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"You'll have to stop and let me out," Morgan said. |
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"Why?" She seemed suddenly terrified. |
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"Don't argue." They were at a turn in the road. The edge was hidden by a berm. Beyond it lay empty space and fog. |
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"This will do," Morgan said, more calmly than he felt. "Let me out. Drive on ahead. The road drops down to a beach. Stop there and wait for me. Five minutes. No more. If I don't show, drive on to the airport at Half Moon Bay. Find a man named Avery Peters. You can tell him anything you need to, and he'll get you out of here. Trust him." |
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"What are you going to do?" |
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"Stop," Morgan said. "Let me out." |
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Reflexively, she followed orders. Morgan opened the door, dropped to the road, and ran for the shelter of the steep rock cut on the landward side of the road. The car stayed where it was for what seemed like hours, until he ran back to it. Sure enough, she was fumbling with the seat belt. "Goddamn it, Anna! Go!" He slapped the top of the car with his hand, and let out a sigh of relief when he felt it begin to move. |
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The rental car's taillights vanished into the fog. Morgan knelt on the road verge cradling the MAC-10. The fact that their pursuers were slow in catching up showed him that the terrain was unfamiliar to them. Now the light bar on the approaching Bronco turned the fog around it amber and white. He could hear the rumble of a V-8 engine, the thump of deeply cleated tires. |
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He lay on the pavement and raised the MAC-10. The brilliance of the halogens blinded him momentarily. He squinted against the lights and fired a burst across the front of the oncoming Bronco. Steam spurted from the punctured radiator. It only looks like an armored personnel carrier, you rented bastards, he thought savagely, but it isn't one. The headlights shattered and went dark. He heard the squalling noise of rubber burning off against metal. His burst had exploded both of the huge front tires. He stood, ready to fire again. There |
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