"Mustard to Mogul. Mustard to Mogul. Acknowledge."
"Mogul is my code name," King said proudly. Into the walkie-talkie, he said, "Go ahead, Mustard."
"We have some vehicles blocking the road up ahead. "
"Roadblock?"
"Looks like."
"Must be state troopers securing the road," King muttered. "Go on ahead and get them to clear the way for us. Fast. We don't want the carrier to have to brake unless we have to. That thing is a juggernaut."
"Roger. Out."
Through the steady rhythm of the carrier they heard the lead cars accelerate. Several moments passed: Then, unmistakably, there came the rattle and pop pop pop of small arms fire.
"That can't be gunfire!" Nancy said.
Abruptly, the red brake lights-all sixteen of them-flared along the carrier's rear end. Massive brakes engaged and the giant wheels kicked up acrid rubber smoke as momentum pushed the locked tires along.
The brontohauler began slewing.
Nancy moaned, "Oh no. It's going to jacknife!"
The carrier didn't jacknife. But it was a near thing.
Knuckles white, King swerved to avoid a collision.
He ended up on the soft shoulder of the road. He popped the door and lifted his head up to see.
The carrier was sliding on locked tires to a sloppy halt. There was another silence. Then the gunfire broke the stillness, louder and more spiteful this time.
King grabbed up his walkie-talkie. "Mogul to Mustard. What's happening?"
"You won't believe this, Mr. King," Colonel Mustard panted, pausing to snap off a shot. "We're under attack!"
"Not again!" Nancy said.
"Can you make out who it is?" King asked in a heated voice.
"No, sir, they're wearing camos and ski masks. But there is something you should know."
"What?"
"They're wearing green berets."
"It can't be! We left those third world do-gooders back in Africa."
"I can't say it's them, but they have the same haberdasher. We're returning fire. "
"Return fire, hell! Wipe 'em out!"
Nancy hissed at him in the dark. "Are you crazy, King? A firefight is insane."
King looked at her incredulously. "What do you want-to let them just steal the animal?"
"If I have a choice between a dead dinosaur and a kidnapped one," Nancy bit back. "I'll take the latter. Gladly."
"The board didn't spend millions just to lose out on the product tie-in of the century."
Nancy jumped out of the car. "Use your head. Where could they possibly take Jack? Back to Africa? Order your goons to retreat."
"I'm giving the orders around here." King hissed into the walkie-talkie, "Burger Berets! Do your duty! Sing out!"
And from the near distance, repeated in the walkie-talkie, came a crackling battlecry.
"Have it your way!"
Then the percussive chatter of automatic weapons fire cannonading through the night like a crackling intermittent rain.
Listening to it, King pounded on the car roof. "Damn, I wish I had a gun!"
"So do I," Nancy said bitterly. "And you in my sights. "
"You're just overwrought."
Then, the most blood-chilling sound Nancy Derringer had ever heard in her life lifted over the unremitting small arms fire.
Harruuunkk?
King grinned fiercely. "They must have nailed one of the bastards!"
"That was Jack!" Nancy cried.
"Old Jack?"
But Nancy was rushing to the brontohauler. Skip King froze. If he pulled her back, she might be eternally grateful. On the other hand, she'd been threatening to write him up to the board.
"Maybe I should leave this to Kismet," he said, ducking back into the car to wait out the mortal storm.
Nancy Derringer heard the sound a second time. The black tip of the Apatosaur's whiplike tail was twitching.
"Oh God, the tranks are wearing off!- Not now! Not now! Please not now!"
The pumpkin bulk still lay flat on the hauler body. Nancy circled around to the front. The head lay flat like that of a stunned serpent. The eyes were half open, the square, goaty pupils hooded. The orbs were filmed and cloudy. It was not aware of its surroundings. And obviously too weak to stand. A minor blessing.
Nancy gave the rough leathery hide a reassuring pat. "Don't you worry, Punkin. Mama's going to get you out of this. Somehow . . ."