In the graveyard Hastur, the tall demon, passed a dogend back to Ligur, the shorter one and more accomplished lurker...
'I have tempted a priest,' he said. 'As he walked down the street and saw the pretty girls in the sun, I put Doubt into his mind. He would have been a saint, but within a decade we shall have him.'
'Nice one,' said Crowley, helpfully.
'I have corrupted a politician,' said Ligur. 'I let him think a tiny bribe would not hurt. Within a year we shall have him.'
They both looked expectantly at Crowley, who gave them a big smile.
'You'll like his,' he said.
His smile became even wider and more conspiratorial.
'I tied up every portable telephone system in Central London for forty-five minutes at lunchtime,' he said.
There was silence, except for the distant swishing of cars.
'Yes?' said Hastur. 'And then what?'
'Look, it wasn't easy,' said Crowley.
'That's all?' said Ligur.
'Look, people -'
'And exactly what has that done to secure souls for our master?' said Hastur.
Crowley pulled himself together.
What could he tell them? That twenty thousand people got bloody furious? That you could hear the arteries clanging shut all across the city? And that then they went back and took it out on their secretaries or traffic wardens or whatever, and they took it out on other people? In all kinds of vindictive little ways which, and here was the good bit, they thought up themselves. For the rest of the day. The knock-on effects were incalculable. Thousands and thousands of souls all got a faint patina of tarnish, and you hardly had to lift a finger.
Good Omens, Pratchett & Gaiman