"We understand, Constable Soubisse. We are searching the trees and fields as we go."
Three police cars crawled, single-file, past the point where the plane had spotted the fugitives' car. The ground rose slowly but steadily, and in the distance the eye could discern the dim shadows of the mighty French Alps. Stands of trees blocked the mountains' view of the pursuers at regular intervals.
Soubisse drove, while Leblanc searched the countryside with his American-made binoculars. The other cars, Soubisse knew, followed the same procedure. Once they had been five cars, but that was before the brat with his rifle had killed two men and wounded three others. Hah, he thought. These Christians preach love and non-violence. And look what the do to the Republic's finest!
The fact that these Christians might be fighting for their own lives, not understanding why they were hunted down like animals, having no idea why the state considered them and their beliefs a threat, wanting only to live in peace, didn't occur to him. The thoughts, rights or feelings of his quarry never occurred to Soubisse.
Leblanc stiffened suddenly and snapped Soubisse out of his daydream. "Stop here," was Leblanc's only statement.
Soubisse pulled the car over to the left, and the other cars fell into formation behind him. Leblanc stepped out of his car and crossed the road. As his aide joined him, Leblanc bent down and fingered the ground along the edge of the pavement.
Soubisse's eyes followed his commander's fingers. "Tire tracks."
"Yes," Leblanc responded. "They lead over by those bushes. Either they have been here recently, or they are still here. Call the men."
Soubisse, without looking over his shoulder, waved his squad across. He knew they would be around him in seconds.
Leblanc stood and faced his troops. "Spread out. Search for the car, or for tracks. These lead toward the brush over there. Go."
The policemen drew their weapons and fanned out like pheasant hunters in a grain field. When they reached the edge of the thicket one of the men gave a shout. All six converged on the spot.
"More tracks, Commander. It appears that they stopped here and then resumed."
Leblanc examined the tracks and thought for a moment. "It appears," he began slowly, "that the trouble with their car makes them stop frequently. These tracks continue south. To our cars, my men. We close in on the quarry!"
As five men sprinted back to their waiting conveyances, Leblanc moved at a brisk walk. He tried to make it appear that he didn't deign to run like his inferiors, but in reality even the fast walk sent hot irons through his shoulder. He hoped the American's face hurt as much.
Behind a snarl of brambles and short trees, a bucket brigade worked furiously to quench a potential fire. They used cups, empty food cans, even some spare shoes. At last, Bill called, "She's full. Let's go."
All four waved their thanks to the stream and piled into their diverse collection of rust and rattles. Bill fired the engine and almost simultaneously released the clutch. The car lunged back toward the road. As her nose emerged from the cover, Bill slammed on the brake. Paul and Marie cried out as they jerked forward, and Molly's head thumped the dashboard. "I say, could you give a bit of warning before you do that again?"
Bill just pointed.
"Oh, dear. Here they come, eh?"
"Yeah, but something's wrong. They're just kind of crawling along, not zipping down the road like they're supposed to."
"Well, at any rate, we'd best reverse our course and hide again, hadn't we?"
Bill saw the lead car swerve off to the right side of the road and move toward them. "Too late. They spotted us. Come on, you sweet old tin can, don't fail us now." He watched as the three cars drew closer and closer. When he judged that they were all pointed toward him, he yelled, "Now!", floored the accelerator and dumped the clutch. The car sent a cloud of dust up behind it as it shot out of the bushes and past the stunned policemen. Bill whipped the car out onto the road, power-shifted into second and then shifted more cautiously into third and fourth.
Molly fought to catch her breath. "Egad, the old girl still has a bit of push in her, eh?"
"You're telling me? I think I swallowed my back teeth."
Paul called over the noise of the engine, "They are slow to come out, Bill."
"That's the idea. They were all bunched up together and pointed away from the road. It should take them awhile to get untangled from each other."
"Good show." Molly let her fingers dance over Bill's bare shoulders.
"That's right. Remind me I ruined a perfectly good shirt. At this rate, I'll have one dandy of a sunburn before the day's over."
"If that's all the damage you sustain, I suggest you give hearty thanks for the sunburn. And besides, perhaps a good sunburn will conceal that hideous bruise."
"They, are following, Bill." Paul's voice.
"Yeah, I noticed. Everybody pray this thing holds together."
"I fear, even with the fresh water, we cannot outrun them."
Molly said, "The way they seem to be gaining on us, I'd say that's a fear grounded in fact."
"We could use one of your brilliant plans along about now, Paul."
"I--I cannot think. I am sorry. I fail you."
"Don't sweat it. Even John Elway had a bad day once in a while."
"Who?"
"Never mind. Marie? Any suggestions?"
Marie's voice quivered. "I am not brilliant, I fear."
"Molly?"
"All I can think of is calling fire down from heaven to consume them."
"Do you think you can do it?"
"I've been trying. So far, it hasn't worked."
"Oh, well. Paul. Can you handle my pistol?"
"Yes."
"Get it."
Paul fumbled under Bill's seat and, with great effort, produced the automatic. He checked the clip and the chamber and told Bill, "I have it and it is loaded. Tell me when to shoot them."
Bill caught Paul's eyes in the mirror. "Not them, Paul. Their cars. I may not be Mr. Spiritual, but I do believe the Lord would prefer us to avoid killing if we can possibly help it."
Paul's lower lip shuddered. "Then that means that last night - But I only wanted to save you - and I know that I--"
"You did what was necessary at the time, Paul," Molly said. "You acted to save your family and friends. Don't berate yourself for that."
The engine whined and the windows whistled as Paul said, "But I know I purposely killed at least one of them. And that means that I am a--"
"Don't say it!" Bill shouted. "It's not true. Like she said, you did what you had to. I said we need to avoid it if it's possible. Last night it wasn't. And nobody ever told you that being a Christian meant - well, we didn't tell you all the do's and don't's, put it that way. You can't kick yourself for something like that. Besides, it's all past now. Right now we have plenty of present to be concerned about."
Paul sniffed and tried to settle his resolve. "I will consider what you say. However, as you say, we have the present matter to consider." He turned and looked out the back window. "Why are they not closer?"
"Good question. They got that close and just kind of sat there. Like they're watching us or something."
Molly gasped. "Oh, dear. I think I know."
"Well, don't just sit there."
"When that plane - when you formulated this plan of short jaunts, it was built on the idea that they didn't know we were having car trouble."
"Yeah?"
"Well, I'm afraid that when that plane passed over us, the bonnet was still open."
Bill growled and pounded the steering wheel. "So they put two and two together and come up with frequent stops. And now they're sitting back there waiting for the car to conk out again."
Paul laughed. "The joke is on them, no?"
"I hope you're right. At this speed, this engine's making a lot of funny noises."
"Then why do you not slow to a safer speed?"
"Why?" Bill exclaimed. "Because those maniacs are chasing us. How crazy do you think I am?"
Paul smiled into the mirror. "I forgive you for shouting at me, Bill. They wait for the car to 'conk out', no?"
Bill blushed a little at Paul's forgiveness. "Yeah. So?"
"So if we slow a little, they will merely think it is about to 'conk out' and will maintain the pace that we do."
Bill threw up his hands and eased off the gas pedal. "He did it to me again, Molly." Molly was too busy giggling to answer.
The engine coughed once and resumed its drone. Marie jumped. "What was that?"
"I think the engine said, 'Thank you'," Bill answered.
He checked his mirror and said, "Looks like you were right. They're still keeping the same buffer between us." An idea struck him. "Paul, where's your rifle?"
"In the trunk."
"Oh, well, scratch that idea."
Molly asked, "What was your idea?"
"Take a potshot or two at them. They might back off even more."
"And then on the other hand, they might decide to charge."
Bill shrugged his hand on the wheel. "A calculated risk. There's only three cars. If we happen to disable one, they've got a major problem. I really don't think Leblanc's dumb enough to take that chance."
"Hmm. Perhaps you're right."
"But it's too far a shot and too shaky for a pistol. I found that out the hard way, remember?"
"Will I ever forget?"
"What do you mean, too far?" Paul asked.
"To get an accurate shot," Bill replied. "Too much chance of either hitting one of them or shooting wild and wasting ammo."
Paul sat back, out of range of Bill's mirror. "If we could achieve this accurate shot, what would we shoot?"
"Huh? Oh, I don't know. Tire on the lead car, probably. And even if we missed the tire, a close shot'd make them think twice about rushing us."
"I see." Paul waited about two minutes, then leaned out the car window.
Bill saw the move, but didn't see the gun in Paul's hand. "Hey. What are you doing?"
Over the slipstream Paul called back in, "I see something."
"What is it?"
Paul raised the gun stiff-arm in front of him with both hands, sighted and fired. A little piece of pavement skipped in front of the first police car and the car swerved back and forth. The gap between the pursued and the pursuers slowly widened.
"Paul! Get back in here! Now! And put that thing away!"
As Paul wormed back in the window he said, "It worked, Bill ."
" I don't care," Bill shouted. "Don't you ever pull a stunt like that again. You hear me?"
Paul was crushed. "But - but I knew I could shoot it accurate. Why are you angry, Bill?"
"Paul is an excellent marksman," Marie added weakly.
Bill stared straight ahead. Molly took up the conversation. "Shortly after we arrived in France, Bill had to try a shot like that. His shot strayed and hit the driver's compartment. The man was nearly killed. He was afraid you might make the same error."
Paul nodded. "I see. So, because you missed and hurt someone you assume I will do the same. Is this correct?"
"Pretty much," Bill mumbled.
Paul's voice rose and his eyes flared as he spoke. "I have used guns since I was a little boy, Bill. Please do not judge me by your own inexperience. It was an easy shot for me."
"You're right. It worked. Look."
Everyone automatically turned to peer out the back window. The police cars looked like toys from such a distance. Paul turned back. "May I consider that your apology?"
"Old American trick, Pal. Change the subject." Bill threw up his hands. "All right, so I keep underestimating you. Gimme a break. You're only fourteen. Guys my age are supposed to be superior to kids like you."
Molly intervened. "I suggest we drop the subject altogether. You two revere one another like brothers. Unfortunately, you also quibble like brothers. Perhaps we should put all that energy to better use."
Bill eyed her suspiciously. "Any suggestions?"
"Determining what to do next might prove an interesting and challenging task."
"Could be," Bill agreed.
"She is right, Bill. I am sorry. I did act against your directions. I will not do this again."
Bill shrugged. "I guess what bugs me the most is that you didn't even tell me you had the idea and could make a shot like that. If we had talked about it. . ."
"I understand. Let us do as Molly says."
"Good idea. Any ideas?"
"If we could make it to Lyons, we might lose them in the city."
Bill nodded. "That has possibilities. How far is Lyons?"
"A little over 300 kilometers."
Bill looked at Molly. "How far is that in regular measurements?"
Molly grinned at his pretended ignorance. "About 200 miles."
"Yeah. Trouble is, if we keep cruising for that long they're liable to get the idea that our car isn't on its last legs, after all. Then they might close in and risk a shootout. How do we get to Lyons? Will this road take us there?"
"No," Marie answered. "We turn east at the next junction, then go to the Paris-Lyons expressway. It is also our route to the Alps."
"How far to the junction?"
"It should not be far now."
Marie's prediction proved accurate. Within minutes they saw their road branching off in either direction, a few hundred yards ahead of them.
Bill had noticed that the landscape rose and fell gently as they went, and his view of Leblanc's parade was blocked from time to time. He suddenly sped up, hoping to put more distance between them and the police. Molly gave an inquiring look but kept silent.
Bill geared down while he checked his mirror. The intersection stepped up to meet them. Bill jammed the car down into second gear, whipped the wheel to the right and floored it with a prayer that those u-joints would hold. They did. The car squealed around the corner and shot westward.
"I say. Are you aware that east is that way?"
"Yeah. I'm aware." Bill stopped the car as quickly as he could without locking the brakes. He made a hasty three- point u-turn and headed back to the east. As the car crossed the intersection he stared up the road they had come from. A little hill still hid the police convoy. Bill romped on the gas and prayed.
"What was that all about?" Molly asked.
"Did you see those tracks we laid down around that corner?"
"Yes?"
"It's a long shot, but it might make them think we went the other way. If it doesn't work, we haven't lost anything. But if it works, we gain more time on them."
"Remarkable. An astute idea."
Bill bowed from his seated position. "Why, thank you."
"It could give us time to reach Lyons, especially if they think we stopped to hide somewhere," Paul said.
"Yeah. But Leblanc's smart. He might not fall for it. So let's put the pedal to the metal while we can."
Molly laughed. "I do believe the frequency of your Americanisms is steadily increasing."
"Hey. I'm teaching the kid how to talk good. What's the beef?"
Molly groaned, rolled her eyes and sought diversion out the window. Marie stared blankly ahead, while Paul imitated Bill's speech and mannerisms under his breath. Bill shifted in his seat and settled in to watch the kilometers tick off under him.
To everyone's surprise, they rolled into Lyons at sunset like tourists on a Sunday drive. All assumed that Bill's decoy tactic had worked.
They didn't see what really happened. They didn't see that Paul's shot bounced off the road and hit Leblanc's car. They didn't see the bullet lodge in the car's radiator and form a slow but definite leak. They never knew that the car gave up the ghost several kilometers from the crossroads, whereupon Leblanc and Soubisse had to add their weight to the two remaining cars.
They also didn't see that the added weight and increased speed caused the trailing car to run out of gas. They didn't see the look on Soubisse's face when the lead car kept going and left Soubisse and his two companions stranded. They didn't hear Leblanc radio headquarters, explain the situation and request help for his aide. Nor did they hear headquarters, a.k.a. Pierre Marchand, adamantly order Leblanc to turn back and stay with Soubisse and the others. It was just as well that they didn't hear Leblanc's response.
All the travelers knew was that they somehow, by the grace of God, made it to Lyons with their car and their bodies intact. The sun had already set, and despite his best efforts to assert his manhood by keeping watch, Paul slept peacefully on his mother's shoulder. Molly's eyelids drooped and Bill yawned more often than he felt he should. At last he pulled the faithful vehicle over into a field near the city and slept.
As the sunrise reached its glowing fingers over the shadowy outlines of the mountains, Commander Leblanc's eyebrows cast angry shadows over his eyes' reflection of the glorious morning. He called headquarters for the hundredth time. Through the night he had called every ten minutes, and always received the same answer: Captain Marchand had gone home for the night and nobody was to do anything until he returned the next morning. When Leblanc tried to call Pierre at home via a phone link, he received a recorded message that said the phone had been turned off, and please call tomorrow. Well, it was tomorrow now, so Pierre had better answer him.
To his surprise, Marchand himself answered the call to H.Q. Leblanc decided to skip the formalities. "All right, Pierre. What about those cars I requested? Why are they not here?"
" Because," Marchand's patronizing tone came back, "We are not certain where you are. I could not ask good men to drive all night and risk overlooking you."
"If that is your best excuse, then it must suffice. May I assume, then, that the vehicles are on their way now and will be here soon?"
"You may not," Marchand snapped. "You may assume that four cars, each bearing a new member of your squad, will depart from Paris within the hour. You may also hope they find you." He paused to gather momentum. "Leblanc, so far in your mad quest you have lost four cars, ten revolvers and five men. What does that tell you?"
Leblanc shrugged at the microphone. "It tells me nothing. What does it tell you?"
"It tells me," Marchand virtually screamed, "that perhaps you are not the man for this pursuit. Perhaps there is no need to pursue these people at all! Perhaps I am wrong to make the People's Force serve your selfish quest for personal revenge! That is what it tells me, Leblanc!"
Leblanc almost whispered into the radio, "You tread on uncertain ground, Pierre. Beware."
Marchand was too fired up to beware. "May I consider that a threat, Francois? How would you like to find yourself under arrest?"
This rattled Leblanc. One-on-one, he knew he could beat the life out of Marchand. But he also knew he couldn't defeat the entire system. And Marchand had the entire system at his disposal. "I did not moan that as a threat, Pierre. It has been a long night."
Marchand knew he had the offense on a drive now. He said, "Accepted. Now, I suggest you put your squad in the remaining car and proceed to Lyons. There, you can borrow cars from the locals. This will save our men from having to drive all day to meet you."
"In the one car??" Leblanc sputtered. "You know we cannot all fit in one car!"
Marchand smiled. "I understand you have done so before."
Leblanc rumbled, then keyed the transceiver and laughed. "Very well, Pierre. Have your little joke. Are you quite satisfied? You have made me look like a fool."
Away from the microphone Marchand said to himself, "I begin to think one's appearance should reflect his character." He cleared his throat and pressed the talk button. "All right, Francois. Let us compromise. I will send a helicopter to take you to Lyons and make arrangements for the police there to put vehicles and weapons at your disposal. In return, you agree to abandon this chase if you have not caught them in 48 hours. Agreed?"
This was what Leblanc had been waiting for. He pounced. "Your proposal puzzles me, Pierre. Why do you press so insistently for me to let them get away? One might almost think you harbored Christian sympathies. What do you say to that?"
Marchand nearly fell off his chair. "I say," he said as he loosened his collar, "that a handful of simpletons who seem only to want to be left alone, who have committed no major crime, are not worth the massive loss of men and equipment. The cost already of your bungling chase far outweighs the benefits of capturing them. For anyone but yourself, of course. Which is precisely the problem. You are wasting the people's time and money on a personal vendetta."
Leblanc's face was etched with triumph. "No major crime, Pierre? What about assault on a police officer, aiding in an escape, killing police officers at will, perhaps even murder of their friend? To say nothing of auto theft and destruction of public property. I was not aware until now that you did not consider these major crimes." He could almost hear his captain squirming.
"You never stop, do you? We will discuss your insubordination when - or perhaps if - you return."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Marchand decided to twist his own knife a bit. "As poorly as you have handled this manhunt thus far, it is quite conceivable that this American with his collection of women and children will kill you." He grinned at the thought.
Leblanc laughed. "Well, Pierre, if that is my fate, rest assured I will take him with me."
"Your fate? You are not in control of your own destiny? This warrants serious consideration. Who sounds like a Christian now, Francois?"
"Bah. Enough of this. I have work to do. Are you quite finished with these insults?"
Marchand paused. "Are you?"
Leblanc could see no way to take the offensive again. "I merely - very well. Friends such as we should not attack one another so."
"Agreed. Soldiers of the same army should not shoot at each other. The helicopter will be near your location in about an hour."
"Very well. Leblanc out."
Marchand switched the radio off, reached in his desk drawer and found a bottle and cup. He poured himself three fingers of Russian vodka and read the label on the bottle. It had cost him a week's salary, but it made dealing with Leblanc tolerable.
"All right, is that everything we need?"
"You should know, husband dear. You're the mechanic."
Bill scanned the list one more time. "Okay, this stuff should put our car in fairly good shape. Come on, Paul. Let's go get Sally here what she needs."
Paul assumed his look. "Sally?"
"The car. Every car's got to have a name. A feminine name, of course." He winked at Molly.
Paul beamed. "Sally it is. Let us go." The two men marched off toward an auto parts store near where they had parked on the busy Lyons street.
In the store, they moved quickly. Paul chose paint and a good carburetor cleaner. Bill got spark plugs, air filter, thermostat and some other more intricate items, as well as some selected tools. They met at the checkout counter where Paul did some quick addition.
"With the money I brought from home we can afford it and still buy petrol. I mean, gas."
"Good. Tell him we'll take it all and pay cash."
Paul relayed the message. The counter man rang up each item, displayed the total and said, "Carte, s'il vous plait."
"What'd he say?"
"He asked for a card. I do not know what he means."
The man behind the counter said in English, "Your citizen card, of course. I must have it to complete the sale."
Bill shuffled nervously. "Uh, listen. We've been on a farm about halfway between here and nowhere for a long time. We're, ah, not really sure what a citizen card is. Can you tell us what we do now?"
The man's eyes retreated into suspicious slits. "A farm? Where?"
Paul answered with the specific location of his family's farm. "My mama and I lived there alone, until we learned that our cousin from America was on the Continent when the war happened. He lives with us now. But we have no phone, no television, little communication with the outside world."
The man's eyes came out of hiding. "I understand. I lived on a farm once." He turned to Bill. "Please understand. We must be very careful. Without a valid citizen card I cannot complete the transaction. The computer will not allow it."
"And there's no way to override the computer, right?"
"That is correct, Monsieur. I am sorry."
Bill shrugged. "Well, I guess we need a 'citizen card,' whatever that is. Where and how do we get one?"
"Go to the Ministry of Personal Affairs on Basle Street--"
"I believe I saw that street on our way here," Paul. nodded.
"--with your birth certificate. Swear Allegiance to Europe, renounce any religious convictions and register a retinal scan. They will issue you the card at once."
Bill laughed. "There's just one problem. My birth certificate is somewhere across the ocean, glowing in the dark. What do I do?"
The man scratched his head. "I do not know. The Ministry can tell you."
Bill let out a long sigh. "Yeah. Trouble is, without some of this stuff our car may not make it over there. Can we just leave the money with you, take the stuff now, and make the sale legal after we get our cards?"
The man shook his head sadly. "I am afraid not, my friend. You see, the door is electronically monitored. If any merchandise leaves the store without a valid receipt, it triggers the most outrageous alarm I have ever heard. It also alerts police headquarters. They can be here in two minutes when that alarm sounds."
"I guess theft isn't a problem. On the other hand, you can't offer freebies, either."
"Pardon?"
"Never mind. Just rambling to myself."
Paul spoke up. "I have a thought."
"I'd buy it from you if I had a card."
Paul grinned. "It would die of loneliness in your head. Monsieur, you have one of these cards?"
"I do."
"Well, perhaps you could buy these items on your card, then we could pay you personally and use the receipt to get out the door. As my cousin says, our car may not make it to Basle Street the way it is now."
The man looked off into a corner and thought. "It may work."
"Would you be willing to help us so that we may get our cards and adapt to the New World?"
The man's face bent into a snarl. "Adapt is all one can do. This surveillance, monitoring, structuring - I do not like it. But there is no choice. Without the card, one is not a person. I will help you."
He took out his wallet and showed them a card the size of a small credit card. It was blank on both sides except for the characteristic magnetic stripe. He pushed it onto a slot on the cash register, and seconds later the machine punched out a receipt tape. When the drawer opened, he took Bill's money and filed it. He then bagged the materials, dropped the tape into the bag and bade his customers good day.
Back at the car Paul said, "We can put the new parts on the car and then proceed to Basle Street. I think I know where it is."
"Wrong, Tonto. That's the one place we don't dare go."
Molly said, "Why not? What's there?"
"The Ministry of Personal Affairs," Bill answered, "A.K.A. Big Brother who's watching you. They want to stamp our foreheads."
"Beg pardon?"
Bill and Paul took turns explaining the matter of the citizen card. When they ended their story Molly asked, "I don't understand. What did you mean about our foreheads?"
"Ever hear of the Mark of the Beast?"
"I thought that was an imprint on the hand or the forehead, not an identification card."
Bill frowned. "It's not really an I.D. card. It's a - a - transaction card. Without it you can't buy a smile. If you try, a computer blocks the sale and won't give you a receipt. If you try to leave without the register tape you get arrested. What does that sound like?"
"But how does that correspond to the Mark?"
"In Bible times a mark in the hand or forehead was a seal of ownership. Like a slave's tattoo. With this card system the State owns everybody. If they decide you ought to be an unperson they revoke your card and let you starve."
Molly laughed. "Don't tell me the card has sixes all over it."
"It's blank. I don't know where the number thing fits in. I'm just guessing about all this, but it sure seems to make sense. And we've got a major problem."
"I do not understand," Paul pleaded. "Why do we not just go to Basle Street and get cards?"
"Okay, Paul. Think. What did that guy say we had to do to get the card?"
"Go to Basle Street."
"And do what?"
Paul played with his teeth for a minute. "He said to go there with our birth certificates--that is a problem, but it can be overcome - register a - what did he call it?"
"Retinal scan. It's something in your eye. Sort of like a fingerprint. Keep going."
Paul's eyes bulged from his head. "We must - swear allegiance to the State and renounce all religious beliefs. That means Jesus, does it not?"
"Right. And we all know we can't do that. And if we go there and tell them we're Christians and can't do that - well, we've seen what they do then."
Molly acted more perplexed than worried. "What shall we do?"
For now," Bill answered, "Why don't we go find a place to tackle this car? Paul and I can mess with the engine and junk and you gals can sand and paint."
All agreed. Bill tossed the bag of parts in the front seat and climbed in. "Let's go, troops."