PEOPLE WERE GOING TO DIE here soon. Quite a lot of people, actually.

Charles Danko sat pretending to read the Examiner underneath the giant fountain in the sparkling glass atrium of the Rincon Center just off Market Street, downtown near the Bay Bridge. From above him, an eighty-five-foot plume of water splashed breathtakingly into a shallow pool.

Americans like to feel awe, he thought to himself - they liked it in their movies, their pop art, and even their shop-ping centers. So I'll make them feel awe. I'll make them feel in awe of death.

It would be busy here today, Danko knew. The Rincon Center's restaurants were getting ready for the surge of the lunch crowd. A thousand or more escapees from law firms and real estate trusts and financial advisers around the Financial District.

Too bad this can't stretch out a little longer, Charles Danko thought, and sighed, the regret of someone who has waited such a long time for the moment. The Rincon Center had proved to be one of his favorite places in San Francisco.

Danko didn't acknowledge the well-dressed black man who picked out a place beside him facing the fountain. He knew the man was a veteran of the Gulf War. Despon-dent ever since. Dependable, though perhaps a little high-strung.

"Mal said I could call you `Professor.' " The black spoke out of the side of his mouth.

"And you are Robert?" Danko asked.

The man nodded. "Rober............