Book of Souls

There they were! A row of them, L.A. County Municipal Codes for the 1980s. Getting there, he thought, getting there.

He pivoted 180 degrees to inspect the first case in the next row, and his heart began to race with excitement. The entire case was filled with the tan books. They weren’t in order, but his eye flitted over volumes covering all decades.

The 1947 volume had to be there. Somewhere.

He touched each spine and said the year out loud. He got to the bottom shelf. There, bent over, he touched it and quickly pulled it out-1947.

He sat down on the warehouse floor with the book on his lap and opened it wide, bowing the spine wide and tapping the heavy volume against the floor. The gun in his waistband bit into his leg, but he ignored the discomfort. There was a small, pleasant clatter as the plastic memory stick fell out onto the concrete. He closed his eyes and said a silent thanks.

When he got up, he saw that he was opposite the plant manager’s office again and instinctively he glanced at the TV monitor.

He froze.

There was movement on the screen.

Two men. No three. Weapons in their hands.

Watchers.

He pocketed the memory stick, drew out his Glock, and flicked the safety. There were seventeen in the mag and one in the chamber. That was it, no spares. Eighteen rounds wouldn’t last long in a firefight. There had to be a better way.

They’d have all the exits covered. At least he had a small edge on them. He could see

them. Was there a way onto the roof? The warehouse was probably on a slab, but if there was a sublevel, he’d better find out.

He ran around the building, looking for escape routes, figuring the angles, returning to the office with each circuit to check on the lobby crew.

There weren’t any attractive options. He thought quickly and steeled himself for violence. He was BTH, but for all he knew, the next time Nancy saw him, he’d look like Shackleton. Fear left a coppery taste in his mouth.

DeCorso heard Frazier in his earpiece demanding a status report. He started to whisper back, “It’s quiet, no signs of…” when all hell broke loose.

The office lights went blazing on and an ear-piercing siren started blaring, almost too loud to stand without clamping hands over ears.

“The fire alarm!” DeCorso shouted, loud enough for Frazier to hear above the din.

“It’s got to be central-alarmed!” Frazier screamed back. “The fire department’ll be here any minute! Go in now! Take him! My team-maintain your positions at the exits.”

“I copy!” DeCorso shouted. “We’re going in!”

DeCorso ordered his man to unlock the door, and the three of them flew into the warehouse and immediately spread out.

They almost stopped dead at the sight before them.

The entire row of robots was dancing in a conga line of animation. Robot arms were turning pages. Flashes of blinding light illuminated pages. Digitized images of text appeared on computer displays.

DeCorso saw something. Through the scanning box of one of the middle robots he thought he picked up a glimpse of black steel. He shouted over the pulsating blare of the fire alarms, “Gun!” and raised his own to fire.

Will was in firing position behind a robot. He squeezed off two shots and placed both of them in the center of DeCorso’s chest. The man blinked once, fell straight to his knees, then pitched forward hard. The two other watchers were very good, probably ex-special ops guys, and in the next few seconds, Will was conscious of their coolness under fire.

Neither was distracted by their team leader going down. The man on Will’s left dove behind a metal cart and began spraying fire at all the middle robots. It was clear he didn’t know exactly where Will was. Paper shredded, glass shattered, but the robot arms kept looking for pages to turn.

Will concentrated on the man to his right, who was in a low crouch, searching for a target, more exposed. He aimed for central mass and let loose a three-shot volley. The man grunted and slumped, blood spreading from under his jacket.

Will’s muzzle flash was an unavoidable beacon, and the third man fired into his robot. Will ducked behind the machine and felt a searing pain in his inner left thigh, as if someone had laid a red-hot branding iron across his flesh. His pant leg quickly soaked with blood. He couldn’t deal with it now. If his femoral artery were hit, it was over. He’d know soon enough. Things would go gray, then black.

The robots were closely enough spaced to form almost a solid wall. Will dragged himself to his left until he was behind the farthest one. He no longer knew where the last watcher was positioned. His leg was bleeding heavily, but his senses were all operating. If it were arterial, he’d be struggling by now.

Then the last watcher mistakenly obeyed an order.

Frazier was shouting into his earpiece like a lunatic. “What’s your status! Give me your goddamn status! Now!”

The man shouted back. “Two men down! Under fire! Front of the building!”