The chief strode down the nearest hallway and pounded on doors. “Police! You must evacuate this building immediately. You have ten minutes,” he yelled at the sleepy faces that peered out. “There has been a bomb threat. Don't stop to gather your belongings."

He repeated the message until he was hoarse. The hallways filled with people in bathrobes and pajamas or with blankets wrapped around them. A swarthy man with an unpleasant scowl on his face stepped from one room. “What the hell is going on?” Jack Shrager demanded.

Howes swallowed hard. “There's been a bomb threat, Jack. You've got to get out.”

A young blond woman poked her head out of the room. “What's wrong, babe?”

“There's a bomb in the motel,” the chief said, becoming more specific.

The woman's face went pale and she stepped into the hallway. She was still in her silk bathrobe. Shrager tried to hold her, but she pulled away.

“I'm not staying here,” she said.

“And I'm not moving,” Shrager said. He slammed the door.

Howes shook his head in frustration, then guided the woman by the arm, joining the throng heading for the front door. He saw the buses were almost filled and yelled at the drivers.

“Get out of here in five minutes. Drive to the highest hill in town.”

He slid behind the wheel of his cruiser and drove to the fish pier. The deputy was arguing with three fishermen. Howes saw what was happening and yelled out the window, “Get your asses into those trucks and go to the top of Hill Street or you'll be arrested.”

“What the hell is going on, Charlie?” Howes lowered his voice. “Look, Buck, you know me. Just do as I say and I'll explain later.”

The fisherman nodded, then he and the others got into their pickups. Howes told his deputy to follow them and made one last sweep along the fish pier, where he picked up an elderly man who sorted through the rubbish bins for cans and bottles. Then he scoured Main Street, saw that it was quiet and headed for the top of Hill Street.

Some of the people who stood shivering in the cool air of morning shouted at him. Howes ignored their insults, got out of his cruiser and walked partway down the steep hill that led toward the harbor. Now that the adrenaline rush was over, he felt weak-kneed. Nothing. He checked his watch. Five minutes came and went. And so did his dreams of a peaceful retirement on a police pension. I'm dead, he thought, sweating despite the coolness.