into covering positions in the area on all
crossovers and turnoffs. The sweating dispatcher looked at his lighted
map board and mentally cursed the lack of enough units to cover every
exit. State and local authorities already had been notified in the
event the fugitives left the thruways and tried to escape on a state
freeway.

In Car 56, Ben kept the patrol car roaring down the blue lane through
the speeding westbound traffic. The standard emergency signal was
doing a partial job of clearing the path, but at those speeds, driver
reaction times weren't always fast enough. Ahead, the fleeing suspect
car brushed against a light sedan, sending it careening and rocking
across the lane. The driver fought for control as it swerved and
screeched on its tilting frame. He brought it to a halt amid a haze of
blue smoke from burning brakes and bent metal. The white over green
Travelaire never slowed, fighting its way out of the blue into the
ultra-high yellow and lighter traffic. Ben kept Beulah in bulldog
pursuit.

The sideswipe ahead had sent other cars veering in panic and a cluster
inadvertently bunched up in the path of the roaring patrol car. Like a
flock of hawk-frightened chickens, they tried to scatter as they saw
and heard the massive police vehicle bearing down on them. But like
chickens, they couldn't decide which way to run. It was a matter of
five or six seconds before they parted enough to let the patrol car
through. Ben had no choice but to cut the throttle and punch once on
the retrojets to brake the hurtling patrol car. The momentary drops in
speed unlocked the safety cocoons and in an instant, Clay had leaped
from the shower stall and sped to the cab. Hearing, rather than seeing
his 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 to
the galley. A second later she was back. Without a word, she handed
the nude Ferguson a dangling pair of uniform coveralls. Clay gasped,
dropped the rifles and grabbed the coveralls from her hand and
clutched them to his figure. His face was beet-red. Still without
speaking, Kelly turned and ran back to her dispensary to be ready for
the next acceleration.

Clay was into the coveralls and in his seat almost at the instant
Martin whipped the patrol car through the hole in the blue traffic and
shoved her into high once more.