"He didn't deserve to live, not after all he's done."

I stepped behind the desk and felt for a pulse.

Brother Tick-Tock was still very much alive.

1 came back around and took the automatic from her hands.

"You called in the tip, didn't you?"

"Yes." She lifted up her open handbag. It was stuffed to bursting with platinum credit chips. The smallest one I saw was a thousand.

"Jimmy got away from them somehow," she said.

"I was so stunned to see him, to know that he was alive, that I just ... I just held him a lot last night.

Made cocoa. But then I got mad. I called the church and told them that I knew they'd taken my son from me and I was going to make them pay. They called me back, Brother Tick-Tock himself here. I hung up on him and he called right back. He offered ... he offered me a lot of money to keep quiet. I don't have a lot of money to live on anymore, you see, and Jimmy, well, he's going to require a lot of care and .. .

and .. ."

"So you said yes to a deal?"

"Yes, But then it occurred to me that they might try to ... to take Jimmy back when they came with the money."

"So you took him to the VR temple downtown and called us to come get him?"

"I wanted him to be safe, somewhere they wouldn't dare try getting to him."

"How many men from the church showed up at your house with the money?"

"Only two. One of them slapped me, threatened to hurt me if I didn't tell them where Jimmy was."

"So you killed them both? Shot them?"

"How did you know?"

"I caught a whiff of gunpowder on you when you kissed me goodbye."

"I thought you seemed awfully sharp."

"Where are the bodies?"

"In the cellar. I have no idea how I'm going to get rid of them ...

of course, I guess that's all moot now anyway, isn't it?"

Brother Tick-Took moaned but did not regain full consciousness.

Then I heard another sound.

A whimper; very small, very thin.

Behind a door to the left of the desk.

Not taking my eyes off Mrs. Waggoner, I backed toward the door and kicked it open with my foot.

On a bed not four feet away lay a small boy, dressed in winter clothes, who was tied to the bedposts and all-too-obviously drugged.

I looked at the child.

Then Mrs. Waggoner.

Then Brother Tick-Took.

And I thought then of Jimmy, of the childhood he'd been robbed of, of the dust on Mrs. Waggoner's mantel, of the hysteria that the parents of this new boy must be feeling, and a last thought, unbidden, came to me: How many times had Brother Tick-Tock done this? How many seven-year-old boys had he kidnapped, drugged, then hooked up to the church's computer so the followers could log on to see the Reborn Lord Relativity?

In this age G.o.ds, like their followers, can be easily manufactured.

I stepped into the room and saw all of the children's toys that littered the floor--b.a.l.l.s to bounce, fire trucks, tiny robots, puzzles; a kiddie's paradise.

Then I saw the bank of monitors from the corner of my eye.

I turned to face them.

There were eighteen in all, most of them showing very small rooms with very small occupants on medium-sized beds.

None of the children were alone.

I will not describe the depravities these children were being subjected to by their roommates. I had to turn away for a moment before I threw up.

I saw a second door, set between two bookcases on the far side of the room. I walked very slowly over to the door and pushed it open. A winding stone staircase led downward.

On autopilot myself, I picked up one of the small bouncing b.a.l.l.s, a blue one, and tossed it down the stairs.

I turned back toward the monitors and stared at the one in the center.

It showed a stone archway where a stone staircase ended.

I waited, forgetting to breathe.

A few seconds later, the blue ball bounced from the stairs onto the monitor screen.

I stared again at the empty, gla.s.sy eyes of the children on the other monitors, wondering if they knew their degradations were being recorded.

I had been wrong about what was really going on.

In my worst moments, I'd never imagined that I'd ever encountered anything as unspeakable as this.

I knelt down for a moment and pulled open a set of drawers under the monitors.

Hundreds upon hundreds of digital video disks were stored there, identified only by labels such as: LARRY, age 6, blonde; Little Boy Blue; Jessica, age 4, brunette; Little Miss m.u.f.fet.

So all of this, all of it--the church, the temple, the cyber-crusades of Lord Relativity and Brother Ticklock--all it was an elaborate front for a child p.o.r.nography ring.

Then I noticed a label on one of the disks: ONE USE ONLY; red and noisy.

There were at least twenty more with the same label.

ONE USE ONLY: New cyberspeak for snuff movie.

All of this flashed through my mind in a second, and, knowing that Sherwood and his men would be here any minute, I made a decision that I knew would change the man I was for the rest of my life.

I came back into the office.

"Mrs. Waggoner? You with me?"

"Of course."

"Don't ask questions, just listen and answer 'yes' or 'no," all right?"