"Curry's covering the alley and the fire escape?" Ness asked.

Garner nodded.

"When do we go in?" Moeller asked.

"At four," Ness said.

"How?" the Indian said.

"You're going to walk right in through the receptionist's office; at four, somebody inside is going to unlock that steel door."

"Who's going to do that?" Moeller asked, wincing with confusion.

"Me," Ness said, lifting the metal lid off one of the two massive garbage cans that sat to one side of the freight elevator. The lid was like an ungainly, battered shield; Ness gripped it in his left hand.

The door to the fire escape was nearby; Ness walked to it, looked at Garner significantly, and said, "Four sharp."

Then Ness went out on the black metal stairway; the pleasant, nearly warm day seemed windier up here. He glanced down and waved to Albert Curry, who was standing guard below, by the loading dock. Then he climbed the fire-escape stairs to the seventh floor and moved along the catwalk of the 'scape till he came to the window he was looking for.

He knelt on the gridwork floor, one hand clutching the garbage can lid, fingertips of the other hand caressing the rough surface of the concrete building. He peeked carefully into the room. No drapes or blinds obscured the view; these crooks were bold. Or careless. He would have installed bur-glar-proof wire-mesh glass. But an operation like this had to keep moving, like a floating crap game, and renovations would seem too much bother, too much expense, for a temporary facility. Ness had counted on that.

At least thirty people were at work in the large office; several long, banquet-style tables filled the otherwise empty room, with people sitting on both sides, and everyone-except a few bouncer-like types who were either guards or supervisors or both-was busy on the phone every minute. And, as he'd figured, books of matches and wastebaskets were kept handy. He caught a glimpse of the formidable gray steel door.