Gonga gritted his teeth and moaned internally. His knees were killing him. He had sat crouched behind shelf of books up in third floor stacks for almost four hours now. The library was slowly shutting down, but his gray hoodied person was still sitting in the open desk at the end of the row of carrols, bent over a stack of books. But Gonga could tell he wasn’t reading a thing. Oh sure. He turned a page occasionally. Especially when a security officer walked through. And then he scribbled something on his pad of paper. But Gonga was pretty sure it had more to do with timing the officer than the 1875 Journal of Metaphysics lying open on the desk.
It was almost midnight, and Gonga began blinking rapidly, then crunching his toes up in his shoes to make sure he stayed alert. Sitting so still in such a dark nook of the library was almost as bad as sitting in a boring lecture.
The door at the end of the stack opened and Gonga heard the security guard clacking across the cement floor. The beeper sounded as the guard checked into the station and headed out the other side of the stack.
The light snapped off. Gonga listened, quieting his own breathing so he could hear the gray hoodie’s movements. He sat perfectly still for almost two minutes. Then, just as Gonga’s eyes adjusted to the dark, he heard movement. Gonga plastered himself to the floor along the stack. The gray hoodie slipped along the line of carols, stepping inches from Gonga’s head. He paused and fumbled in his pocket. Then Gonga heard the distinct sound of metal slicing through metal. The gray hoodie eased the carol door open and slipped inside.
Gonga lay still.
So did the gray hoodie.
The PA system sounded through the library, announcing that it was closing and that all patrons should exit in the next five minutes.
They sat perfectly still.
Fifteen minutes later the security guard walked through again, flipping on lights and hurriedly striding across the floor to beep in and continue. Gonga hoped she wouldn’t happen to glance down his aisle of books. She didn’t.
Five minutes later and things began to happen very rapidly.
A bright light glared on inside the carrol, the door stood open and the gray hoodie emerged, a specter with a blinding headlamp for an eye. He strode down the aisle just the other side of Gonga and crashed through the door.
Gonga followed as quietly as possible, at first trying to keep his distance, then realizing that he would lose the guy unless he hurried up.
First blazing up to the special collections section of the library. A couple books purposefully selected went into his backpack. Then a quick about face and a pause to examine the piece of paper he clutched in his hand. He darted through to the third floor and carefully deposited a bag on a table. He guffawed.
Gonga thought to check the bag for explosives, but the gray hoodie was already spiraling away downstairs.
Gonga followed on a hurried scuffle down to the ground floor and charging towards the State Historical Society’s domain. The door was locked. The gray hoodie growled something under his breath and reached into his backpack.
It took Gonga a couple seconds to recognize the object that emerged, but as soon as he saw it, he knew he had to act. With a flying tackle he landed half on the hoodie and half on the explosive, striking it so hard that the detonator shattered and flew across the room. He felt a sickening blow at the base of his skull and slumped, his mind reeling away into darkness.
He woke to water trickling down the back of his neck. He groaned and tried to roll over. Who was pouring water on his back?
Murkily he realized that water was pooling on the floor all around him. It was coming from the ceiling. Gonga blinked water out of his eyes as he gazed upwards. The sprinklers?
Sprinklers. Suddenly he realized. There must a fire. Somewhere, and the sprinklers had started.
Great, just great. Think of all the water damage. Ceiling and floor tiles, cushions, desks and books. Books. Historical documents. The State Historical Collection!
But why?
Gonga still couldn’t move, but his mind was racing.
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