by the lines of heavy, black chain. They raced through the opening in the wall into the concrete parking area; beams of floodlights shot down from the roof of Appleton Hall; men were at windows, weapons in their hands.
The eighth explosion came from below, at the base of the hill, the charge so filled with heat that the surrounding foliage burst into flames. Men at the windows smashed panes of glass and fired at the dancing light. Scofield saw that three of the other detonations had caused small brush fires. They were gifts he was grateful for; he and Taleniekov were both right. Sequence and fire, fire and sequence. Each was a diversion that could save one's life. There were no guarantees ver-but there was hope.
The rented car was parked at the side of the wall about fifty yards to their right. It was in shadows, an isolated vehicle that was meant to stay there. Bray pulled Toni against the wall.
"The car over there. It's mine; it's our chance." "They'll shoot at us!" "The odds are better than running. There are patrols up and down the hill.
On foot, they'd cut us down." They raced along the wall. The ninth charge of dynamite lit up the sky at the northwest base of the hill. Automatic guns and single-shot weapons erupted. Suddenly, from within the growing fires of Appleton Hall a massive explosion blew out a section of the front wall. Men fell from windows, fragments of stone and steel burst into the night as half the floodlights disappeared. Scofield understood. The seat of the Matarese had its arsenals; the fires had found one.
"Let's go!" he yelled, pushing Antonia toward the car. She threw herself inside as he ran around the trunk toward the driver's side.
The concrete exploded all around him; from somewhere on the remaining roof a man with a submachine gun had spotted them. Bray crouched below the car, and saw the source of fire; he leveled his weapon and held the trigger steady in a prolonged burst. A scream preceded a body plummeting toward the ground. He opened the door and slid behind the wheel.
"There's no key!" cried Toni. "They've taken the key!" "Here," said Scofield, handing her the gun, as he reached for the plastic shell of the roof light. He yanked it off; a key fell into his hand. He started the engine. "Get in the back!" he yelled. She obeyed, climbing over the seat. "Push that gun through the left window and when I spin out of here hold the trigger down! Aim high and keep firing; spray everything until I reach the first curve, but keep your head backl Can you do that?" "I can do it!" Bray spun the car into a U-turn, and sped across the parking area. Antonia did as she was told, the rapid explosions of the machine gun filling the car. They reached the curve of the drive, the first descent on the hill.
"Get over to the right windowl" he ordered, careening the automobile around the curve, holding onto the wheel with such pressure that he was conscious of the ache in his arms. "In a few seconds we'll pass the carriage house; there's a garage there, men inside. If they've got guns, open fire the same way. Keep your head back and the trigger tight. Have you got that?" "I've got that." There were men; they had weapons and they were using them. The glass of the windshield shattered as a fusillade of bullets came from the open garage doors.
Antonia had rolled down the window; she now pushed the gun through the frame, held the trigger against its rim and the explosions once again vibrated through the racing automobile. Bodies lurched; screams and the shattering of glass and the screeching ricochets of bullets filled the cavernous garage of the carriage house. The last clip of ammunition was exhausted as Scofield, his face cut from the windshield fragments, came to the final two hundred yards toward the gates of Appleton Hall. There were men below, armed men, uniformed men, but they were not soldiers of the Matarese. Bray thrust his hand down to the knob of the light switch and repeatedly pushed it in and pulled it out. The headlights flickered on and off-in se quence, always sequence. I The gates had been forced open; he slammed his foot on the brake. The automobile skidded to a stop, tires screeching.
The police converged. Then more than police; blacksuited men in paramilitary