THE NEXT DAY, the G-8 meetings were scheduled to begin as originally planned. The hard-liners, the tough guys in Washington, wanted it that way. So be it.

The proceedings were set for that night, with a reception in the Rodin Gallery at the Palace of the Legion of Honor overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge.

It would be hosted by Eldridge Neal, one of the most admired African Americans in the country, the current vice president. Every available uniform was assigned to security detail at the venues and along the routes. Every ID would be triple-checked, every trash can and air vent sniffed by explosive-detecting dogs.

But Danko was still out there.

And Carl Danko was still the only link to his son I had.

I drove back to Sacramento while the rest of the depart-ment prepared for the G-8 festivities. Carl Danko seemed surprised to see me again. "Thought you'd be accepting some kind of Medal of Honor today. The killing of young kids seems to be a habit with you people. So, why are you here?"

"Your son," I told him.

"My son is dead."

But Danko sighed and let me in. I followed him back to

his den. A fire was burning there. He knelt down and stoked the flames, then sat down in an easy chair. "Like I told you before, the time to talk about William was

thirty years ago." "Not Billy," I said. "Charles." Danko seemed to hesitate. "I told the federal boys -" "We know," I interrupted him mid-sentence. "We know

his record, Mr. Danko. We know he isn't dead."

The old man snarled, "You people won't stop, will you? First William, now Charlie. Go take your medals, Lieutenant. You caught your killers. What makes you think you can come in here and tell me Charlie is alive?"

&q............