Excerpt: 'Those Who Trespass'

The man knelt beside Costello, careful not to get any blood on his clothing. He was outwardly calm, but inside he was raging. He hated Costello. Hated him beyond words, beyond reason.

"Look at me, Costello. Do you know me?"

The struggling correspondent looked up, trying to focus his eyes. Because breathing through his broken nose was now impossible, he gasped for air through his mouth.

"You do know me. For a lot of years, remember?"

A glint of recognition shone in Costello's eyes, but he still wasn't sure who his attacker was. His hearing was intact, but his broken and swelling nose blurred his vision.

"No network can help you now," he heard a deep, soft voice say. "Nobody can help you, Costello. You are an evil person. You hurt and use people. And now you are going to leave us in a rather painful way." Costello knew he was in mortal danger, but he wouldn't accept the thought that he could lose his life. His mind struggled to find words that might save him. He believed someone would intervene. "This is absurd," he thought. "This can't be happening." He was Ron Costello, GNN's chief White House Correspondent. Costello tasted the salty flavor of blood running into his throat. He gagged, struggling to speak. Finally, the correspondent's last words on Earth left his mouth: "Why, why are you doing this to me?"

The intruder responded by savagely grabbing Ron Costello's windpipe with his left hand and squeezing hard. Costello gasped, his mouth opening wide, blood trickling down his chin. The assailant's right hand, now holding the oval base of the spoon, rocketed upward, jamming the stainless steel stem through the roof of Ron Costello's mouth. The soft tissue gave way quickly and the steel penetrated the correspondent's brain stem. Ron Costello was clinically dead in four seconds.

Finally came the response the White House correspondent had asked for: "For Argentina, that's why."

Excerpted from Those Who Trespass: A Novel of Murder and Television by Bill O'Reilly. Published by Random House, Copyright Feb. 2004.

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