"Tight as a sieve, you mean." The other lowered his voice. "You know, I've been hoping this day would never come," he said unexpectedly.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Don't repeat this—but I still can't quite swallow everything Barr says about Center City planning to jump us for months, that we have to strike first. It doesn't sound right, somehow."
"Brother, you can't trust those Center City people," said Riddell. "If Barr said it, Barr means it. You shouldn't be talking like this, you know."
"I know. But I've wanted to get it off my chest for a long time, and you look like you've got an honest face."
Riddell grinned. "That's the most dangerous kind, pal." He turned away and stared around at the growing army. So that's the story Barr's been dishing out? That explains his hold over these people. He's got them all scared stiff of us!
Suddenly, Riddell knew that Barr could be stopped—that this whole juggernaut could be kept from going any further. Barr's machine was built on a quicksand foundation.
The trumpet sounded again. Everyone looked up automatically. On a little balcony on the third floor of the building, a man stepped out. He was thin and wiry, with a browned, weather-beaten face, and even at this distance Riddell could see the fierce blaze of power-lust in his eyes.
The man on the balcony was David Barr.