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had
blown out, looking like black gaps punched in the face of the structure. The
warehouse was flanked by tiny, ancient row homes, narrow and pinned up against
each other. Many were in disrepair on this side of town, and all were old
enough that the wood would go up like a dry Christmas tree under a match.
    Pearce set himself up with the radio and started leading the
men who were risking their lives. The hoses were hooked up to hydrants and
directed at the open windows and the left side of the roof, which was entirely
gone. One of the engineers set up with the laptop, a blueprint of the warehouse
brought up from the city’s files on the screen.
    Shoving a finger at the computer, Pearce indicated where he
believed the barrels of oil would be stored—a small area just off a loading
dock. The goods could be loaded onto trucks from there. He was unsure what sort
of cargo was stored in this structure, but it didn’t surprise him that flammable
substances would be onsite.
    Pearce pressed a button and spoke into Morelli’s earpiece.
“If you can get through that door, the barrels will be in there. Left, left,
right.”
    “Gotcha.”
    Before Pearce could continue the communication he suddenly
needed as though it were air, he switched to another team and guided them.
Another engine from Firehouse 17 screamed onto the scene and men piled out,
grabbing hoses and tanks and extending a ladder toward the part of the roof
that wasn’t yet burning so men could hover over it and fire the water cannon
into the depths of the structure.
    Pearce scanned the area wildly, never taking his gaze from
his crew and looking for any indication that an explosion would occur. As
always when he was on a call like this, he found that quiet head space where he
could detach himself and just perform.
    Ellie was a distant thought, the roar of the flames
vanished, and he found himself communing only with the evil root of the fire
and the men he led.
    In this case, Morelli.
    Mitch’s voice came back to him. “Found it, Chief. And I’d
say we’re fucked.”
    “Fucked?” Adrenaline surged to his fingertips.
    “There’s more than oil here, Chief. It’s red phosphorus and
ethyl alcohol.”
    “Holy fuck. A meth lab?”
    “I’d say. Aren’t many uses for either chemical unless you’re
manufacturing something with those components.”
    “Goddammit!” He got on the radio and released a stream of
information to the main center, which would broadcast it to the other
departments.
    “Chief?” Morelli’s voice rumbled into Pearce’s ear.
    “Yeah?” He zeroed in on the place where Morelli was
positioned, though he couldn’t see the firefighter. A slight wave of panic
assaulted him.
    “We’re gonna be in a world of trouble when that water
touches the lithium.”
    Pearce switched over and bellowed. “Stop that water feed
into the roof! Stop it right the fuck now!”
    The chief from Firehouse 17 sprinted across the street.
“What’s going on?”
    Pearce met him halfway and in rapid-fire speech related what
they’d found. The other chief whirled around and took off across the ground.
Seconds later the water flooding in through the roof was cut off.
    “Mitch, what are you thinking? Talk to me about your plan,
man.” Mitch had been trained for months to deal with shit like this. Pearce’s
scope of comprehension was nowhere near that of Mitch’s.
    “Well, I want to live to see your face later today, Chief,
so I think we’d better compartmentalize and keep the flames and water far away
from the chemicals I’ve got here. In the meantime, I need two men dressed in
hazmat to come out and help me carry it outta here.”
    Pearce bit into his lip, battling his need to yell. Dammit,
he didn’t want any of his men laying their hands on that shit. The red
phosphorous would blow once it reached a certain temperature, which was highly
likely in this unstable environment. A sudden image of Mitch in a decompression
chamber, his face scorched, jumped into