Armageddon Crazy

Cops were already clearing the area. Carlisle pulled out his lieutenant's shield and pushed his way through. Someone was shouting for paramedics.

"There's a man down here!"

At first he thought the victim was Proverb. But, though blood covered the preacher's white suit, Proverb was being helped to his feet by Joe Don Cutler. Rashid Murjeen was stretched out on the sidewalk. A uniform was bending over him, gloves off, feeling for his pulse.

"He's dead," the man a

Carlisle looked quickly around. Two uniforms and two plain-clothes men had the gunman pi

"Don't hurt him! We want him alive!" he ordered.

"Do we move him?"

"Take him to one of our holding cells. Do everything you can to keep the deacons away from him."

The assassin was picked up and taken into the building at a run.

Carlisle shouted to Reeves. "Go in with them and do your best to head off the deacons."

He turned his attention to Proverb. With Cutler standing protectively over him, the preacher was kneeling on the sidewalk in an attitude of prayer. The cameras were working overtime. Carlisle could not believe that the man could be that cool. He held out his badge.

"Lieutenant Harry Carlisle, Reverend Proverb. I think we should get you inside."

"I think it's more important that I talk to the people and calm their fears. There must not be another riot."

Carlisle had to admit that Proverb was right. He just could not believe that the man could be so composed so soon after an assassination attempt and with one of his bodyguards dead on the ground. He glanced at Cutler.

"So, shall we get him onto the podium?"

Cutler looked worried. "Are you sure you want to do this, chief? There might be other shooters out there."

Proverb nodded. "We have to do it. There must be no more trouble."

"If you're certain."

Carlisle rounded up a small squad of PD detectives and started for the stage. They formed a worried, watchful knot around Proverb as he stepped up to the microphone. There were shouts from the crowd as they saw the blood on his clothes. He quickly held up a hand.

"There's no need to panic. I'm okay. There was an attempt on my life but it wasn't successful. The man has been arrested. The police have him."

Carlisle had to admit that even without the special effects, the preacher had immediate control of the crowd. He talked to them, and they listened. It was a simple but powerful rapport.

"I guess I should be thanking the good Lord for my deliverance from the assassin's bullet, but my heart is heavy. Rashid Murjeen, my good friend and loyal employee, is dead. He was killed by the bullet that was meant for me."

A hush spread through the crowd. They seemed unsure about how to react. Proverb was safe, but there was still death in the air.

"These are terrible times, my friends. Terrible times. My heart is full, and I can hardly talk."

Carlisle observed that Proverb had no visible difficulty in talking. The cops around him had started to relax a little now that no second gunman had appeared. Carlisle wondered how long the man intended to speak. He would be a lot happier when the whole thing was over.

"Remember one thing, though. No matter how dark the clouds may seem, do not lose heart. The Lord is with us. He has not forsaken us. The forces of evil sorely try us, but we must have courage and we must have faith. We know that we will triumph in the end and come to our promised reward."

There were shouts of 'amen' from the crowd. Proverb had certainly calmed them down. It was little wonder that the deacons and the hierarchy were frightened of him. He seemed to be able to do anything with a mass of people, no matter what the circumstances.

Proverb pointed to the CCC building behind him. "I have to enter this place and talk with the people inside." He made it sound as if he were about to brave the portals of hell. "Before I go, however, let us share a moment of silent prayer. Let us pray for the soul of Rashid Murjeen."

Proverb clasped his hands and bowed his head. The crowd followed suit. Some of the cops did the same, while others maintained their watchful vigil. After about a minute, Proverb raised his head and blessed the crowd. Carlisle could imagine the TV images: Proverb in his bloodstained suit surrounded by praying cops in full armor. There was even enough of a breeze to ruffle his hair. The footage was going to be classic.

"May the Lord be with you and keep you from harm."

Proverb turned to Joe Don Cutler, instantly businesslike. "Shall we get moving?"

Cutler nodded, and they started toward the steps. Carlisle was part of the immediate escort that followed them down. At the foot of the steps, Rashid Murjeen's body was being loaded into the morgue wagon. Proverb glanced back at Carlisle.

"Do we have a name on the gunman?"

"We don't, but they should have run something on him inside by now."

"Do the deacons have him?"

Carlisle shook his head. "I certainly hope not. Officially, it's still a police department case, and I gave orders that the deacons should not be allowed to question him. The deacons, unfortunately, have ways of overriding PD orders."

Proverb looked grim. "I want to know all about the man as soon as possible."

"Where will you be?"

Proverb gave him a hard look. "That remains to be seen."

Carlisle realized that Proverb was frightened. Although perfectly understandable, it came as a complete surprise. Up to that point, the man had seemed so totally in control.

They entered the building. The big hall was a scene of tension and confusion. The steel shutters were down on all but one pair of doors, and the covers were off the concealed gun emplacements from which robot ultralight machine guns could sweep the entire area. Squads of guards, both police and deacon, looked as if they were expecting the mob to storm the citadel at any moment. Carlisle had not noticed them around when the shooting had gone down. Steel boots clattered on the marble floor and echoed around the high white dome of the ceiling that was supposed to symbolize judicial purity. Other officers simply milled about.

A loud argument was taking place in front of the main bank of elevators. Reeves and a solid block of stone-faced uniforms were refusing to let a gang of deacons, led by a senior deacon called Spencer, into the elevator that went directly to the basement holding cells. Carlisle was glad to see that his boys were holding their own.

As soon as Spencer spotted Proverb, he pulled his team away from the potential Mexican standoff with Reeves and his uniforms and hurried to intercept. He waved excitedly to the men around him, pointing at Proverb. "Arrest that man! Arrest him!"

Carlisle and Cutler moved as one. Both had their hands on their guns.

"Nobody arrests anybody!" Carlisle dragged out the old.357 and waved it at the nearest deacon. "This man is under my protection, and I'll shoot anyone who lays a hand on him."

That produced a much-needed pause. Spencer was glaring at him with the outrage of a shark that had just been deprived of lunch.

"Have you gone insane, Carlisle?"

"Maybe."

"I order you to turn that man over to me and then instruct your men to let me interview the assassin you have in custody."

Carlisle gave the senior deacon a long hard look and slowly shook his head. Reeves and his men were there providing backup. Carlisle had the edge if any of the deacons wanted to go the distance.

"I was given the responsibility of keeping this man alive, and until I'm told otherwise by someone a good deal more convincing than you, I intend to go on doing exactly that. As for the assassin, he's the suspect in my investigation, and nobody gets him until I'm through. There's going to be no coverup on this business. That's the official stance. Unofficially, I don't trust you bastards farther than I can spit."