He had spotted a side exit and was through it before his pursuer had gotten up from the casino guard’s limp body. Behind him was the bright chaos of milling figures, scattering gamblers and more guards pouring in from nowhere. As Ralph plunged between the dark shapes in the parking lot he saw another figure running toward him from the street. There were no features visible in the darkness but he thought he recognized the outline of the motorcyclist.
“Metric!” called the figure. “Stop!”
Ralph had already changed directions, dodging between the cars as he tried to elude the other man. The parking lot seemed vast, an endless maze without light. From the street he had lost sight of came a mounting wail of sirens.
More figures appeared at the end of the aisle. He scrambled across the hood of a car and, his lungs aching, headed down another corridor.
The sharp noise of guns came at him from two directions. He dropped to his knees, his hand scraping painfully on the asphalt. Brief spurts of flame accompanied each shot, quick orange red flares in the darkness. A fragmented memory passed through his mind from a book about police: if the gouts of fire looked round, then the gun was being fired directly at you—if teardrop shaped, it was being fired in a different direction. There was no time to wonder why the flares at either side of the parking lot were spurting toward each other and not at him. He squeezed beneath the nearest parked car and crawled, his face brushing the asphalt, to the other side, away from the battering roar of the guns.
The firing became more sporadic but the flashes still tapered toward each other. Ralph got to his feet, crouched over and ran toward the border of the lot. On this side it was flanked by an unlit service road that curved around to the rear delivery entrance of the casino. He reached the road and suddenly heard the whine of an accelerating engine. The shape of a motorcycle was just visible hurtling toward him. Beyond it, a car was turning into the far end of the service road.
Ralph pivoted around in the now quiet parking lot but froze when he saw one of the figures running to him. Then, before he could make any movement, the motorcycle skidded around at his side, its roar drowning out the rest of the world. The machine’s rider slammed an arm across Ralph’s chest, then fell with him as the motorcycle toppled and spun away on its side.
Stunned, he lay on his back, the stars blurring above him as he gasped for breath. The motorcyclist didn’t get up, but still gripped Ralph fast about the waist.
As though from a great distance he heard the car stop and its doors open. Hands gripped him and lifted him from the ground. The motorcyclist’s arm loosened and he seemed to fall away in the darkness.
Ralph was emerging from his daze as he was deposited in the car’s back seat. The door slammed shut and the car sped around in a tight circle, jostling him against the seat’s other occupant as the wheels thumped over the curb of the narrow street.
“You sure gave us a hard time, Ralph,” said the person on the seat beside him.
He focused his vision on the other, then slumped down in the seat and stared at the lights reflected on the car’s ceiling. His mind was frozen wordless.
“Come on,” said Spencer Stimmitz. “Pull yourself together. We don’t have much time.”
Chapter 15
Wailing sirens had surrounded the car as it sped out of the center of the city. The noise was so loud that Spencer had given up trying to say anything more, but had merely grinned and gestured with his open palm for Ralph to be patient—all questions would be answered eventually. They both swayed as the motorcade wheeled off the highway and headed across the desert towards the waiting helicopter.
It seemed to be bouncing gently on its landing gear. The sirens died and Ralph could hear the urgent whup whup of the blades flashing silver in the moonlight. In front of the rough semicircle that the police motorcycles formed on the sand, the car pulled up and stopped.
“Come on,” said Spencer. He opened the door on his side, got out and strode rapidly to the helicopter. After a moment Ralph followed him.
“Hop in.” Spencer held open the curved transparent door.
Ralph looked into the machine’s cramped interior. There was barely room for two seats behind the pilot. The clear plastic sphere seemed fragile as a bubble. Something fell and connected inside himself and he suddenly backed away. “No,” he said, shaking his head.
Spencer stared at him. “Hey, what’s the matter?”
“I’m not getting in that thing. I’m not doing this stuff anymore.” He felt his face stiffening with blood. “I’m tired of getting fooled and fooled with by everybody that comes along. You’ve suckered me enough times already. I’m not going for anymore. You can try that universe out on somebody else.” He turned away, disgusted.
“What are you talking about?” said Spencer.
“Come on,” he said, turning to look at him again. The noise from the helicopter—the cool, expressionless pilot fluttered the throttle—and the uneasy blue lighting from the headlamps of the police motorcycles drained the reality from the scene. “You know what I mean,” shouted Ralph. “All that stuff with that phony Alpha Fraction and everything. Pretending to be part of a group working against Operation Dreamwatch, and then you show up here as one of Muehlenfeldt’s agents. And now you want me to climb in that thing? So you can toss me out over the desert or something?
“No way. That’s it. Go tell Muehlenfeldt he can blow up the whole damn world for all I care. I’m not going to do anything to stop him. As if I could anyway.”
“Have you ever got it wrong,” said Spencer, laughing. “You didn’t get picked up by Muehlenfeldt’s men—we just rescued you from them. What do you think all that shooting was about?” He gestured, encompassing the helicopter and the distant car. “This is the Beta group, dummy.”
“No such thing,” said Ralph sullenly. “That’s just Muehlenfeldt’s paranoid fantasy.”
“Ha. I bet he wishes that’s all it is. Unh-unh. This is for real.”
“Yeah? Then how come you didn’t tell me about it back in L.A.?”
“I didn’t know about it then.” Spencer shrugged and spread his free hand. “I didn’t find out about it until they picked me up, right after we tried to bug the Opwatch office. Remember when I phoned you? That’s who was after me, not Muehlenfeldt’s bunch. Look.” He caught Ralph’s elbow and tugged him to the helicopter. “We have to hurry. Get in and I’ll fill you in on everything. Trust me.”
One of the two men who had been in the car’s front seat during the rush from the city was now walking toward them. The headlamps glared around his bulky outline. “What’s the problem?” he said as he approached.
“What are you waiting for?”
“No problem,” said Spencer. “Just a little fear of heights, that’s all.” He pulled harder on Ralph’s arm.
He hesitated for a moment, then stepped towards the helicopter.
What’ve I got to lose, he thought as he climbed-through the oval door. The worst that can happen is more lies. The pilot grinned over his shoulder and formed an O with his thumb and forefinger. Spencer got in, then closed and dogged the door. The machine tilted and the ground fell away.
Ralph looked down through the clear, curved side of the helicopter. The police escort were turning their motorcycles around and heading back into the city. Their lights grew smaller and were lost as the helicopter banked and headed west. Below, he recognized the long strip of highway he had travelled just a few hours ago in the opposite direction. Back to the base, he realized. That’s where we’re going. He glanced at Spencer beside him, as he felt the outlines of what he’d assumed wavering once more.