'I think it did to her.'

They were silent a moment. Then Isaacs spoke.

'We've got to get a move on here. The woman's had plenty of time to put Krone to bed or whatever she was going to do. See if you can find her. I'll get the two men in the car to start carrying out the books.'

Runyan headed down the hallway. He heard a noise, turned into the study, and was rooted with shock. A huge fire roared in the fireplace. In disbelief, he watched Maria Latvin pick up an object, squirt it with charcoal lighter, and toss it into the fireplace where it ignited with a FOOMPF! and added to the blaze. He looked more carefully and realized that the grate was filled with burning books. The lab books!

'What the hell are you doing?' he shouted, rushing towards her.

The woman swivelled quickly, the fingers of her right hand deftly sweeping up a bone-handled knife as she turned. I wish no one hurt, she thought, but I'm too close to let this one stand in my way. I must get to Paul!

She faced Runyan in a half-crouch, the position they had learned when planning the escape. She felt the rush of irony that she should use this skill to fight her way back in. She spread her feet wide, wielding the weapon in the classic offensive position, point out, not down from her fist like a dagger. Runyan registered her savage, determined look and the wicked tip of the blade. He tried to brake, off balance.

The knife whipped in a deadly arc towards his face. He jerked his head back and threw up his arms for protection, stumbling backwards. He felt his jaw go numb as the blade went by and then a deep agony flashed through his right forearm. He crashed onto the floor. The woman's knife hand had completed its vicious cycle, instantly ready to strike again. Runyan's fall on his back, legs sprawled, had taken him just out of reach. He saw her look at his exposed crotch and draw back the knife. Panic seized him. He shuttled backward, crab-like, then flipped onto all fours. He screamed as his right arm gave way, and he fell on his face. He crawled awkwardly with one arm, flailing, splashing blood, then finally got his feet under him and lurched out the door and down the hallway.

Isaacs was on the front step when he heard Runyan shout. He raced into the living room just as Runyan, frightened and bloody, ran from the hall.

'Burning the lab books!' Runyan shouted hoarsely, as he collapsed onto Isaacs who lowered him to the floor. The two CIA agents pounded into the room. Danielson and the pilot followed them, breathing hard, eyes wide.

'The woman! Get her!' Isaacs directed the agents. 'And watch out — she's got some kind of weapon. Pat, see to him, will you?' he said standing, pointing to Runyan's sprawled form. 'You!' he said, fingering the pilot, 'come with me.'

He raced down the hallway. At the end of it, the two agents were putting their shoulders to a locked door. Dimly, Isaacs heard the roaring start of a high performance engine.

'A car!' he shouted. 'Out the front way. See if you can stop her! If she's got Krone with her, for god's sake don't do anything to harm him.'

Isaacs turned into the study as the agents ran back down the hallway past him. He fought down a sense of dismay at the sight of the hearth full of burning books, then grabbed the fireplace tongs and began to frantically pull them from the grate. The pilot backed into the room watching the two CIA field men disappear into the living room. Then he turned and stopped transfixed, watching as Isaacs threw book after burning book about the room.

'Get your jacket off!' Isaacs shouted over his shoulder. 'Smother those!'

The carpet was starting to smoulder in a dozen places. The young pilot stripped off his jacket and began to extinguish the flames, covering the books with his jacket, kicking them away from areas of smoking carpet.

Isaacs pulled the last book from the grate, a half— consumed block of char. He removed his jacket and methodically worked on the flames nearest him. After a frenetic minute, the last of the flames died. Isaacs, breathing in huge gulps of air, smiled gratefully at the young 'man. His proud grey-blue jacket was a scorched tatter. He was covered with soot and his hands were red with angry welts. Isaacs felt his own hands begin to puff and sting with burns he had ignored.

'Sorry about your hands, and clothes.'

The young man shrugged.

'Would you make sure these are all out?' Isaacs asked him. 'I'll check the others.'

Isaacs left the soldier gently kicking the books into the hallway, checking for those still smouldering.

Pat Danielson had run over to Alex Runyan and then stopped, weak-kneed. He lay on his back, staring pale faced at the ceiling. His shirt was slashed just below his right elbow and a dark stain spread into the cloth, but it was his neck that held her attention. His beard below the chin line dripped red blood. She paid no attention to the two CIA agents who tore through the room and out the front door. My god, she thought, dropping to her knees, his throat's been slashed!

Runyan rolled his eyes to her and smiled weakly. 'I'll never look at another woman again.'

Danielson forced herself to look at his neck. With relief, she realized the wound was just along the jaw bone. It was deep, with pink bone showing, but not life threatening.

'She — she nearly cut your throat.'

'I certainly got the impression that was her goal,' Runyan croaked.

'Let me look for something to stop the bleeding', Danielson said. She ran through the dining room into the kitchen. She slammed through the cabinets until she found a stack of dish towels. She turned to go, then stopped and pulled open drawers until she found a large, sharp kitchen knife. She fretted back to Runyan who was struggling to sit up.

'Lie down, crazy,' she said, pushing him in the chest with the butt of the knife.

Runyan spied the gloaming blade. 'You're going to finish the job,' he groaned. 'Make it quick.'

Danielson put the knife and towels down and gave him a pained look. She rolled one of the towels up and aligned it with the cut on his jaw.

'Hold that!' she said sternly, grabbing his good left hand and putting it on the towel. She laid his right arm slowly, gently, straight out from his body. Then she picked up the knife and carefully inserted the tip in the hole in his shirt and slit the gash to the end of the sleeve. She reversed the knife and extended the slash to his upper arm so she could curl the cloth away from the wound. It was also deep, with sliced tendons exposed, bleeding steadily and profusely. She wrapped a towel around the forearm and it promptly turned a bright crimson. She slit another towel in several places with the knife and then tore it into strips. She knotted two strips around the towel on the wound and another just above the elbow as a tourniquet.

She felt Isaacs crouch at her side.

'How is he?'

'Not as bad as he looks, I thought his throat was cut. He's lost a lot of blood, though.'

'I'll send the pact in the van for his chopper. There must be someplace he can set down around here. We'll get him down to the base hospital at Holloman as soon as possible.'

Isaacs headed quickly for the door. Outside the two agents were jogging back up the driveway.

'Missed her?' Isaacs inquired.

'No way,' one of them replied. 'Damn Ferrari, or some such thing. But she didn't head for the lab: she took off in the opposite direction. Shall we take the van after her?'

'No, we need it to help get medical attention for Runyan. Was Krone in the car?'

'Didn't get a good look, but yeah, I thought I saw a passenger.'

'Can't be too hard to find such a car in these parts,' Isaacs observed.

'Nah,' the agent agreed, 'it's bright red and goes two hundred miles an hour. Should be a snap from the air. It'll be dark soon, though. That could give her an edge.'