Thibodeau stood there outside the warehouse entrance and looked at him. The foam of oxygenated blood on his lips was the kind that came brewing up from the lungs with a deep stab wound. His scrubbed features were still contorted with the agony of his final moments. The killer had been savage and pitiless.

Frowning unconsciously, Thibodeau shined his flashlight through the partially open door, pushed it further up, and stepped into the darkened space beyond.

"We've got ten, twelve of them behind that big half-track crane on the near left, about half as many using the 'dozers for cover, a couple more--"

Momentarily releasing the "talk" button of his radio, Carlysle held his breath as a stream of ammunition babbled noisily in his direction, striking the outer flank of his car. Thus far his plan was working, the chase squads' aerial support providing a visual lock on their opponents' positions. Those chopper pilots, opening themselves up to direct fire, putting their lives in jeopardy... if he hadn't been busy trying to keep his own skin from acquiring any unwanted holes, he'd have been singing their praises to the sun, moon, and stars. But maybe there would be a chance to express his gratitude later.

He lifted the radio back up to his mouth, taking advantage of a lull in the fire to get his orders out.

"--a couple more scattered behind that mound of dug-up soil over to the left. The rest are still clustered between the jeeps," he shouted. "My squad's the shortest distance from that crane, and I think we can swing around back of it pretty quick. I'm going to need Squads Two and Three to go up on the bulldozers. Stick to the right of the road..."

Less than thirty seconds later, his instructions completed, Carlysle signed off and led his team from the protection of their chase car, running hard toward his self-assigned target.

Thibodeau hastened through the dimness of the corridor, rifle across his chest, eyes moving alertly from side to side. His old jungle recon instincts had kicked in like voltage, heightening every sense.

Seconds ago he had called for backup, sending the message out wide so it would be squawked by his ground patrols as well as Cody's team in the monitoring station. Then he'd moved on ahead without waiting for a reply. It might be somebody would be available to help, it might be they wouldn't, but there was no way he could wait around to find out.

He'd made his need clear; the rest was out of his hands.

He turned a bend in the corridor, another, a third, and then stopped abruptly where it forked off in opposite directions. There was still no sign of the men he was trailing. But the path he'd followed had been the only one running from the loading dock. Up until this point. The hallway on the right would take him onto the main floor of the storage bay, the one on his left to a freight elevator that, as he recalled, rose to a catwalk that spanned the bay about halfway up toward its ceiling.