Inside the white Charger, Brooks Campbell unholstered his revolver. Dr. Johnson was sitting on the car hom- creating one sustained scream.
The Corvette twitched into third. Then up into fourth gear.
Peter took his gun out of his shoulder holster. Semiautomatic Walther. Tough gun.
The low-slung sports car opened up nearly a twoblock lead on the others. It was getting small fast. A white box and flashing taillights-hugging the road-leaving the city like a ground rocket.
Then Brooks Campbell was screaming, pointing at the Corvette, which was suddenly way over on the right.
The Corvette was jetting down a dark country road. Opening up a quarter-mile lead.
Clive Lawson was getting the Uzi ready now. He planted his feet in the soft dirt of the hillside. He stretched his arms, right first, then left.
'We're losing him, goddamn-tit. We're losing him! '
The fat, sweating police chief twirled the steering wheel. The white Charger spun. Turned. Just missed turning over. Peter was thrown across the backseat. Felt his head crack against a side window.
they were accelerating down the dark back road with the Corvette completely out of sight now. Brooks Campbell radioing for reinforcements, armies. Asking where the Tryall Road came out.... Eight forty-four. Damian braced the M-21 against a coconut palm. Watched through his nightscope.
Then all of the surveillance cars braked suddenly for a fork around a huge, spreading kapok tree.
'Left! Hill will go-'
The last part of Brooks Campbell's instruction was drowned out. Peter was screaming at Meral Johnson to step on the gas.
Unbelievably, the Dodge Charger's side front window disintegrated.
A high-powered rifle was exploding over and over in the dark woods. Methodical sniping. A professional marksman.
The Charger's roof ripped apart. Another window blew up. The car's trunk took a blast that would have killed an elephant.
Meral Johnson was screaming for Macdonald to stay down.
Somebody's head slammed against a window and broke right through it.
'On the floor! On the floor!'
The roof was hit again. Another blast hit somewhere in the greenhouse-the window frame area. Gun blasts pounded the car like sledgehammers.
At least twenty explosions came within thirty seconds.
Then all was quiet on the dark back road. A magic silence. Millions of twitting bugs. Tropical birds. The transition back and forth was almost incomprehensible.
The wounded Charger was still rolling. Its tires were making pathetic little clicking noises.
Meral Johnson had his hand down on the floor in the front seat. Flat down on the gritty brake pedal. Finally he stopped the Charger.
Men from 'Green Flag' were running to help. Bouncing sunglasses. Wingtips slapping on macadam.
Harold Hill was running from way down the road. Screaming something. Looking like the father of a drowning child.
'Macdonald!' the black policeman also suddenly screamed. 'Macdonald!'
A low groan came from inside the car.
Peter sat up on the backseat. Started to shake off glass. Gash in his head, he realized. Blood...
shit....
He saw Campbell up in front. Looking at the shattered windshield as if he'd finally solved the whole goddamn awful thing.
Except that the Great Western Air Transport man was too dead to solve things anymore.
A revolutionary American-made bullet had pierced one side of the handsome face, tumbled over once, tried to tumble over again-exploded brain matter all over the walls and roof of the man's skull. Like a bulldozer gouging out a small living room. And then Peter wasn't looking at Campbell anymore. He was running. For the first time since April 25-Turtle Bay-he was moving like a certifiable madman, holding the Walther semiautomatic like a baton in a relay race.
He'd seen the tall blond man up in the woods.
Damian scrutinized Harold Hill and the black police chief in the steaming headlights of the unmarked police cars.
Then Rose retreated farther back into the thick brush and brambles. Back closer to the boat. Escape. Carrie.
Just one more scenario now.
As he pushed his way through dark tree shapes and hanging moss, Peter heard shrieking birds and bugs all around him. The moon seemed to be racing through the shiny leaf ceiling over his head.
