A tinny voice came from the earpiece. "Here, Malone."

"Have you got them located yet?" Malone said.

"Not yet," Lynch's voice replied. "We're working on a triangulation now.
Just hold on for a minute or so. I'll let you know as soon as we've got
results."

The police squads--Lynch and his men, the warehouse precinct men and the
Safe and Loft Squad--had set up a careful cordon around the area, and
were now hard at work trying to determine two things.

First, they had to know whether there was anybody in the building at
all.

Second, they had to be able to locate anyone in the building with
precision.

The silence of the downtown warehouse district helped. They had several
specially designed, highly sensitive directional microphones aimed at
the building from carefully selected spots around the area, trying to
pick up the muffled sounds of speech or motion within the warehouse. The
watchmen in buildings nearby had been warned off for the time being so
that their footsteps wouldn't occlude any results.

Malone waited, feeling nervous and cold. Finally Lynch's voice came
through again. "We're getting something, all right," he said. "There are
obviously several people in there. You were right, Malone."

* * * * *

"Thanks," Malone said. "How about that fix?"

"Hold it a second," Lynch said. Wind swept off the river at Malone and
Boyd. Malone closed his eyes and shivered. He could smell fish and
iodine and waste, the odor of the Hudson as it passes the city. Across
the river lights sparkled warmly. Here there was nothing but darkness.

A long time passed, perhaps ten seconds.

Then Lynch's voice was back: "Sergeant McNulty says they're on the top
floor, Malone," he said. "Can't tell how many for sure. But they're
talking and moving around."

"It's a shame these things won't pick up the actual words at a
distance," Malone said.

"Just a general feeling of noise is all we get," Lynch said. "But it
does some good."

"Sure," Malone said. "Now listen carefully: Boyd and I are going in.
Alone."

Lynch's voice whispered: "Right."

"If those mikes pick up any unusual ruckus--any sharp increase in the
noise level--come running," Malone said. "Otherwise, just sit still and
wait for my signal. Got that?"

"Check," Lynch said.

Malone pocketed the radiophone. "O.K., Tom," he whispered. "This is
H-hour--M-minute--and S-second."

"I can spell," Boyd muttered. "Let's move in."

"W