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was the man who was watching her through the telescopic sight of an M-16 automatic rifle.
    He had a rough and rugged look about him, and although only in his late thirties, he looked old. His face was ravaged by hatred, the suppressed hatred that he felt not only towards Justine but also towards humanity in general. As far as he was concerned, the trial was just a middle-class formality.
    He pressed the butt of the rifle into his shoulder and leaned into it, his left knee bent with the foot forward, the trailing leg straight with the foot pointing outward. The index finger of his right hand moved toward the trigger. In his mind he could already see the pretty young head exploding, the juices spilling out from the brain. For a few seconds he held Justine ’ s head in the cross-hairs of the telescopic sight, relishing the feeling of power and the knowledge that he was striking a blow for the cause.
    She would die now.
    His finger moved and a single shot rang out.
    *     *
    "OK Tommy, you ’ ve had your turn on the horse. Now let the other children play."
    "Again," said Tommy in that sweet little voice of his, giving his mother a flash of that angelic smile.
    "All right, one more time."
    But it was not to be. For suddenly a voice boomed out of the public address system.
    "Owing to a security alert, customers are requested to leave the shopping centre immediately."
    A murmur of panic moved through the crowd and in seconds people were walking, or in some cases running, to the exits. Pauline Robson scooped Tommy off the horse and strode quickly towards the nearest exit, converging on it in time with countless others.
    But inside the shops, the announcement went largely unheard and many people stayed where they were, blissfully unaware of the danger that faced them. Less than ten seconds later, the bomb in the bookshop exploded, blowing a hole in the right side of Srini Shankar ’ s torso.
    At the sound of the first blast, the restrained panic in the shopping centre erupted into full blown hysteria. People began stampeding towards the exits, pushing others to the ground and trampling all over them to get out.
    Pauline had more respect for her neighbours than most, and tried to bring up her son that way, in spite of having to do it alone. But she had a responsibility to protect her son and when she saw the panic set among the hoards around her she knew that she had to get Tommy out of there. But to charge into the crush would only expose him to greater risk. So she held back while the more predatory of the survivalists barged their way past others and charge d out into the murky daylight.
    Only when the crowd thinned out did she carry Tommy, who was now whining and kicking, to one of the exits. It was as she reached the exit that the powerful background murmur of the crowd was shattered by the thunderclap of the second blast.
    *     *
    Several joggers heard the thunderclap. Some of them, the seasoned veterans of New York City , even recognized it. It was a 0.22 in the hands of a savvy, street-wise sixteen-year- old. The man who had been aiming a rifle at Justine rifle fell to the ground. The bullet from a Saturday nigh t special had lodged in his brain. The boy with the gun had originally targeted the girl who was jogging in the white shorts and shirt as his next victim. But when he spotted the man assembli ng the rifle his plan changed.
    It was unlikely that the girl was carrying as much money as the “piece” would fetch on the black market. He didn ’ t know how to dispose of that kind of heat, but Ozzie would. Ozzie always knew how to find a market for that sort of thing. He wouldn ’ t use it himself. He preferred an Uzi with a short barrel and a automatic rapid fire for drive-by work. But he had contacts on the street and he could unload it for a tidy sum or some dynamite coke to sell to the pushers on their turf.
    He moved quickly, disassembling the gun quickly and returning it to the case from which the man had