ground flattened and the tents huddled closer together, forming narrow lanes and alleys. In a few minutes they had arrived at the center clearing around Buck's tent.
So far, so good, thought Hayward.
The front flap was tied on two side posts. Grable stopped before the entrance and called in a loud voice: 'Buck? This is Captain Grable of the NYPD.'
'Hey!' A tall, clean-cut fellow appeared out of nowhere. 'What are you doing?'
'None of your business,' said Grable brusquely.
Shit, thought Hayward. Not like that.
'There's no problem,' she said. 'We're just here to talk to the reverend.'
'Yeah? What about?'
'Back off, pal,' said Grable.
'What is it?' came a muffled voice from inside the tent. 'Who's there?'
'Captain Grable, NYPD.' Grable began untying the knotted drawstring that held the flap shut against one of the side poles. He had it almost undone when a hand reached from inside, closed over his, and removed it. The flap lifted and then Buck stood there, straight and stern. 'This is my home,' he said coldly and with dignity. 'Do not violate it.'
Cuff him, Hayward thought. Cuff the son of a bitch and get the hell out.
'We're New York City police officers, and this is public land. This isn't some private dwelling.'
'Sir, I ask you once again to stand back from my home.'
Hayward was astonished by the man's presence. She turned to see how Grable was going to handle it. She was shocked to see his face paling beneath the sheen of sweat.
'Wayne Buck, you are under arrest.' Grable tried to unclip his handcuffs, but his hands were shaking slightly and it took longer than it should have.
Hayward couldn't believe it. Grable was out of his depth. That was the only answer. He'd ridden a desk so long he'd lost his street smarts-if he ever had them-and he'd forgotten how to deal with a fluid situation like this. That explained his hesitation back at the arsenal, his sweating, everything. He'd wanted the commissioner to send in a large party to deal with Buck, but when Rocker had given the job directly to him, he couldn't refuse. Now, with no SWAT team to back him up, confronted by the implacable Buck, he was losing his nerve.
Buck stared, making no move to cooperate, but not doing anything to resist, either.
The clean-cut man, who seemed to be Buck's bodyguard or aide-de-camp, turned, cupped his hands, and cried out in a tremendous voice,” Arise! Arise! The cops are here to arrest the reverend!'
There was a stirring, a sudden murmur of voices.
'Turn around and place your hands behind your back, sir,' said Grable, but his voice was trembling.
Still Buck made no move.
'Arise!'
'Captain,' said Hayward, her voice low, 'he's resisting arrest. Cuff him .'
But Grable made no move.
In an instant, Hayward sized up the situation and realized their window of opportunity had already closed. Looking around, she recalled the time when-as a kid on a dare-she'd poked a stick into a hornet's nest. There was a moment, just a moment, of suspension . then a muffled hum just before the hornets came boiling out, madder than hell. That's what the tent city felt like. People were up but not yet out of their tents, a dull hum of activity that was about to explode.
'Defend the reverend! The police are here to arrest him! Arise!'
Now came the boiling. Suddenly, hundreds of people were up and out of their tents, pulling on shirts, moving toward them.
Hayward leaned in toward Grable. 'Captain? We got trouble. Just be cool.'
Grable's mouth sagged but no sound came out.
The crowd was pressing in, a wall of people quickly forming at the front, others streaming in from every direction, ringing the tent, a babble of angry voices.
Shit. She turned to face the crowd. 'Look, friends, we're not here to cause trouble.'
'Liar!'
The cry went up. 'Blasphemers!'
They pressed in. Buck said nothing, did nothing; he just stood there, the picture of dignity.
'Look,' said Hayward, holding out her hands, keeping her voice calm, 'there's just the two of us. Nothing to get excited about.'
'Godless soldiers of Rome!'
'Keep your filthy hands off the reverend!'
This was even uglier than she thought. Grable was backing up instinctively, eyes roaming for an escape route that did not exist.
The crowd surged forward, growing angrier.
