The movements became rapid. Balenger put his hands out. His right one hurt where it had been struck, but at least nothing seemed broken.

"Now press your wrists together," the first voice said.

Balenger knew what was coming. He'd suffered through an ordeal like this before, except that the darkness had come from a sack tied around his head. He still had nightmares about it. He wanted to scream, to fight. But he was powerless. Sweat soaking his clothes, he struggled not to hyperventilate.

Footsteps approached. He strained not to wince, anticipating a blow to his head. Instead, he felt duct tape on his wrists, heard the sticky sound of a strip being pulled off a coll. The tape got tighter and tighter.

"That'll hold you for a while," the second voice said.

The footsteps went away.

"What are you doing?" Cora said in alarm.

"Shut up and keep still, or I'll shove my hand in your pants again."

The only sounds became Cora's harsh breathing and the unpeeling of duct tape.

"Who's next? How about buddy boy with the broken nose?"

The tape made a repeated tearing sound.

"Now you, pal."

Balenger didn't know whether that referred to Vinnie or the professor.

"Hey, this old guy passed out," the second voice said.

From the pain when he fell and his leg hit the floor, Balenger thought. His fury helped distract him from his increasing fear, the terrible suffocating impression that he again had a sack tied around his head.

"Banged up as he is, he can't hurt us," the third voice said.

"Tape his wrists together anyway."

The professor moaned.

"Good," the first voice said. "Now let's have some light."

30

Balenger felt air move against his face. A hand reached for his headlamp. Its sudden beam made him squint. He found himself looking at a large belt buckle. A piece of pipe was tucked under the belt. Must be what he hit my arm with, Balenger thought. Dirty black pants. A grimy denim overcoat.

Except for the professor's, the other headlamps came on. Beams zig-zagged across the balcony, revealing three young men. As Balenger raised his eyes toward the one before him, he heard Cora gasp. Then he saw what made her do so and felt as if an icy needle touched the back of his neck.

The men wore night-vision goggles, making them resemble characters in a science-fiction thriller: bulky binoculars that seemed to grow from their faces. At home in the dark. We like it here. Look, candy bars.

"Surprised?" the first man asked.

Balenger was surprised, but by something else. The first man was tall and muscular, a build that reinforced his cyber appearance. His scalp was shaved. It and his face and the portion of his neck that showed above the overcoat were red, blue, purple, and green with tattoos, a swirl of unrecognizable forms.

"What are you staring at?" the first man asked.

"The goggles," Balenger lied.

"Yeah, clever, huh? I hear ten years ago they cost a fortune and the army kept control of them. Now you can buy them cheap in any military-surplus store."

"You can use them to hunt Bambi or spy on your neighbors," the second man said.

Balenger swung his gaze to his left and saw a slightly less muscular guy in dirty dark clothes taking off goggles. His left cheek was covered by the whorls of a burn scar almost as white as the five-legged albino cat. This young man-around twenty, Balenger estimated- had his scalp shaved, also. But no tattoos.

"All things are revealed," the third man said, removing his goggles. They left red marks around his eyes. Standing between Rick and the professor, he was well built and yet seemed almost skinny compared to his companions. He was also shorter than the others, who seemed to be over six feet. Unlike the others, his scalp showed hair, a close military-style cut. "Let's own the night."

"Kind of cool. Makes everything look green." The first guy's swirling tattoos extended almost to his eyelids. "Reminds me of that song." He started humming "It's Not Easy Being Green."

"Those were the days," the third guy said. "Watching Sesame Street. Not a care in the world."

"When the fuck did you ever watch Sesame Street?"

They're talking so fast, are they high on drugs? Balenger wondered. He fought to control his trembling muscles. Like the last time, he thought. If I let fear get the better of me, I'm done. Passive means I lose.

"Time to get acquainted," the first man announced. "So our new friends here can try to bond with us the way it happens in, what do they call it, the Sweden syndrome. Isn't that what they call it?" he asked Balenger on the floor.

"The Stockholm syndrome," Balenger told him.

The first guy kicked his left leg.

Balenger clutched it, groaning.

"Who the fuck asked you?" the first guy said. "I'm sure they called it the Sweden syndrome in that Kevin Spacey movie we watched the other night."

"The Negotiator," the second guy said.

"Was that the title? All I remember is the hostages kept trying to make pals with their captor. Or maybe it was another movie that had the Sweden syndrome in it. It is the Sweden syndrome, right?"

"Right," Balenger said.

"Sure, it is. So let's get acquainted. My name's Tod. And this is…"

"Mack," said the man with the burn scar on his cheek.

"Call me JD," the younger man said, the one with the military haircut. He looked to be about eighteen.

"And you are…?" Tod asked Balenger.

"Frank."

Tod looked demandingly at the others.

"Vinnie."

"Rick." Rick's broken nose made him sound like he had a terrible head cold.

"What's your name, Sweets?" Mack asked Cora. He rubbed the top of his shaved head as if it gave him erotic pleasure.

"Cora."

"Cute name."

"And the old guy?" JD asked.

"Bob. His name is Bob." Balenger looked with pity at the half-conscious professor, duct tape wrapped around his bare leg, his blood crusting.

"Pleased to meet you. We're so glad you could join our party. Any questions?"

Nobody said anything.

"Come on. I'm sure you've got questions. This is the time. Ask me anything. I don't bite."

Mack and JD snickered.

"Frank," Tod said. "Ask me a question."

"You watched us go down the manhole?"

"Yep. We've been trying to figure how to get into this building. The damned metal doors and shutters won't budge. The walls are so strong, we'd make so much noise chopping through, even people who normally mind their business would notice. The next thing, they'd find any hole we made. They'd break in and steal stuff before we could."

"Or that guy who comes around would notice," JD said. Of the three, his was the only face that didn't give Balenger chills.

"Guy?" Vinnie asked.

"Aha, see, the atmosphere's thawing. We've got another question. Yeah, a guy," Tod said, his tattoos rippling.

"Two different nights he came by," Mack said, taking his gaze from Cora.

"What was he doing?" Balenger asked. Keep them talking, he thought. As long as they're talking, they're not hurting us.

"Just walked around the building. Checked the walls and the possible entrances. We used our goggles to watch from the weeds down the street. He seemed to be making sure everything was buttoned up."

"Maybe he's a security guard."

"In the beach area of Asbury Park?" Mack said. "Don't make me laugh."

"But he wasn't like us," JD said. "This guy had a suit and tie. Overcoat. Straight as can be."

"Then maybe he works for the salvage company," Balenger said.

"That stupid story was true?"

"In a week, this place gets stripped. Then the wrecking ball finishes it off."