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mirror again. The lights behind them were brighter. They had resolved into brilliant headlightsprobably halogensand four lights mounted high, two yellow fog cutters and two more white halogens. |
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Morgan looked ahead. Skyline Boulevard was dark and empty. ''Don't look back," he said. |
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She drove well, both hands on the wheel at the two and ten position, and she handled the import's inadequate power as well, or better, than Morgan could have done. He rolled down the window. Cold, wet air buffeted him and set Anna's hair flying. |
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I hope to God I remembered these roads accurately, Morgan thought. A dead end would be the finish for them. Morgan tried to guess what firepower was being carded in the Bronco. Something heavy and quick. People with a taste for assassinations liked assault weapons. So they wasted a few bulletsit was worth it, since success was almost always guaranteed. |
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They passed the gate to the Olympic Club where Morgan had once played a round of golf with a friend, a retired admiral, about a thousand years ago. Still to the right, but now at the base of sandstone cliffs, lay the dark surf. |
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The Bronco was identifiable now, but Anna was driving skillfully through the fog, at a speed that kept their pursuers from catching up. That couldn't last, of course, once they realized they had found their quarry. |
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She slipped through the junction without slowing. A sixteen-wheeler headed for one of the supermarkets around Pacifica was approaching the intersection as they sped through the red light. The angry howl of an air horn said what the trucker thought of compacts running stoplights. |
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Halfway up the long hill, bordered by what San Franciscans used to call "the White Cliffs of Doelger" for the builder of the tract houses that had been erected there in the 1950s, the lights atop the Bronco began to flash. The fog vanished momentarily as they climbed. "Faster," Morgan said. |
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Anna pressed down on the accelerator and the Bronco fell |
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