And she stiffened.
In the man's hand, furtively held out of sight, was a steel-blue tire-iron!
Uncomprehendingly, but instinctively alarmed, she rose to her feet. She cried out to the man — but no one heard her.
And suddenly the Ranger made his move. He ran toward Tom and his adversaries locked in their unequal struggle. He started to lift his weapon.
Somewhere deep beneath her exhaustion Randi found a surge of strength. She was not consciously aware of it. She only knew that she had to protect her mate. With a choked cry of fury she lunged at the Ranger, leaping on his back, clawing his face with her nails, tearing at his ear with her teeth and kicking her heels into his groin. Tom's fight was hers.
The deadly tire-iron flew from Ranger Gordon's hand as he fell to his knees under Randi's explosive assault. Clawing and scratching, biting and kicking with the ferocity of a wildcat, she bloodied the man savagely before Stark and his men pulled her off and restrained her victim. The Chief Ranger stared at the man in shocked astonishment and outrage. “Hold on to the bastard,” he growled at his Rangers.
Tom was totally spent — near collapse. He stood swaying, battered and bloody, the blazing fury in his eyes dying with exhaustion, as the big Sergeant encircled him from behind, pinning his arms in a powerful grip. At once Paul and Howell rushed in and grabbed him, holding him securely. Ward was ready. The needle of the hypodermic bit into Tom's arm — and the men gently lowered him to the sandy ground.
Howell turned to Hays. “Get the chopper!” he snapped. “Move!”
Hays took off for the scouts.
With gentle hands and anxious eyes Ward examined the barely conscious Tom: the wound high on the crown of his head; his festering shoulder; the bleeding gash in his side, opened up in the violence of the fight. He looked up at Paul, tensely hovering over his friend. He nodded.
Randi fell to her knees beside her husband. She looked searchingly up at Paul, her eyes mirroring her fears and her prayers.
“He'll be okay, Randi,” Paul said, his voice gravelly. “He'll be okay.”
Gently Randi put her husband's head in her lap.
From the scout Hays shouted. “Colonel Howell, sir!” he called. “They want to speak to you. Urgent!”
Howell hurried to the scout.
Paul picked up the tire-iron dropped by Gordon. He held it in his hand as he stalked up to the man, held by two Rangers.
“You bastard!” he growled. “What the hell were you going to do?” It was not a question. It was an accusation.
Gordon scowled at him. He said nothing.
Howell came striding up to them. He glared at the captive Ranger.
“I don't know who the devil you are, Mister,” he grated. “But I'll sure as hell find out!” He fixed the man with cold and baleful eyes. “They found the real Gordon.”
He looked up as the whirring noise of a helicopter beat down from above.
The chopper carefully descended into the crater, sending clouds of ash and the remnants of the smoke and steam whirling in the air. As soon as the aircraft touched down, medics — carrying two stretchers — jumped from it and hurried toward the group. Immediately, at Paul's direction, they began to load Tom onto one of the stretchers while Randi was led to the other.
Tom was fighting to stay conscious. He could not move. But his eyes, filled with fear and anguish, sought out Randi. In shattering desperation he gazed at her. She reached out a hand toward him.
“Medic!” Paul called. He motioned toward the two litters. “Keep them together.”
The rotor of the chopper whirled and bit into the air. The craft swayed, lifted and slowly soared up and out of the crater.
Below, like ants, the men remaining behind scurried about, extinguishing the last of the flames, while the tiny, squat vehicles began to labor up the sandy slope from the crater pit — like beetles from an ant-lion's trap.
High in the sky above, his troubled eyes firmly resting on his mate beside him, Tom finally slipped into blackness.
His flight had come to an end. He had been vanquished by his enemies.
And saved…
PHASE IV
1
The twin palm trees outside the window on Hospital Drive lazily waved huge, lush fronds in a gentle breeze. Randi watched them with a feeling of pleasure. The trees, the lawns, the fresh green gardens at Edwards had never looked better to her.
The air-conditioned corridor at the Base hospital was cool, Randi's sunburned skin had healed and she felt comfortable. She glanced at Paul and Major Trafford standing near the door to Tom's room. They were talking to each other in subdued voices, but they were really waiting. They were all waiting…
Her ordeal was a nightmare already fading in the light of day. Jonathan Howell had explained to her as much as he felt she should know, and he had asked for and received her pledge to keep everything confidential. No use rocking this particular boat, he'd said. It's hard enough to keep the damned thing from foundering as it is. Measures will be taken by the proper authorities.
He had told her of her husband's knowledge of top-secret information — without divulging what it was. He had told her of the attempt by a foreign power to wrest that knowledge from him — or destroy him. It was they who had tried to shoot him.
There had been two men, he'd said. Two men in the employ of a foreign intelligence service. One was a man going under the name of Jerry Hayden, a sometime artist. He'd been a known agent and under FBI surveillance; but he had given them the slip when he suddenly had taken off for Death Valley. The other was an imposter. A foreign agent who had taken the identity of a reserve Park Ranger named Gordon. He was the man she had jumped in the crater. She only dimly remembered. The real Gordon had been found dead. In the basement of his home in Barstow.
She shivered. Death had been close throughout the entire ordeal — even closer and more violent than she'd known. Close to Tom and to her; and finite to a young Ranger and a young airman named Wilson. Jonathan had told her of Paul's suspicions of the young Wilson when he deduced that outside forces were hunting Tom. They had been groundless, but Paul's resourcefulness and action had ultimately saved both Tom and. her…
The door to Tom's hospital room opened and Colonel Howell and Dr. Marcus came out. Marcus was carrying a sheaf of papers in his arms. His face literally shone with satisfaction. Paul and Trafford turned to him.
“Did you get what you wanted, Dr. Marcus?” Trafford asked.
Marcus bobbed his head. “Yes. Thank you. Indeed.” He beamed. “Major Darby was most helpful.”
“Was he able to pinpoint what went wrong?” Paul asked.
Marcus smiled at him. “As a matter of fact—”
“I think we'd better let Dr. Marcus get to work,” Howell interrupted firmly. He looked at the men.
“Yes. Ah — yes, of course,” Marcus said. He hefted his papers, taking a firmer grip on them.
An airman came down the corridor and stopped before him.
“Dr. Marcus?” he inquired.
Marcus looked startled. “Yes?”
“General Ryan would like you to come to his office, sir. Right away.”
“Oh?”
“He has a gentleman on the line who wants to talk to you, sir. I have a car downstairs.”
“To me?” Marcus looked surprised.
“Yes, sir. It's an overseas call. From West Berlin. A Dr. Wilhelm Krebbs.”
Marcus looked thunderstruck. “Gott im Himmel!” he exclaimed. “Willi!” He stared at the airman as if seeing a ghost from the past. Perhaps he was. Without another word he almost ran down the corridor.