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passageway.

  "Hey, mother," he yelled to Kelly, "have I got time for a showerbefore dinner?"

  "Yes, but make it a quickie," she called back.

  Five minutes later he stepped into the galley, his dark, crew-cut hairstill damp. Kelly was setting plastic, disposable dishes on the littleswing-down table that doubled as a food bar and work desk. Ben peeredinto a simmering pot and sniffed. "Smells good. What's for dinner,Hiawatha?"

  "Nothing fancy. Steak, potatoes, green beans, apple pie and coffee."

  Ben's mouth watered. "You know, sometimes I wonder whether one of yourancestors didn't come out of New England. Your menus always seem tocoincide with my ideas of a perfect meal." He noted the two places setat the table. Ben glanced out the galley port into the headlight-stripeddarkness. Traffic was still light. In the distance, the night sky glowedwith the lights of Chambersburg, north of the thruway.

  "We might as well pull up for dinner," he said. "It's pretty slow outthere."

  Kelly shoved dishes over and began laying out a third setting. Abouthalf the time on patrol, the crew ate in shifts on the go, with one ofthe patrol troopers in the cab at all times. When traffic permitted,they pulled off to the service strip and ate together. With thecommunications system always in service, control stations could reachthem anywhere in the big vehicle.

  The sergeant stepped into the cab and tapped Ferguson on the shoulder."Dinnertime, Clay. Pull her over and we'll try some of your graciousliving."

  "Light the candles and pour the wine," Clay quipped, "I'll be with youin a second."

  Car 56 swung out to the edge of the police lane and slowed down. Clayeased the car onto the strip and stopped. He checked the radiodometerand called in. "Pitt Control, this is Car 56 at Marker 158. Dinner isbeing served in the dining car to the rear. Please do not disturb."

  "Affirmative, Car 56," Pittsburgh Control responded. "Eat heartily, itmay be going out of style." Clay grinned and flipped the radio toremote and headed for the galley.

  * * * * *

  Seated around the little table, the trio cut into their steaks. Parkedat the north edge of the police lane, the patrol car was just a fewfeet from the green lane divider strip and cars and cargo carriersflashed by as they ate.

  Clay chewed on a sliver of steak and looked at Kelly. "I'd marry you,Pocahontas, if you'd ever learn to cook steaks like beef instead ofcuring them like your ancestral buffalo robes. When are you going tolearn that good beef has to be bloody to be edible?"

  The girl glared at him. "If that's what it takes to make it edible,you're going to be an epicurean delight in just about one second if Ihear another word about my cooking. And that's also the second crackabout my noble ancestors in the past five minutes. I've alwayswondered about the surgical techniques my great-great-great grandpopused when he lifted a paleface's hair. One more word, Clay Ferguson,and I'll have your scalp flying from Beulah's antenna like a coontailon a kid's scooter."

  Ben bellowed and nearly choked. "Hey, kid," he spluttered at Clay,"ever notice how the wrong one of her ancestors keeps coming to thesurface? That was the Irish."

  Clay polished off the last of his steak and reached for the individualfrozen pies Kelly had put in the oven with the steaks. "Now that'sanother point," he said, waving his fork at Kelly. "The Irish lived solong on potatoes and prayers that when they get a piece of meat ontheir menu, they don't know how to do anything but boil it."

  "That tears it," the girl exploded. She pushed back from the table andstood up. "I've cooked the last meal this big, dumb Canuck will everget from me. I hope you get chronic indigestion and then come crawlingto me for help. I've got something back there I've been wanting todose you with for a long time."

  She stormed out of the galley and slammed the door behind her. Bengrinned at the stunned look on Clay's face. "Now what got her on thewarpath?" Clay asked. Before Ben could answer the radio speaker in theceiling came to life.

  "Car 56 this is Pitt Control."

  Martin reached for the transmit switch beside the galley table. "Thisis Five Six, go ahead."

  "Relay from Philly Control," the speaker blared. "Reference theaccident at Marker 92 at 1648 hours this date; Philly Control reportsa third vehicle definitely involved."

  Ben pulled out a pencil and Clay shoved a message pad across thetable.

  "James J. Newhall, address 3409 Glen Cove Drive, New York City,license number BHT 4591 dash 747 dash 1609, was witness to the initialimpact. He reports that a white over green, late model Travelaire,with two men in it, sideswiped one of the two vehicles involved in thefatal accident. The Travelaire did not stop but accelerated after theimpact. Newhall was unable to get the full license number but thefirst six units were QABR dash 46 ... rest of numerals unknown."

  Ben cut in. "Have we got identification on our fatalities yet?"

  "Affirmative, Five Six," the radio replied. "The driver of the carstruck by the hit-and-run vehicle was a Herman Lawrence Hanover, ageforty-two, of 13460 One Hundred Eighty-First Street South, Camden, NewJersey, license number LFM 4151 dash 603 dash 2738. With him was hiswife, Clara, age forty-one, same address. Driver of the green lane carwas George R. Hamilton, age thirty-five, address Box 493, Route 12,Tucumcari, New Mexico."

  Ben broke in once more. "You indicate all three are fatalities. Isthis correct, Pitt Control? The woman was alive when she wastransferred to the ambulance."

  "Stand by, Five Six, and I'll check."

  A moment later Pitt Control was back. "That is affirmative, Five Six.The woman died at 1745 hours. Here is additional information. Avehicle answering to the general description of the hit-and-runvehicle is believed to have been involved in an armed robbery andmultiple murder earlier this date at Wilmington, Delaware. PhillyControl is now checking for additional details. Gate filters have beenestablished on NAT 26-West from Marker-Exit 100 to Marker-Exit 700.Also, filters on all interchanges. Pitt Control out."

  Kelly Lightfoot, her not-too-serious peeve forgotten, had come backinto the galley to listen to the radio exchange. The men got up fromthe table and Clay gathered the disposable dishware and tossed theminto the waste receiver.

  "We'd better get rolling," Ben said, "those clowns could still be onthe thruway, although they could have got off before the filters wentup."

  They moved to the cab and took their places. The big engines roaredinto action as Ben rolled Car 56 back onto the police-way. Kellyfinished straightening up in the galley and then came forward to siton the jump seat between the two troopers. The snow had stopped againbut the roadways were still slick and glistening under the headlights.Beulah rolled steadily along on her broad tracks, now cruising at onehundred miles an hour. The steady whine of the cold night windpenetrated faintly into the sound-proofed and insulated cabin canopy.Clay cut out the cabin lights, leaving only the instrument panelglowing faintly along with the phosphorescent buttons and knobs on thearms of the control seats.

  A heavy express cargo carrier flashed by a quarter of a mile away inthe blue lane, its big bulk lit up like a Christmas tree with runningand warning lights. To their right, Clay caught the first glimpse of aset of flashing amber warning lights coming up from behind in thegreen lane. A minute later, a huge cargo carrier came abreast of thepatrol car and then pulled ahead. On its side was a glowing star ofthe United States Army. A minute later, another Army carrier rolledby.

  "That's the missile convoy out of Aberdeen," Clay told Kelly. "I wishour hit-runner had tackled one of those babies. We'd have scraped himup instead of those other people."

  The convoy rolled on past at a steady one hundred twenty-five milesan hour. Car 56 flashed under a crossover and into a long, gentlecurve. The chronometer clicked up to 2100 hours and the radio sangout. "Cars 207, 56 and 82, this is Pitt Control. 2100 hours densityreport follows...."

  Pittsburgh Control read off the figures for the three cars. Car 82 wasone hundred fifty miles ahead of Beulah, Car 207 about the samedistance to the rear. The density report ended and a new voice came o
nthe air.

  "Attention all cars and all stations, this is Washington CriminalControl." The new voice paused, and across the continent, troopers onevery thruway, control station, checkpoint and relay block, reachedfor clipboard and pen.

  "Washington Criminal Control continuing, all cars and all stations,special attention to all units east of the Mississippi. At 1510 hoursthis date, two men held up the First National Bank of Wilmington,Delaware, and escaped with an estimated one hundred seventy-fivethousand dollars. A bank guard and two tellers, together with fivebank customers were killed by these subjects using automatic weaponfire to make good their