Colorado.
Outside the temperature was below freezing; inside the patrol car itwas a comfortable sixty-eight degrees. Kelly had cleared the galleyand taken her place on the jump seat between the two troopers. Withall three of them in the cab, Ben cut from the intercom to commercialbroadcast to catch the early morning newscasts and some pleasantmusic. The patrol vehicle glided along at a leisurely sixty miles anhour. An hour out of St. Louis, a big liquid cargo carrier was stoppedon the inner edge of the green lane against the divider to the policelane. The trucker had dropped both warning barriers and lights a halfmile back. Ben brought Beulah to a halt across the divider from thestopped carrier. "Dropped a track pin," the driver called out to theofficers.
Ben backed Beulah across the divider behind the stalled carrier togive them protection while they tried to assist the stalled vehicle.
Donning work helmets to maintain contact with the patrol car, and itsremote radio system, the two troopers dismounted and went to see whatneeded fixing. Kelly drifted back to the dispensary and stretched outon one of the hospital bunks and picked up a new novel.
Beulah's well-equipped machine shop stock room produced a matchingpin and it was merely a matter of lifting the stalled carrier anddriving it into place in the track assembly. Ben brought the patrolcar alongside the carrier and unshipped the crane. Twenty minuteslater, Clay and the carrier driver had the new part installed and thetanker was on his way once again.
Clay climbed into the cab and surveyed his grease-stained uniformcoveralls and filthy hands. "Your nose is smudged, too, dearie,"Martin observed.
Clay grinned, "I'm going to shower and change clothes. Try and see ifyou can drive this thing until I get back without increasing thepedestrian fatality rate." He ducked back into the crew cubby andstripped his coveralls.
Bored with her book, Kelly wandered back to the cab and took Clay'svacant control seat. The snow had started falling again and in themid-morning light it tended to soften the harsh, utilitarian landscapeof the broad thruway stretching ahead to infinity and spreading out ina mile of speeding traffic on either hand.
"Attention all cars on NAT 26-West and east," Washington CriminalControl radio blared. "Special attention Cars 56 and 82. Suspectvehicle, white over green Travelaire reported re-entered NAT 26-Weston St. Louis interchange 179. St. Louis Control reports communicationsdifficulty in delayed report. Vehicle now believed...."
"Car 56, Car 56," St. Louis Control broke in. "Our pigeon is in yourzone. Commercial carrier reports near miss sideswipe three minutes agoin blue lane approximately three miles west of mile Marker 957.
"Repeating. Car 56, suspect car...."
Ben glanced at the radiodometer. It read 969, then clicked to 970.
"This is Five Six, St. Louis," he broke in, "acknowledged. Ourposition is mile marker 970...."
Kelly had been glued to the video monitors since the first of thebulletin. Suddenly she screamed and banged Ben on the shoulder. "Therethey are. There they are," she cried, pointing at the blue lanemonitor.
Martin took one look at the white-topped car cutting through trafficin the blue lane and slammed Beulah into high. The safety cocoonsslammed shut almost on the first notes of the bull horn. Trapped inthe shower, Clay was locked into the stall dripping wet as the waterautomatically shut off with the movement of the cocoon.
* * * * *
"I have them in sight," Ben reported, as the patrol car lifted on itsair pad and leaped forward. "They're in the blue five miles ahead ofme and cutting over to the yellow. I estimate their speed at twotwenty-five. I am in pursuit."
Traffic gave way as Car 56 hurtled the divider into the blue.
The radio continued to snap orders.
"Cars 112, 206, 76 and 93 establish roadblocks at mile markercrossover 1032. Car 82 divert all blue and yellow to green andwhite."
Eight Two was one hundred fifty miles ahead but atthree-hundred-mile-an-hour speeds, 82's team was very much a part ofthe operation. This would clear the two high-speed lanes if thesuspect car hadn't been caught sooner.
"Cars 414, 227 and 290 in NAT-26-East, move into the yellow to coverin case our pigeon decides to fly the median." The controllercontinued to move cars into covering positions in the area on allcrossovers and turnoffs. The sweating dispatcher looked at his lightedmap board and mentally cursed the lack of enough units to cover everyexit. State and local authorities already had been notified in theevent the fugitives left the thruways and tried to escape on a statefreeway.
In Car 56, Ben kept the patrol car roaring down the blue lane throughthe speeding westbound traffic. The standard emergency signal wasdoing a partial job of clearing the path, but at those speeds, driverreaction times weren't always fast enough. Ahead, the fleeing suspectcar brushed against a light sedan, sending it careening and rockingacross the lane. The driver fought for control as it swerved andscreeched on its tilting frame. He brought it to a halt amid a haze ofblue smoke from burning brakes and bent metal. The white over greenTravelaire never slowed, fighting its way out of the blue into theultra-high yellow and lighter traffic. Ben kept Beulah in bulldogpursuit.
The sideswipe ahead had sent other cars veering in panic and a clusterinadvertently bunched up in the path of the roaring patrol car. Like aflock of hawk-frightened chickens, they tried to scatter as they sawand heard the massive police vehicle bearing down on them. But likechickens, they couldn't decide which way to run. It was a matter offive or six seconds before they parted enough to let the patrol carthrough. Ben had no choice but to cut the throttle and punch once onthe retrojets to brake the hurtling patrol car. The momentary drops inspeed unlocked the safety cocoons and in an instant, Clay had leapedfrom the shower stall and sped to the cab. Hearing, rather than seeinghis partner, Martin snapped over his shoulder, "Unrack the rifles.That's the car." Clay reached for the gun rack at the rear of the cab.
Kelly took one look at the young trooper and jumped for the doorway tothe galley. A second later she was back. Without a word, she handedthe nude Ferguson a dangling pair of uniform coveralls. Clay gasped,dropped the rifles and grabbed the coveralls from her hand andclutched them to his figure. His face was beet-red. Still withoutspeaking, Kelly turned and ran back to her dispensary to be ready forthe next acceleration.
Clay was into the coveralls and in his seat almost at the instantMartin whipped the patrol car through the hole in the blue traffic andshoved her into high once more.
There was no question about the fact that the occupants of thefugitive car knew they were being pursued. They shot through thecrossover into the yellow lane and now were hurtling down the thruwayclose to the four-hundred-mile-an-hour mark.
Martin had Beulah riding just under three hundred to make thecrossover, still ten miles behind the suspect car and following onvideo monitor. The air still crackled with commands as St. Louis andWashington Control maneuvered other cars into position as the pursuitwent westward past other units blocking exit routes.
Clay read aloud the radiodometer numerals as they clicked off a mileevery nine seconds. Car 56 roared into the yellow and the instant Benhad it straightened out, he slammed all finger throttles to fullpower. Beulah snapped forward and even at three hundred miles an hour,the sudden acceleration pasted the car's crew against the back oftheir cushioned seats. The patrol car shot forward at more than fivehundred miles an hour.
The image of the Travelaire grew on the video monitor and then the twotroopers had it in actual sight, a white, racing dot on the broadavenue of the thruway six miles ahead.
Clay triggered the controls for the forward bow cannon and a panel boxflashed to "ready fire" signal.
"Negative," Martin ordered. "We're coming up on the roadblock. Youmight miss and hit one of our cars."
"Car 56 to Control," the senior trooper called. "Watch out at theroadblock. He's doing at least five hundred in the yellow and he'llnever be able to stop."
Two hundred miles east, the St. Louis controller made a snap decision."Abandon roadblock. Road
block cars start west. Maintain two hundreduntil subject comes into monitor view. Car 56, continue speedestimates of subject car. Maybe we can box him in."
At the roadblock forty-five miles ahead of the speeding fugitives andtheir relentless pursuer, the four patrol cars pivoted and spread outacross the roadway some five hundred feet apart. They lunged forwardand lifted up to air-cushion jet drive at just over two hundred milesan hour. Eight pairs of eyes were fixed on video monitors set for theten-mile block to the rear of the four vehicles.
Beulah's indicated ground speed now edged towards the five hundredfifty mark, close to the maximum speeds the vehicles could attain.
The gap continued to close, but more slowly. "He's firing hotter," Bencalled out. "Estimating five thirty on subject vehicle."
Now Car 56 was about three