The Hammer of Eden by Ken Follett Page B

drug-trafficking charges and they would all go down for a couple of years.
    Kassner thought he was in no danger from three B-girls and a kid. But the next evening, as he stood in the men’s room of the Blue Light bar on Broadway, pissing away a few beers, little Ricky Granger stuck a razor-sharp six-inch knife in his back, easily slicing through the black mohair suit jacket and the white nylon shirt and penetrating the kidney. Kassner was in so much pain, he never got his hand on his gun. Ricky stabbed him several more times, quickly, as the cop lay on the wet concrete floor of the men’s room, vomiting blood; then he rinsed his blade under the tap and walked out.
    Looking back, Priest marveled at the cool assurance of his fifteen-year-old self. It had taken only fifteen or twenty seconds, but during that time anyone might have stepped into the room. However, he had felt no fear, no shame, no guilt.
    But after that he had been afraid of the dark.
    He was not in the dark very much in those days. The lights usuallystayed on all night in his mother’s apartment. But sometimes he would wake up a little before dawn on a slow night, like a Monday, and find that everyone was asleep and the lights were out; and then he would be possessed by blind, irrational terror and would blunder around the room, bumping into furry creatures and touching strange clammy surfaces, until he found the light switch and sat on the edge of the bed, panting and perspiring, slowly recovering as he realized that the clammy surface was the mirror and the furry creature his fleece-lined jacket.
    He had been afraid of the dark until he found Star.
    He recalled a song that had been a hit the year he met her, and he began to sing: “Smoke on the water …” The band was Deep Purple, he recalled. Everyone was playing their album that summer.
    It was a good apocalyptic song to sing at the wheel of a seismic vibrator.
    Smoke on the water

A fire in the sky
    He passed the entrance to the dump and drove on, heading north.
    *  *  *
    “We’ll do it tonight,” Priest had said. “We’ll tell the governor there’ll be an earthquake four weeks from today.”
    Star was dubious. “We’re not even sure this is possible. Maybe we should do everything else first, get all our ducks lined up in a row,
then
issue the ultimatum.”
    “Hell, no!” Priest said. The suggestion angered him. He knew that the group had to be led. He needed to get them committed. They had to go out on a limb, take a risk, and feel there was no turning back. Otherwise tomorrow they would think of reasons to get scared and back out.
    They were fired up now. The letter had arrived today, and they were all angry and desperate. Star was grimly determined; Melanie was in a fury; Oaktree was ready to declare war; Paul Beale was reverting to hisstreet hoodlum type. Song had hardly spoken, but she was the helpless child of the group and would go along with the others. Only Aneth was opposed, and her opposition would be feeble because she was a weak person. She would be quick to raise objections, but she would back down even faster.
    Priest himself knew with cold certainty that if this place ceased to exist, his life would be over.
    Now Aneth said: “But an earthquake might kill people.”
    Priest said: “I’ll tell you how I figure this will pan out. I guess we’ll have to cause a small, harmless tremor, out in the desert somewhere, just to prove we can do what we say. Then, when we threaten a second earthquake, the governor will negotiate.”
    Aneth turned her attention back to her child.
    Oaktree said: “I’m with Priest. Do it tonight.”
    Star gave in. “How should we make the threat?”
    “An anonymous phone call or letter, I guess,” Priest said. “But it has to be impossible to trace.”
    Melanie said: “We could post it on an Internet bulletin board. If we used my laptop and mobile phone, no one could possibly trace it.”
    Priest had never seen a computer until Melanie