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'Well done,' Hawkins said.

Swain wasn't impressed. 'If they can't open it, they'll soon break it down. We have to get out of this room.'

The hoods kept pounding on the door.

Swain turned around -- searching for another way out -- when suddenly he saw Holly standing over by one of the windows. She was bent over the window sill as if she were injured.

'Holly? You all right?' He hurried over to her.

'Yes...' Distracted.

The pounding continued. The hoods' snarling and hissing filled the room.

'What are you doing?' he said quickly.

'Playing with the electricity.'

Swain stole a glance back at the door as he came up beside her and looked over her shoulder. Holly was holding the broken telephone receiver two inches away from the window sill. As she moved it closer, the small forks of blue lightning seemed to pull away from it in a wide circle -- away from the phone.

Swain had forgotten Holly still had the phone receiver at all. He frowned at what he saw, though. He didn't know why the electricity should move away from the phone receiver. After all, the phone was dead...

The pounding and the grunting of the hoods continued.

The door still held.

'Can I have that?' Swain said quickly. Holly gave him the phone as he looked back at the door.

Then, abruptly, the pounding and the snarling stopped.

Silence.

And then Swain heard the hoods scamper out of the photocopying room.

'What's going on?' Hawkins said.

'I don't know.' Swain moved to look out through the gap in the door.

'Are they coming back?' Selexin said.

'I can't see them,' Swain said. 'Why did they leave?'

Peering out through the gap in the door, Swain saw the outer door to the photocopying room swinging wide open, left ajar by the hoods. Beyond that, quite a way away and shrouded in darkness, the doors to the elevators.

And then he saw the reason why the hoods had left so abruptly.

With a soft ping the doors to the far elevator slowly began to open.

----ooo0ooo------

Slow night, Bob Charlton thought wryly as he stepped into the bustling offices of the New York Police Department's 14th Precinct.

He had been here a few times before, but this time the main foyer was much less crowded -- there were only about eighty people here tonight. He stepped up to the reception desk and shouted above the din: 'Bob Charlton to see Captain Dickson, please!'

'Mr Charlton? Henry Dickson,' Dickson said, extending his hand as Charlton entered the relative silence of his office. 'Neil Peters said you'd be coming down. What can I do for you?'

'I've got a problem downtown that I was told you could help me with.'

'Yeah

Charlton said, 'Sometime in the last twenty-four hours we lost a main in one of the south-central grids. Lieutenant Peters said that you picked up a guy in that area earlier today.'

'Where's your grid?' Dickson asked.

'It's bounded by 14th and Delancey on the north-south axis.'

Dickson looked at a map on the wall next to him.

'Yeah, that's right. We did pick up a fella in that area. Just this morning,' Dickson said. 'But I don't think he'll be much use to you. We picked him up in the old State Library.'

'What was he doing there?'

'Small-time computer thief. Apparently they've just put in a new set of Pentiums down there. But this poor bastard must have stumbled onto something bigger.'

'Something bigger?' Charlton asked.

'We found him covered in blood.'

Charlton blinked.

'Only it wasn't his blood. It was a security guard's.'

'Oh my God.'

'Damn right.'

Charlton leaned forward, serious. 'How did he get inside? Inside the library, I mean.'

'Don't know yet. I've got a couple of babysitters down there now. As you can see, we're pretty busy round here. Site squad'll be going in there tomorrow to determine point of entry.'

Charlton asked, 'This thief, is he still here?'

'Yeah. Got him locked up downstairs.'

'Can I talk to him?'

Dickson shrugged. 'Sure. But I wouldn't get your hopes up. He's been talking gibberish ever since we brought him in.'

'That's okay, I'd like to try anyway. Some of those old buildings have booster valves in funny places. I'm thinking he might have busted something on his way in. That okay with you?'

'Sure.'

Both men stood up and walked toward the door. Dickson stopped.

'Oh, a word of warning, Mr Charlton,' he said. 'Try to hold your stomach, this ain't gonna be pretty.'

Charlton winced as he looked again at the black man in the small cell in front of him.

Quite obviously, they hadn't been able to get all the blood off his face. Perhaps those designated to wash him had retched, too, Charlton thought. Whatever the case, they hadn't finished the job. Mike Fraser still had large vertical streaks of dried blood running down the length of his face, like some bizarre kind of warpaint.

Fraser just sat there on the far side of the cell, staring at the concrete wall, talking rapidly to himself, making darting gestures at some invisible friend.

'That's him,' Dickson said.

'Jesus,' Charlton breathed.

'Hasn't stopped talking to that wall since we put him in here. Blood on his face has dried, too. He'll have to get it off himself later, when he's got sense enough to use a shower.'

'You said his name was Fraser...' Charlton said.

'Yep. Michael Thomas Fraser.'

Charlton stepped forward.

'Michael?' he said gently.

No response. Fraser kept talking to the wall.

'Michael? Can you hear me?'

No response.

Charlton turned his back on the cell to face Dickson. 'You never found out how he got into the library, is that right?'

'Like I said, site squad goes in tomorrow.'

'Right...'

Dickson said, 'You won't get anything out of him. He hasn't said a word to anyone all day. Probably can't even