FRIDAY 11:45 P.M.

Georgia dropped Jerry and me off behind a seven foot snow drift between a shipping canal and a factory, two blocks from the old steel plant. There were no footprints in the snow. With her driving, Duncan would be free to monitor the police frequencies and the Internet. They left. She’d be able to pick us up if an emergency exit became necessary.

We plodded through the snow drifts in our heavy boots, keeping to the darkest shadows. Little of the local light drifted behind these long-abandoned buildings.

We came to the alley between the two factories.

Jerry muttered, “Why aren’t there more lights?”

I said, “It’s a secret black ops site. If you light it up, how secret can it be?”

“We sure they’re in there?”

“I have one spy saying one of the gay geeks is in there confirmed by Vincek who said one of their guys was in a black ops site except both indicated the wrong one.” I pointed a glove at the building. “One, some or all of who we are looking for could be in there. Or nobody. Or half the damn planet.”

We hunkered down between two dumpsters. Their bulk cut the wind. They stunk as if they hadn’t been emptied since the steel plants closed in the seventies. The storm might not be able to take away the odor of rotting garbage left far too long, but at least there were no rats scrabbling around. If they had any sense, they’d be huddled in warm burrows. I wouldn’t mind a bit of burrow warmth at the moment.

We gazed at the two dark green vans. The ones we’d noted earlier had been blue with police in them.

“Why are they sitting under the only streetlight for miles?”

Jerry said, “They’re stupid? They need the light to read a map?”

Every door of both vans burst open.

I took off my glove and whisked out my gun. Jerry did the same.

But the masked figures swarmed toward the back of the factory. They weren’t after us.

In moments, rappelling hooks swung up to second floor windows. In seconds men scrambled up them.

We watched in awe. I wondered. “It’s a suicide mission?”

We saw a SWAT truck turn down the alley toward us. They passed our position and sluiced to a halt. The front of their truck, accidentally or deliberately, managed to bash into the front of the two vans at the same time.

We saw the two other SWAT trucks and then a million police cars. Sirens blared. The building lit up like being in the middle of fireworks on the Fourth of July.

A blast of shots rang out. The second van burst into flames and seconds later exploded. We could feel the concussion. Part of the wall of the old steel mill collapsed. More sirens blasted their cacophony into the night.

Jerry said, “The guys attacking the black ops building had bombs with them.”

Bad guys lay scattered on the ground. More cops rushed forward.

I heard a distant roaring. I swung my head around. From the third direction came seven snowmobiles bobbing up and down on the slag heaps as they closed in. I saw flashes from the drivers. They were firing as they neared us.

It was a mass of confusion of flames and blowing smoke and snow. The area around us was quiet. From our vantage we could see two sides of the building. Both were under heavy attack, and we could see flashes and hear gunfire from the sides of the factory we couldn’t see.

And while no one was directly shooting at us, I didn’t want to risk discovery and a subsequent direct attack.

A guy not in a SWAT outfit crawled toward us. He looked back over his shoulder. He struggled to his feet. His mask was off and his face was a mass of pulp. He stumbled toward us.

We leapt out and grabbed him.

I wanted to question him before the police did.

I said, “Take this guy to Georgia. Get her to wait as close as she can. Secure this guy. Make sure his injuries aren’t life threatening. We need to question him. I’m going inside.”

I figured all the alarms were already ringing, so getting inside the building wouldn’t set off any more. Everybody would be out with the attackers. Unless they had a commander who was smart enough to wait to see if this was a diversion and another attack was coming. I didn’t know if the snowmobile guys were part of the second wave or if the van, snowmobile, and a third wave were part of different or one faction. But the police seemed to have all the streets blocked off. Unless one of the sets of bad guys had a tank. This didn’t strike me as plausible. You can’t get one of those onto a plane with your regular luggage or carry-on.

Jerry would take our prisoner back out the way we’d come, along the path next to the canal, which wasn’t wide enough for a vehicle beyond the size of a motorcycle. Nothing vehicular was going to get through those drifts any time before March.

We stood. Our well-trussed captive staggered and struggled. Jerry held him firmly then urged him forward. The guy collapsed on one leg. Jerry picked him up. Behind the cover of the dumpsters, he carried the guy back the way we’d come.

I moved far to the left so I could see around the south side of the building.

I saw groups of men racing toward the next corner of the building. That’s where the snowmobilers were concentrating their attack, and where all the nearest defenders were rushing to repel them.

I looked up. High above a covered walkway ran between the two large buildings. In minutes, the side I was on was devoid of humans. Before leaving the last shadow, I looked at the police activity. Now there were fire trucks and ambulances adding their din and strobes to the chaos. In the distance, I saw a van from a television station pull up.

I eased around the corner.