His pale face contrasted with his dark eyes, which were wide with apprehension as he, too, realized what was happening.

Cavanaugh stared back at the radar screen. "Infrared sensors? Thermal sensors?"

The blips moved swiftly to three other areas.

"Dies," Roberto said. "That explains it. They're looking for the helicopter's heat signature. The engine's cooled, but a thermal scanner makes metal look different from wood or dirt. They'll be able to distinguish the shape of the helicopter from the trees around it."

"Plus," Tracy said, "the landing pad'll still retain heat from the sunlight the concrete absorbed all day."

"But won't heat from the houses and farm equipment confuse them?" Prescott demanded.

"No," Duncan said. "A house or a truck would have an entirely different heat pattern. Besides, this valley's so rugged, there aren't any farms around here. The heat signature of the landing pad will be especially distinctive in the middle of a forest."

Prescott pushed through the group and stared at the radar. "How long before they get here?"

"At sufficient altitude, with magnifiers on the sensors, they can cover a lot of miles in a hurry. At the rate they're searching, they'll be here in ten minutes," Tracy said.

"This can't be," Duncan said.

"What do you mean, 'can't be'?" Prescott sounded more panicked. "It's happening right in front of your eyes!"

"Even with all his money, Escobar doesn't have the resources to suddenly get his hands on three helicopters with thermal sensors," Duncan said. "That's special equipment. You need to make plans to have it available, and Escobar had no reason to expect a helicopter chase."

"So where the hell did he get thermal sensors?" Chad asked. "It doesn't make sense. Unless…"

"What?" Roberto asked.

"Those aren't Escobar's men." Duncan swung again toward Prescott. "Is there anybody else you're afraid of? Who else would be chasing you?"

"Nobody. If those helicopters aren't Escobar's, I have no idea whose they could be."

On the radar, the blips moved relentlessly to three other areas, proceeding closer to the center of the screen, where the bunker and the helicopter were situated.

"Whoever they are, they're sophisticated," Duncan said. "What else do they have in those choppers?"

"Maybe it's time to worry about those rockets we talked about earlier," Chad said.

"Moment of truth," Tracy said. "We have to decide,"

"What's she talking about?" Prescott asked.

"Stay or go," Tracy said. "If we stay, we don't know whether they can blow their way in here. But if we go-"

"We can't leave by helicopter," Roberto said. "If they've got heat sensors, we have to assume they also have radar. They'll know if our chopper takes off."

"But what if Mr. Prescott isn't in it?" Duncan asked. "What if you take off and act as a decoy?"

"They still might shoot me down," Roberto said.

"No," Cavanaugh said, "they won't shoot. Not if they think Prescott's aboard. They want him alive. When they chased me on the highway, they could have shot me, but they didn't. They didn't want the car to crash and kill Prescott. It's safe for you to distract them."

"The rest of us could leave in the Jeep." Chad referred to one of two vehicles in the bunker's adjacent underground garage.

"Both Jeeps," Tracy said. "We could use one of the cars as another decoy. Some of the helicopters will scan for other heat signatures and follow us. They'll have to separate and go in three directions. If we can get to the highway-the New York State Thruway is twenty miles to the east-there'll be so much traffic, they won't be able to decide which car they're hunting."

On the radar, the blips kept moving toward the center of the screen.

The group stared at Duncan.

"If we go, they won't shoot at us because they want Mr.

Prescott alive. If we stay, they'll have him trapped. Does that about sum it up?" Duncan asked.

The group kept staring at him.

"Move," Duncan said.

9

They didn't need to discuss what they had to do next. Although they continued to wear their pistols, they'd taken off their Kevlar vests. Now, with disciplined speed, they shifted from the control room and entered a room adjacent to it. There, in the bunker's arsenal, their vests were on a table.

"You'll need this." Cavanaugh put a vest on Prescott. "In case a bullet intended for one of us heads in the wrong direction."

After buckling on their vests, the team grabbed AR-15 assault rifles from a row of weapons that included shotguns and more handguns.

In theory, the AR-15, which was the civilian version of the military's M-16, could be fired only on a semiautomatic setting, one shot with each pull of the trigger, complying with federal gun laws. But these had been modified so they could be fully automatic, numerous rounds rapidly discharging with a single pull of the trigger. If law-enforcement officers were about to examine the weapons, the automatic function could be disabled by turning a small lever on the side and pulling the lever out; an interior spring-loaded plug would then slip into place, thus making the weapon legal while at the same time concealing that it had been tampered with.

Looking ashen, Prescott reached for one.

"No," Chad said. "Leave the fireworks to us. You might shoot yourself in the foot."

"Or one of us," Tracy said.

"But what if I have to defend myself? I should at least know how to use one of those things."

"If the situation gets that desperate, God help us," Roberto said. "Don't touch a rifle unless we're down and there's no other choice. Brace the stock against your shoulder. Point the barrel at your target. Pull the trigger. If a shell gets stuck, yank back this knob on the side to free it."

"The AR-15 likes to kick up," Cavanaugh said. "If you're not careful, all you do is shoot toward the sky. Keep forcing the barrel down toward your target. Can you remember all that?"

"I hope I don't have to."

Chad ran to the kitchen to make sure the stove and oven were off. Everybody grabbed windbreakers to cover their Kevlar vests. At the exit, Duncan opened the door. As the group hurried along the echoing concrete passageway toward the cold mountain night, Cavanaugh heard the whump of the approaching helicopters getting louder.

"Good luck, Roberto." Tracy's blond hair shone briefly in the light that spilled from the closing door.

"They've got less than an hour's fuel, and my tank's full. I can outrun them." Roberto backed to the left, moving into the murky forest. "Adios."

"Come on, Prescott." His Kevlar vest feeling bulky on him, Cavanaugh headed to the right, hurrying through the darkness toward the underground garage, the entrance to which was recessed into the hill. "Stay close to me." He reached the garage and glanced toward the shadows behind him. "Prescott?"

Holding their AR-15s, Duncan, Chad, and Tracy glanced back also.

All Cavanaugh saw were the indistinct outlines of trees and bushes. "Prescott?"

The helicopters thundered closer.

"What happened?" Chad asked. "Where'd he go?"

"The last time I saw him was…" Duncan stared back toward the entryway. "Don't tell me he's still inside."

"I'll get the Jeeps," Tracy said.

"Prescott!" Cavanaugh yelled.

The concrete passageway prevented the helicopters from seeing the faint motion-triggered light that came on when Duncan rushed to the number pad next to the door.

"Prescott!" Cavanaugh scanned the dark trees. Behind him, he heard a muffled motor that Tracy activated, raising the garage door.

At the end of the passageway, another light appeared as Duncan hurried into the bunker.

"Maybe he's in the bushes," Chad said. "He got awfully upset when he saw those radar blips. It could be he's so scared, his bladder went crazy."