There was no question about the fact that the occupants of the
fugitive car knew they were being pursued. They shot through the
crossover into the yellow lane and now were hurtling down the thruway
close to the four-hundred-mile-an-hour mark.

Martin had Beulah riding just under three hundred to make the
crossover, still ten miles behind the suspect car and following on
video monitor. The air still crackled with commands as St. Louis and
Washington Control maneuvered other cars into position as the pursuit
went westward past other units blocking exit routes.

Clay read aloud the radiodometer numerals as they clicked off a mile
every nine seconds. Car 56 roared into the yellow and the instant Ben
had it straightened out, he slammed all finger throttles to full
power. Beulah snapped forward and even at three hundred miles an hour,
the sudden acceleration pasted the car's crew against the back of
their cushioned seats. The patrol car shot forward at more than five
hundred miles an hour.

The image of the Travelaire grew on the video monitor and then the two
troopers had it in actual sight, a white, racing dot on the broad
avenue of the thruway six miles ahead.

Clay triggered the controls for the forward bow cannon and a panel box
flashed to "ready fire" signal.

"Negative," Martin ordered. "We're coming up on the roadblock. You
might miss and hit one of our cars."

"Car 56 to Control," the senior trooper called. "Watch out at the
roadblock. He's doing at least five hundred in the yellow and he'll
never be able to stop."

Two hundred miles east, the St. Louis controller made a snap decision.
"Abandon roadblock. Roadblock cars start west. Maintain two hundred
until subject comes into monitor view. Car 56, continue speed
estimates of subject car. Maybe we can box him in."

At the roadblock forty-five miles ahead of the speeding fugitives and
their relentless pursuer, the four patrol cars pivoted and spread out
across the roadway some five hundred feet apart. They lunged forward
and lifted up to air-cushion jet drive at just over two hundred miles
an hour. Eight pairs of eyes were fixed on video monitors set for the
ten-mile block to the rear of the four vehicles.

Beulah's indicated ground speed now edged towards the five hundred
fifty mark, close to the maximum speeds the vehicles could attain.

The gap continued to close, but more slowly. "He's firing hotter," Ben
called out. "Estimating five thirty on subject