Psalm 37: 5–6 Special Agent Wyatt Green knew he was in trouble even before he felt the bone in his arm crack. Unexpected high winds had caused the helicopter he was supposed to drop out of to pitch to one side. When he was almost down the rope, he’d lost his grip, twisted in the air and held his hands out to brace his fall. The impact with the ground sent shivers of pain up both his arms, but there was no mistaking that splintering of bone. He suspected a fractured forearm. As he rose to his feet, he told himself it wasn’t that bad. He’d broken bones clean through, and the pain from that was even more mind-numbing. He’d completed assignments with injuries before, and he could do it again. As the helicopter disappeared into the night sky and the thrum of the motor became more distant, Wyatt gritted his teeth against the pain and got his bearings. The badlands of eastern Montana looked just as remote and foreboding at night as they did in the daytime. Ten years ago, he and a team of agents had descended on this same area for a standoff with a landowner who appeared to be amassing an army to help him carry out his domestic terrorist philosophy.
