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nd every current electronic device in vogue。
No less than ten newspapers were received into the pound each day； and they were taken to a table in a room next to the library where they were first read by a man named Roland。 He lived in the pound most of the time； along with several other members who maintained the place。 When the newspapers arrived from the city； usually around nine in the morning； Roland poured himself a large cup of coffee and started reading。 It was not a chore。 He had traveled the world many times； spoke four languages； and had a voracious appetite for knowledge。 If a story caught his attention； he would mark it； and later he would make a copy of it and give it to the puter desk。
His interests were varied。 He barely scanned the sports； and never looked at the want ads。 Fashion； style； living； fanfare； and related sections were browsed with little curiosity。 He collected stories about groups similar to his … Aryans； Nazis； the KKK。 Lately； he'd been flagging many stories from Germany and Eastern Europe； and was quite thrilled with the rise of fascism there。 He spoke fluent German and spent at least one month a year in that great country。 He watched the politicians； with their deep concern about hate crimes and their desire to restrict the rights of groups such as his。 He watched the Supreme Court。 He followed the trials of skinheads in the United States。 He followed the tribulations of the KKK。
He normally spent two hours each morning absorbing the latest news and deciding which stories should be kept for future reference。 It was routine； but he enjoyed it immensely。
This particular morning would be different。 The first glimpse of trouble was a picture of Sam Cayhall buried deep in the front section of a San Francisco daily。 The story had but three paragraphs； but sufficiently covered the hot news that the oldest man on death row in America would now be represented by his grandson。 Roland read it three times before he believed it； then marked the story to be saved。 After an hour； he'd read the same story five or six times。 Two papers had the snapshot of young Adam Hall that appeared on the front page of the Memphis paper the day before。
Roland had followed the case of Sam Cayhall for many years； and for several reasons。 First； it was normally the type of case that would interest their puters … an aging Klan terrorist from the sixties biding his time on death row。 The Cayhall printout was already a foot thick。 Though he was certainly no lawyer； Roland shared the prevailing opinion that Sam's appeals had run their course and he was about to die。 This suited Roland just fine； but he kept his opinion to himself。 Sam Cayhall was a hero to white supremacists； and Roland's own little band of Nazis had already been asked to participate in demonstrations before the execution。 They had no direct contact with Cayhall because he had never answered their letters； but he was a symbol and they wanted to make the most of his death。 Roland's last name； Forchin； was of Cajun extraction from down around Thibodaux。 He had no Social Security number； never filed tax returns； did not exist； as far as the government was concerned。 He had three beautifully forged passports； one of which was German； and one allegedly issued by the Republic of Ireland。 Roland crossed borders and cleared immigration with no worries。
One of Roland's other names； known only to himself and never divulged to a breathing soul； was Rollie Wedge。 He had fled the United States in 1967 after the Kramer bombing； and had lived in Northern Ireland。 He had also lived in Libya； Munich； Belfast； and Lebanon。 He had returned to the United States briefly in 1967 and 1968 to observe the two trials of Sam Cayhall and Jeremiah Dogan。 By then； he was traveling effortlessly with perfect papers。
There had been a few other quick trips back to the United States； all required because of the Cayhall mess。 But as time passed； he worried about it less。 He had moved to this bunker three years earlier to spread the message of Nazism。 He no longer considered himself a Klansman。 Now； he was a proud fascist。
When he finished his morning reading； he had found the Cayhall story in seven of the ten papers。 He placed them in a metal basket； and decided to see the sun。 He poured more coffee in his Styrofoam cup； and rode an elevator eighty feet to a foyer in a log cabin。 It was a beautiful day； cool and sunny； not a cloud to be seen。 He walked upward along a narrow trail toward the mountains； and within ten minutes was looking at the valley below him。 The wheat fields were in the distance。
Roland had been dreaming of Cayhall's death for twenty…three years。 They shared a secret； a heavy burden which would be lifted only when Sam was executed。 He admired the man greatly。 Unlike Jeremiah Dogan； Sam had honored his oath and never talked。 Through three trials； several lawyers； countless appeals； and millions of inquiries； Sam Cayhall had never yielded。 He was an honorable man； and Roland wanted him dead。 Oh sure； he'd been forced to deliver a few threats to Cayhall and Dogan during the first two trials； but that was so long ago。 Dogan cracked under pressure； and he talked and testified against Sam。 And Dogan died。
This kid worried him。 Like everyone else； Roland had lost track of Sam's son and his family。 He knew about the daughter in Memphis； but the son had disappeared。 And now this … this nice…looking； well…educated young lawyer from a big； rich Jewish law firm had popped up from nowhere and was primed to save his grandfather。 Roland knew enough about executions to understand that in the waning hours the lawyers try everything。 If Sam was going to crack； he would do it now； and he would do it in the presence of his grandson。
He tossed a rock down the hillside and watched it bounce out of sight。 He'd have to go to Memphis。
* * *
Saturday was typically just another day of hard labor at Kravitz & Bane in Chicago； but things were a bit more laid…back at the Memphis branch。 Adam arrived at the office at nine and found only two other attorneys and one paralegal at work。 He locked himself in his room and closed the blinds。
He and Sam had worked for two hours yesterday； and by the time Packer returned to the law library with the handcuffs and the shackles they had managed to cover the table with dozens of law books and legal pads。 Packer had waited impatiently as Sam slowly reshelved the books。
Adam reviewed their notes。 He entered his own research into the puter； and revised the petition for the third time。 He had already faxed a copy of it to Garner Goodman； who in turn had revised it and sent it back。
Goodman was not optimistic about a fair hearing on the suit； but at this stage of the proceedings there was nothing to lose。 If by chance an expedited hearing was held in federal court； Goodman was ready to testify about the Maynard Tole execution。 He and Peter Wiesenberg had witnessed it。 In fact； Wiesenberg had been so sickened by the sight of a living person being gassed that he resigned from the firm and took a job teaching。 His grandfather had survived the Holocaust； his grandmother had not。 Goodman promised to contact Wi