The sound of sirens echoed up the valley from the direction of town and drew closer.
One agent pushed away the desk protecting Hala in the fireplace and led her on hands and knees to a low window.
'The local sheriff's deputies are arriving,' he said quickly. 'As soon as they draw off the terrorist fire, we'll make a run for it before we're barbecued to death.'
Hala could only nod. She could hardly hear him. Her eardrums hurt from the roar of the grenades. Her eyes were filled with tears, and she pressed a handkerchief tightly against her nose and mouth to filter out the thickening blanket of smoke.
Outside, Ismail lay prone, clutching his H & K automatic, torn by indecision. The lodge had swiftly become a blazing inferno, smoke and flame were rolling through the windows. Anyone still living had to escape in the next few seconds or die.
But Ismail could not wait it out. Already he could see red and blue lights flashing through the trees as a sheriff's car sped up the highway.
Of his original team of twelve men, seven were left, including himself.
any wounded were to be killed rather than left behind to be interrogated by American intelligence officials. He shouted a comnand to his men and they pulled away from the lodge and hurried off toward the entrance road.
The first deputies to arrive slid to a stop and blocked the road to the lodge. While one reported on the radio, his partner cautiously eased open his door and studied the van and burning lodge, holding his drawn revolver. They were only to observe, report and wait for backup.
It was a sound tactic when facing armed and dangerous criminals.
Unfortunately, it didn't work with a small army of unseen terrorists who suddenly opened fire with a storm of bullets that shredded the patrol car and killed the two deputies before they had a chance to react.
At a signal from one of the agents peering around the window, Hala was lifted and brusquely flung out onto the ground. The Secret Service men followed and quickly took her by the arms and began running, stumbling through the snow on an angle toward the highway.
They had covered only paces when one of Ismail's men spotted them and shouted the alarm. Shots struck the trees and branches fell around the fleeing survivors. One of the agents suddenly threw up his hands, clawing at the sky, stumbled forward a few steps and then fell face downward in the snow.
'They're trying to cut us off from the highway!' the other agent snapped. 'You try to make it. I'll make a stand and delay them.'
Hala started to say something, but the agent spun her around and gave her a not-too-gentle shove that sent her on her way.
'Run, dammit, run!' he yelled.
But he could see it was already too late. any hope of escape was dealt a death blow. They had taken the wrong angle away from the burning lodge and were headed on a direct line toward two Mercedes-Benz sedans parked in woods beside the road. In dazed defeat he realized the cars belonged to the terrorists. He had no alternative. If he couldn't stop them, he would at least slow them down long enough for Hala to hail a passing car. In a suicide gamble, the agent ran at the Arabs, finger locked on the trigger of his Uzi, shouting every obscenity he'd ever learned.
Ismail and his men were momentarily stunned into immobility by what they saw as a charging demon. for two incredulous seconds they hesitated, then recovered and let loose a long burst at the courageous Secret Service agent, cutting him down in mid-stride.
But not before he took out four of them.
Hala saw the cars too. She also saw the terrorists rushing for them.
Behind her she heard the thunderous fusillade of shots. Choking and gasping for breath, her clothes and hair singed, she staggered into a small ditch and up the other side before sprawling on a hard surface.
She raised her head slightly and found herself staring at black asphalt.
She pushed herself to her feet and began running, knowing she was only delaying the inevitable, knowing with dread certainty she would be lying dead in the next few minutes.
The Cord rolled majestically along the highway from Breckenridge, the morning sun gleaming on the bright chrome and new paint. Skiers wailing to the lifts waved as the elegant sixty-year-old classic swept past.
Giordino dozed in the enclosed rear seat while Lily sat up front in the open with Pitt.
Pitt had awakened in a stubborn mood that morning. He saw no reason to ski on rental skis when his own American made Olin 921s were in a closet only three miles up the road from the hotel. Besides, he reasoned, he could drive to the family lodge, pick up his gear and be sitting on a chair lift in half the time it took waiting his Turn to be fitted in a rental shop.
Pitt shrugged off his father's unexplained warning to stay clear of the lodge. He simply wrote it off as bureaucratic overplay. The Senator would have made the same impression on Hulk Hogan by telling the wrestler to Turn the other cheek after an opponent had kicked him in the groin.
'Who's shooting off fireworks so early in the morning?' Lily wondered aloud.
'Not fireworks,' Pitt said, tuning in the sharp crack of gunfire and the explosive thump from grenades echoing off the mountainsides of the valley. 'Sounds like an infantry firefight.'
'It's coming from the woods up ahead!' Lily pointed'to the right of the road.'
The smile wrinkles around Pitts eyes tightened. He increased the Cord's speed and rapped on the divider window. Giordino came awake and cranked the glass down.
'You woke me just as the orgy was getting started,' he said between yawns.
'Listen up,' ordered Pitt.
Giordino winched as the cold air flew into the passengers' compartment.
He cupped his ears. Slowly an expression of bewilderment crossed his face.
