He led her toward a more nearly completed building, showing rectangles of light. They looked through the windows to see several men in uniforms bending over blueprints on a desk jury-rigged of sawhorses and planks.
"Sam," Nancy said, "one of those men is Terry Elston. He's a Waraxe boy. I went to school with him. He'll know me. Let's go in…."
"No," Collins said. "We don't go in."
"But—" Nancy started to protest, but stopped. "Wait. He's coming out."
Collins slid along the wall and stood behind the door. "Tell him who you are when he comes out. I'll stay here."
They waited. After a few seconds, the door opened.
Nancy stepped into the rectangle of light thrown on the concrete from the window.
"Terry," she said. "Terry, it's me—Nancy Comstock."
The blue-jawed young man in uniform frowned. "Who did you say you were? Have you got clearance from this area?"
"It's me, Terry. Nancy. Nancy Comstock."