Surrounded

smoked-glass goggles out of his hip pocket and put them on, then wiped the dark lenses on the back of one shirt sleeve. Clipped loosely to the hose was a pair of silvery asbestos gloves. He put these on, working his big hands in them until they felt comfortable. Switching on the gas flow, he lighted the torch, threw away the match, and adjusted the intense blue-white flame. Then he turned it on the gate next to the left-hand lock bolt, which was an inch up from the carpeted floor.
        Thousands of molten metal flecks cascaded over the top of the flame and across his gloves, made interesting patterns of red and blue, yellow and white light on his mirrorlike goggles. There was a loud hissing sound like a thousand snakes, and then metal parted before the fire. A section of steel rod clattered out of the gate's pattern, striking rods around it, and bounced noiselessly on the carpet. In a moment Kluger had cut through the grid to the bolt on the inside, and in little more than another minute he had sliced through the lock itself.
        The carpet smoldered, but it was fireproof and did not burst into flame.
        He dragged the tank over to the other side and hunkered down and began to work again, sparks lighting his way once more. The second lock was as easy as the first. Hardly more than five minutes after he had started on the first, he finished the second.
        Turning off the gas flow and instantly killing the bright flame, he stood up and stripped off his fire-spotted gloves, then his goggles, dropped them on the floor, and kicked them out of the way. He shouted over his shoulder at the squad cars: "Four of you! Come here and help me!"
        Muni, Hawbaker, and two veteran bulls-Peterson and Haggard-came up quickly and hooked their hands in the gate and put their backs into it, forcing it up into the ceiling far enough for Kluger to slide underneath. Once he was on the other side, he got a grip on the steel bars and relieved
        Muni, who bellied under the barrier after him. Muni helped hold it up while Haggard came over. In that manner they were shortly all on the inside.
        "Dark as a shithouse in here," Hawbaker said.
        "Relax," Peterson said. "If anyone was going to shoot at us, they'd have done it by now."
        Kluger felt along the wall on his left until he located the warehouse door. Standing to one side, he twisted the knob and threw the door open wide. Light spilled out, but no one opened fire on them. "Hello in there!" the lieutenant called.
        At once, several excited voices responded, each trying to shout louder than the other, none of them making any sense.
        "What the hell?" Peterson said.
        Kluger looked around the corner and saw the workbenches and the jigsaw and the electric-powered fork lifts and the great stacks of boxed and crated merchandise. There was no one in sight. "Two of you come with me," he said.
        Peterson and Hawbaker followed him, the first dutifully and the second resignedly.
        The shouting at the far end of the long room grew even louder, more frantic, and considerably less intelligible. Echoing off the high warehouse walls, it sounded like the raving in a lunatic asylum.
        Moving in between the aisles of stored goods, Kluger said, "Let's go see what we have here."
        What they had here were three hysterical hostages: the two night watchmen and an extremely attractive young woman in her late twenties. They were bound with wire at wrists and ankles, sitting on the floor and propped against the concrete wall. They stopped shouting as soon as they saw the lieutenant.
        "Thank God," the woman said. She had large dark eyes and a velvety complexion. She interested Kluger.
        "Did you get them? Did you nail that little bastard that was in charge?" the largest of the watchmen demanded.
        "No,"' Kluger said. "Do you know where they are?"
        "They didn't get past you, did they?"
        "No."
        "Well," the watchman said, "then they're still here somewhere."
        Hawbaker went forward and started to untie the woman while Peterson dealt with this most vocal of the guards.
        "Don't worry," Kluger said. "We'll get them." He caught a strange look on the young woman's face and turned to her. "You don't think we will?"
        Her hands suddenly freed, she began to massage her numbed fingers and wrists. They were the most delicate fingers and the slenderest wrists that