27

"Jesus." Cora lurched back from the balcony.

The others followed.

The whistling continued, echoing upward from the darkness. The melody evoked images of dreams and heartbreaks and longing to move on. Right, Balenger thought. What I wouldn't give to move on right now.

"Who?" Rick whispered.

"A security guard?" Vinnie kept his voice low.

"The police?" Cora shut off her headlamp and flashlight.

If only we're that lucky, Balenger thought.

Vinnie and Rick turned off their lights. Cora extinguished the professor's. As the gloom tightened around them, Balenger's headlamp and flashlight were the only illumination.

"Shut your lights off," Rick whispered urgently. "Maybe whoever it is doesn't know we're up here."

But Balenger left them on. At normal volume, his voice was forceful compared to their whispers. "A policeman wouldn't be strolling around, whistling in the dark. And whoever it is definitely knows we're up here. That's the tune you played on the piano."

"Oh." Rick's voice dropped with unease.

"Then who?" the professor asked. His weakness made his voice low.

"All of you change the batteries in your flashlights. Your headlamps will last quite a while, but the flashlights are fading. We need to be ready."

"For what?"

"Just do what I tell you." With the beam from his flashlight narrowing to yellow instead of white, Balenger took fresh batteries from his knapsack, unscrewed the end of his flashlight, and exchanged the old batteries with the new ones. The light blazed again.

He moved to toss the old batteries into a corner.

"No." The professor's voice was feeble. "We don't leave our trash."

With a sigh of impatience, Balenger shoved the old batteries into his knapsack.

The whistling drifted to a stop. Now the only sound was the shriek of the wind through the gaps in the skylight and the distant clang clang clang of the flapping sheet metal.

Whoever's down there knows we're here and took pains to tell us, Balenger thought. It'll look strange if we don't react. Time to find out what we're dealing with.

"Hey!" he yelled down.

The echo of his voice dwindled into silence.

"We work for Jersey City Salvage, the company that's stripping this place next week!" Balenger shouted. "A security guard's with us! We've got every right to be here, which is more than I can say for you! We'll give you a chance to leave before we call the police!"

Again, the echo dwindled into silence.

"Okay, you made your choice!"

A man's voice yelled from below, "Working at night?"

"We work when the boss says! Day or night! Doesn't make a difference! It's pretty much always dark in here anyhow!"

"Must be nice to get the overtime!"

Only one voice. Balenger felt encouraged. "Look, I'm not interested in a conversation! I'm telling you to leave! This place isn't safe!"

"Yeah, what happened to the staircase sure proves that! Leave? Naw, we like it here! You might say we're at home in the dark!"

We? Balenger thought.

"You bet," a second voice said. "We love it."

"And what was all that screaming a minute ago?" the first voice shouted. "Sounded like somebody got a Halloween screw."

Balenger stared down toward the darkness. He heard footsteps scraping, but he didn't see any lights.

He spun toward the group. "Cora, call 911."

"He's right, Professor," Vinnie said, helping to hold Conklin up.

"I don't care if anybody's life gets ruined because of the police," Balenger said. "At this point, I just want to make sure you get to have a life."

"You really think-?" Rick started to ask.

"Cora," Balenger repeated, "make the call."

She already had her phone out and was pressing numbers. Surrounded by shadows, the group watched her.

"A recording." Cora frowned. "A damned recording.

"What?" Balenger took the phone.

"Hey," the first voice yelled from below, "if you're trying to phone 911, you're in for a big surprise!"

Balenger pressed the phone against his ear. A recording said, "Due to an unusual amount of calls, all our emergency dispatchers are busy. Please wait and the next available person will speak with you."

"I guess you don't live around here!" the voice shouted. "Otherwise, you'd know! It was on TV! The local 911 got a new telephone system! It's all messed up! Nobody can get through! Won't be fixed till Monday! Maybe later!"

The message repeated itself. "Due to an unusual amount of calls …"

"Now the regular police line's jammed all the time!" the second voice yelled. "Takes thirty minutes to get an answer!"

"Progress!" another voice added. "Everything's new and fancy and so damned complicated, I can't figure how anything works!"

Three of them? Balenger thought.

"When it does work!" the second voice said. "Back when this old place was in business, they knew how to make things dependable!"

"Built to last!" the first voice said. "Hey, why don't you tell us more about those gold knives and forks we heard you talking about?"

Balenger gave the phone back to Cora. "Everybody, pack your stuff. The Leatherman. The duct tape. The rope. The hammer. The Pro Med kit. We might need all of it." He folded his knife and clipped it inside a pocket. "Got everything? Let's go."

"Where?" The professor wavered in pain, supported between Vinnie and Rick.

"The only place we can go. Down. One thing's sure, we can't stay put. Passive is dangerous. Passive means we lose."

28

Balenger led the way. He returned to the corridor and paused at the FIRE EXIT door he'd opened, scanning his lights down a narrow, cobwebbed stairway. As everybody joined him, he tugged down the zipper on his Windbreaker, reached inside, and pulled out the pistol.

"Oh, Christ, a gun," Cora said.

Rick stared at him with deep hostility. "Who are you?"

"Your guardian angel," Balenger said. "Now keep quiet. Walk as softly as you can. Don't let them know where you are. For now, the only lights we need are mine."

"Hey!" the first voice yelled from below. "I asked you to tell us more about those gold knives and forks."

Balenger eased down the narrow stairs. He tested each board, fearful that the steps would collapse. Cora came next, then Vinnie and Rick edging down sideways, supporting the professor. Their shoes thumped. Their jackets scraped against the walls. The combined sound of everyone's breathing was amplified in the stairwell.

Balenger reached a closed door at a landing, presumably the entrance to the fifth level. Was anyone hiding behind it? Would someone step out after they passed? Feeling dizzy, as if he dropped from a great height, he shut off his flashlight and holstered it. Then he took off his hard hat and held it away from him at head level. With the light angled toward the door, he stepped back, pressed himself against the wall, tucked the gun under his belt, and used his free hand to open the door a crack. Then he drew the gun and used its barrel to nudge the door the rest of the way open. All anybody would see was the light. Someone on the other side would attack it, thinking it was above his head when actually it was away from him.

Nothing happened.

Balenger's palms were moist. His stomach felt hot. He peered beyond the door, seeing a deserted hallway. Nothing appeared wrong or out of place. With a nod of momentary relief, he put on his hard hat, then followed the downward continuation of the stairs. They seemed darker and narrower, more smothering.

Behind him, the professor groaned, his good leg barely holding his weight as Vinnie and Rick eased him down the steps. Too loud, Balenger thought. He's making too much noise.