It was the size of a doghouse and sat in the middle of the road. The truck cleared it on the right and slammed into the rock wall, scraping sparks off granite. Joe headed for the same space, skidding, holding the wheel steady. Ray and tommy gun were pressed against the windshield. As the ambulance slipped past the boulder, Joe saw the truck ahead hit the wall again. Wrenches, jacks and tires spilled from the tarp, bouncing in the ambulance’s headlights. As the truck stopped, nose into the wall, the ambulance slid through between the truck’s tailgate and the edge. The lead car had halted in the middle of the road. Joe swung in, braked and pulled the emergency brake at the same time, coming to rest against the car bumper only a second before the tail sedan rammed into the rear of the ambulance. A tire wobbled out of the dark and bounded by the headlights. Security officers ran up and down waving flashlights and tommy guns. Even Ray was distracted.

A scream that was both feminine and unhuman erupted by Joe’s ear, followed by a powerful bell-like gong as Santa flew out of his seat headfirst and hit the ambulance roof. He seemed still to be suspended in midair when Joe looked past him to the rear of the ambulance and saw the empty steel square and eight slack straps. The plutonium canister had broken loose and rolled forward, glinting and warm, to nudge Santa’s loafers and Argyle socks. The plutonium couldn’t explode. Joe would have been happy to explain this to Santa in order to reduce his psychic tension, but Santa had dropped to the ambulance floor.

“Gee,” said Ray.

“Orders are we don’t stop for anything,” the lieutenant in charge said when Joe pointed out the slumped figure of the analyst. “He’s already in the ambulance. We’ll leave him there.”

“He’s out cold, sir. He probably has a concussion.”

“Look, Sergeant, we’re lucky no one in the truck was killed.”

“What about this?” Joe pointed to the canister. “The strap hooks are broken.”

“God, we can’t have that thing rolling around. Somebody’s going to have to hold it. We’re losing time. Choose up, one of you has to take it, or wedge it with something.”

Already, the truck, fender crumpled, was weaving around the ambulance.

The lieutenant ran off to the lead sedan. Again the convoy was reassembling itself.

“I’ll wedge it.” Ray’s eyes were red but unwavering.

As Joe let out the clutch, Ray slipped over his seat to the rear of the ambulance. Cautiously the vehicles moved down the mountain. Clouds scattered over the stars. There was a scuff of cloth and scrape of metal over the ambulance floor. Joe looked back and saw Ray tucking Santa into a corner. He couldn’t see the canister.