than the previous two. Chaos spread as rapidly as the flames, both in danger of leaping out of control. Taleniekov was covering all his bases, if a trap was not feasible he could escape in the confusion.
But if the Russian's mind was working as his might, thought Bray, the trap would be sprung in moments. He crawled around the boulder and started down the expanse of descending field, keeping his shoulders close to the ground, propelling himself like an animal, hands and feet working in concert.
T'here was a sudden flash far below on the road. It lasted no more than a second, a tiny eruption of light. A match had been struck. It appeared senseless until Bray saw a flashlight beam shoot out from the right, followed instantly by two others. Ile three beams converged in the direction of the briefly held match; seconds later they separated at the base of the hill that bordered the road below.
Scofield knew what the tactic was now. Four nights ago a match had been struck in Rock Creek Park to expose a trap; it was struck now to execute one. By the same man. Taleniekov had succeeded in throwing the Corsicans' search into chaotic paralysis; be was now drawing off the few left behind.
The final chase had started; the Russian would take one of those men.
Bray took the automatic from the holster strapped beneath his jacket and reached into his pocket for his silencer. Snapping it into place, he unlatched the safety and began running diagonally to his left, below the crest of the hill. Somewhere within those acres of grassland and forest the trap would be sprung. It was a question of finding out precisely where, if possible immobilizing one of the pursuers, thus favoring the odds for the trap's success. Better still, taking one of the Corsicans; two sources of information were better than one.
He ran in spurts, staying close to the ground, his eyes on the three flashlight beams below. Each was covering a section of the hill and in the spills, he could see weapons clearly; at the first sign of the hunted, shots would be fired.
Scofield stopped. Something was wrong; it was the beam of light on the right, the one perhaps two hundred yards directly beneath him. It was waving back and forth too rapidly, without focus. And there was no reflection-not even a dull reflection-of light bouncing off metal--even dull metal. There was no weapon.
There was no hand holding that flashlightl It had been secured to a thick branch or a limb; a feint, a false placement given false motion to cover another movement. Bray lay on the ground, concealed by the grass and the darkness, watching, listening for signs of a man running.
It happened so fast, so unexpectedly, that Scofield nearly fired his gun in instinctive defense. The figure of a large Corsican was suddenly beside him, above him, the crunch of a racing foot not eighteen inches from his head. He rolled to his left, out of the running man's path.
He inhaled deeply, trying to throw off the shock and the fear, then rose cautiously and followed as best he could the trail of the racing Corsican.
The man was heading directly north along the hill, below the ridge, as Bray had intended doing, relying on beams of light and sound--or the sudden absence of both-to find Taleniekov. The Corsican was familiar.with the terrain. Scofield quickened his pace, passing the center beam of light still far below, and by passing it knowing that Taleniekov had fixed on the third man. The flashlight-barely seen-on the extreme north side of the hill.
Bray hurried faster; instinct told him to keep the Corsican in his sight.
But the man was nowhere to be seen. All was silent, too silent. Scofield dropped to the ground and joined that silence, peering about in the darkness, his finger around the trigger of his automatic. It would happen any second. But how? Where?
About a hundred and fifty yards ahead, diagonally down to the right, the third beam of fight appeared to go off and on in a series of short, irregular flashes. No.... It was not being turned off and on rapidly; the light was being blocked. Trees. Whoever held the flashlight was walking into a cluster of trees growing on the side of the hill.
Suddenly, the beam of light shot upward, dancing briefly in the higher regions of the thinning trunks, then plummeted down, the glow stationary, dulled by the foliage on the