cure to be found until he rids the planet of the immoral " Nice move, Sam. She had played right into his hands, allowing the butt head to get on his soapbox and preach. It was time to knock him off.

"Reverend Sanders, why have you not filled out an income tax form in twelve years? Why have you and your wife Dixie not paid a penny of income tax in all that time?"

Donald Parker sat back and watched. He did not want to interrupt. The show's director signaled for a commercial break, but Donald waved him off.

"Miss. Lowell, you know the law as well as I do. This great country of ours works to protect religious freedom, despite what some communists and atheists try to do. You may have temporarily succeeded in throwing God out of school and murdering unborn children, but the tide is changing "

"Thank you, Reverend Sanders, but we were talking about your taxes. Please try to answer the question."

"I am answering your question, Miss. Lowell. Dixie and I are law-abiding citizens. We pay our fair share of taxes."

"How much income tax did you pay last year, Reverend Sanders?"

"Churches do not have to pay taxes. It's called separation of church and state. You can read all about it in the Constitution."

Sara readjusted her spectacles.

"I've read the Constitution, Reverend Sanders, but with all due respect, sir, you are not a church. You would certainly not suggest that people who work in the church should slide by without paying taxes, forcing hardworking Americans to carry the load for them, would you?"

His smile wavered, and for a brief moment there was a crack in the facade, allowing a quick peek at the cold soul beyond the smile.

"Of course not," he said.

"You twist everything around to suit your purposes, and the righteous know that. The righteous will not be swayed off the path of the Lord by your lies. I repeat what I have said all along. I have paid my fair share of taxes. This whole issue is nothing but a play by secularists to ruin my good name."

Donald Parker finally broke in.

"Thank you, Reverend Sanders. Well take a break and be back after this message. Don't go away."

"Dr. Lowell? May I speak with you for a moment?"

John Lowell looked up, obviously annoyed.

"Can't it wait until after the show, Ray?" "There's a commercial on now," Raymond said. Dr. Raymond Markey worked for the Department of Health and Human Services in Washington. A small man, his arms and legs looked too short for his body. Thick glasses magnified his small dark eyes fivefold, making him look more like a classic movie nerd than a medical doctor. In truth, Markey rarely practiced medicine anymore. His job as assistant secretary of the department threw him more into the political realm than he cared to admit.

With a deep sigh, John Lowell stood and walked out of the room. The two headed down the hallway together. When they were alone, Lowell said, "Okay, what is it?"

Raymond Markey's giant eyes scanned the hallway like two searchlights across a prison courtyard.

"He's coming to your party tonight."

Lowell's face turned red.

"What? I don't want that man in my house, I thought I made that clear."

"You did."

"It's too dangerous," he whispered.

"The timing of this party, everything."

"It doesn't matter," Markey said.

"He'll be here. I thought you should know."

Lowell cursed silently, his hands clenching into fists.

"That son of a bitch is going to destroy us all."

As the party got into full swing, the group of men surrounding Cassandra fought for center stage like vain actors. But Cassandra, used to such scenes, couldn't have cared less. She merely smiled brightly, seductively, nodding now and again but never really listening. they were all important men. Randall Crane owned a large chunk of several conglomerates. He had been featured on the cover of Fortune magazine looking very distinguished and serious. But he was boring. They were all deadly boring. If these men had not possessed staggering amounts of money, nobody would even pretend to listen to their self-indulgent horse manure.

The crowd of well-dressed patrons buzzed about Sara's debut on Newsflash. Cassandra's eyes swept over the mansion's large ballroom, recognizing most of the nearly three hundred guests.

Hypocrites, she thought. Like they really gave a flying shit about fighting cancer. They were here to be seen, to mingle and impress.

If that meant coughing up some money for charity, well, that was the price of admission. Being seen was the thing.

Randall Crane interrupted her thoughts.

"Do you know how I arrived here tonight, Cassandra?"

She barely glanced in his direction.

"No, Randall. Why don't you tell me?"

"By private helicopter," he said proudly.

"I just bought the bird. Seats eight. I have my own full-time pilot, co-pilot, and stewardess."

"Stewardess?" Cassandra repeated.

"On a helicopter?"

Randall Crane nodded.

"We traveled from the roof of my highrise on 47th Street to here in under an hour." "I'm very im, Randall."

The older man beamed.

"Do you want to take a ride in it" You won't believe how fast it goes."

She had bedded Randall Crane more than three years ago, and he lasted about as long as a fifteen-year-old boy on his first time out. The man had barely got his pants off.

"You should learn to slow down, Randall," she said with a wicked smile.

"Speed is not always a good thing, you know."

Watching Randall's face turn red, Cassandra spotted Michael in the back corner, standing in a corner with that nothing doctor friend of his.

Michael looked so damn handsome in his tux, the only man at the party who would dare to wear a purple flowered bowtie and matching cumber bund rather than the standard black. But that was Michael. He was always a little off center. Cassandra had not seen him for nearly six months, but he still looked fantastic.