"Fuchs and Burger?"

"I didn't know their names until afterward."

"Do you often take rides with PD officers, Auxiliary Kline?"

"This was the first time."

"But you did get into a car with two strange men?"

"It was better than walking nearly forty blocks. It had been a bad day, what with the riot on top of the bombing."

"You didn't feel that you were in any danger?"

"These were peace officers in an armored cruiser. It was a lot safer than being out on the street, on foot, in a riot."

"You trust PD officers?"

"If you can't trust the guardians of a Christian society, who can you trust?"

"We ask the questions here, Kline." The by-the-book innocence just did not fit.

Rogers picked up the ball. "But after you accepted the ride, you decided that it might be fun to see the riot area from the back of a PD cruiser."

"Quite the reverse. I was very tired and wanted to be home as soon as possible. It was the officers who insisted on giving me the tour."

"Why should they do that?"

She hesitated. "I think they were trying to show off their… virility."

"And on this tour you ran into the fatal incident."

"That's right."

Thomas started on a very different course. "You seem to have had alarmingly fast reactions during this incident."

"I don't know. When I saw the two officers go down, I thought they were going to kill me next. I didn't want to die."

"Even in the sure and certain knowledge of the resurrection?"

"I didn't want to die."

"Clerical auxiliaries aren't trained in the use of the Remington Controller, are they?"

"We only train with handguns. Strictly for our own protection."

"How did you manage to fire the officer's riot gun so swiftly if you had never handled one?"

"I had two brothers who were both hunters. They taught me to fire most kinds of weapons."

Rogers was actually smiling. He was clearly imagining her talking about her hunting, shooting brothers on TV. His face fell at Thomas' next question.

"Your brothers owned state-of-the-art riot guns?"

"No, but when I grabbed the gun, I found that it fired just like any autoload."

Thomas leaned back in his chair.' "There are other places that teach people how to fire weapons, sophisticated weapons they'd normally have no reason to know about."

For the first time, Cynthia Kline looked less than confident. She said nothing.

Thomas leaned forward. "Perhaps in a terrorist training camp?"

Kline looked frightened. That response was, however, understandable. The word 'terrorist' could strike fear into the totally blameless. Rogers was looking at Thomas as if he had gone mad. At that moment, the phone on the wall rang. Rogers grabbed for it. He listened for almost a minute with an expression of increasing shock. Finally he nodded and hung up. Winters and Thomas looked at him expectantly. Rogers shook his head.

"Three deacons have just been killed. Right out in broad daylight. Bickerton, Baum, and Kinney."

"From the Zealots?"

"Bickerton, Baum, and Kinney. From the Zealots. We're instructed to term this interview and join our respective teams. It's a redline flap."

"Where did it happen?"

"On First Avenue. Between Fourteenth and Fifteenth. They were taken out with a burst of heatseekers, probably fired from a point-six-oh Mossberg."

"We're the only ones who're supposed to have smart ammunition."

"That's the weird part. "

Thomas sighed. "If they were on Fifteenth and First, we know where they'd been. Probably all night."

Rogers quickly motioned to Kline, indicating that no more should be said in front of her. Winters glanced at him.

"What do we do with her?"

Kline

What were they going to do with her? she wondered. "There's a CA escort coming down for her." Cynthia Kline's mind was in turmoil. She had been a damned fool. She despised the deacons so intensely that she had allowed herself to underestimate them. The older, slow one had only been shooting in the dark, but he had come close enough to the truth to rattle her. Even a dummy like Winters had been plainly disturbed by her attitude. She had talked down to them and made them uncomfortable when she should have come on like a helpless little waif and had them eating out of her hand. It still remained to be seen if her pride was going to hang her. The phone call had temporarily saved her, but it had also brought a new set of questions.

Three deacons shot dead, presumably on their way from their private bordello on Fifteenth, was a major incident. Who was behind it, and was it going to affect her situation? The abrupt removal of her three interrogators had to be cause for some kind of optimism. They couldn't be thinking of her as a dangerous terrorist, if they were prepared to rush off like that.

Her new escort arrived in the form of two burly CA matrons. Cynthia far from liked the look of mem, but to her complete surprise, they seemed quite well disposed toward her.

"Here you greased a couple of the scumsuckers for us. How did you manage that?"

"I was scared out my head, to tell the truth."

Now, after the fact, she was playing it the right way. The nearest matron all but patted her on the head.

"You got 'em though."

"I guess I did."

"You want to watch out, though, getting into a car with those PD bastards. They got just one thing in mind."

"So what happens to me now?"

"We're going to take you up to Directoress Lumet. I figure they've got your case all figured out."

Cynthia did not have to fake the fear. The matrons laughed.

"Don't look so worried. They going to make you a sainted hero, honey."

They took her quickly to the directoress's office on the nineteenth floor. Cynthia was taking it one minute at a time. She was just relieved that they were not taking her to a sub-basement – she had heard too much about what those sadists did to female suspects.

The directoress fancied herself as voluptuous and was fighting a stubborn rearguard action against the ravages of middle age. She wore her hair in the high platinum bouffant of a big-time country singer. Her makeup was thick, her eyelashes were false, her nails were bloodred, and her uniform skirt was cut a little too tightly across her ample hips. She was lounging back in a large leather swivel chair behind an L-shaped combined desk and workstation. The two matrons withdrew and left Cynthia standing in front of the directoress's inspecting gaze.

"So you're our little Dirty Harriet?"

"I think that's putting it a little strongly, ma'am."

"You'll have to get used to it."

"I'm sorry."

"And you can cut out the phony humility. I monitored your interview. You're a tough cookie."

Cynthia stiffened. "Yes, ma'am."

Directoress Lumet stood up and came out from behind the desk. She walked slowly around Cynthia. "I suppose you look the part."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You want to get on in the service?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, you could make it big if you don't foul up on this next assignment we've got for you."

"Yes, ma'am."

"There is no more important backup for an agency like this than a good public image. We are the constant targets of lying Satanist propaganda, and we badly need to show the public the part we play in protecting society from its enemies. A story like yours is just what we need at the moment."

Cynthia blinked. "It is?" What the hell were they up to?

"It's been decided to second you to the PR section. You will report to Deacon Longstreet for initial grooming. As soon as you are ready, you will be subjected to saturation TV coverage. You'll be on every talk show in the eastern area and the covers of all the magazines. You're going to be a nine-hour wonder, Kline. 'Heroic CA slays scum.' "