He steered by the brakes, moving in and out of the light traffic that he knew would become heavier as he neared the city. When possible, he tried to pa.s.s and move in ahead of trucks, using them as a shield against the gunfire from the men in the SUVs. He could hear Giordino's gun shooting from the main cabin, but he couldn't see the results, nor could he tell how close his pursuers were behind the aircraft's rudder.

With both feet on the brakes and his right hand on the throttles, he used his left to call a Mayday over the radio. The control tower operator at Andrews Air Force Base replied and asked for his location, as they did not have him on radar. When told he was on Branch Avenue approaching the Suit-land Parkway, the controllers thought he was a nutcase and ordered him sharply to get off the radio. But Pitt persisted and demanded they call the nearest police unit, a request they were more than happy to grant.

Back in the cabin, Giordino's slow, methodically aimed fire finally paid off. He shot out the right front tire of the lead Mercedes, sending it into an uncontrollable skid across the highway, where it flew into a drainage ditch and rolled over three times before coming to rest upside down in a cloud of dust. The other Mercedes came on without hesitation and was gaining due to the increased traffic that was slowing Pitt. He needed two lanes and the shoulder to cut past cars and trucks looming ahead.

Sirens screamed in the distance, and soon red-and-blue flashing lights were seen coming from the opposite direction. The police cars cut across the gra.s.sy strip between the divided highway and picked up the chase almost on the rear b.u.mper of the Mercedes, pa.s.sing around it and rushing toward the aircraft the officers thought was in the hands of either a drug addict or a drunk.

For perhaps ten seconds, the police officers were not aware of the bullets coming out of the automatic rifles fired by the two men out the rear side-door windows of the lone Mercedes, but then the bullets ripped through the hoods of the police cars and mauled the engines, causing them to stop dead. The officers, surprised and bewildered, coasted their cars off the highway onto the shoulder as smoke rolled from beneath their hoods.

"They stopped the cops!" Giordino shouted through the c.o.c.kpit door.

They are desperate to retrieve the sacred relics, Pitt thought, as the Mercedes pulled even and the gunners unleashed a gale of bullets that smashed into the cowl of the nose in front of him. But coming too close to the aircraft was a mistake. Giordino held both automatics in his hands and pumped both magazines into the Mercedes, striking the driver, who slumped over the wheel. The SUV then drifted out of its lane and crashed into the side of a giant truck and trailer hauling milk. The rear wheels of the heavy trailer smashed into and over the Mercedes, flattening the occupants and bouncing wildly over the wreckage before leaving it scattered in jagged pieces across the concrete.

"You can slow down now," announced an exultant Giordino. "The posse is no more."

"You're a better shot than I gave you credit for," said Pitt, easing back on the throttles, but still keeping the aircraft moving down the highway. When he was absolutely sure there was no more pursuit, he eased the aircraft onto a wide gra.s.sy area of Fort Davis Park and killed the engines.

Within minutes, they were surrounded by nearly ten District of Columbia police cars and forced to lie on the ground with their wrists handcuffed behind them. Later, after they were taken to the nearest station and questioned by two detectives, who thought their story of being chased from the airport for sacred n.a.z.i relics belonged in Alice in Wonderland, Pitt convinced them to make a phone call.

"You're ent.i.tled to your one call," said Detective Lieutenant Richard Scott, a gray-haired veteran of the force.

"I'd be grateful if you made it for me," said Pitt.

The detective plugged a phone into a jack inside the interrogation room and looked up. "The number?"

"I've never memorized it, but information can give you the phone number for the White House."

"I'm tired of your nonsense," said Scott wearily. "What number do you want to reach?"

Pitt pierced the detective with a cold stare. "I'm dead serious. Call the White House, ask for the President's chief of staff. Tell him we, along with the sacred relics, are languishing in a police station on Potomac Avenue."

"You're joking."

"You must have checked us out and found we're ranking officials of NUMA and not wanted criminals."

"Then how do you explain shooting up the highway with guns that aren't registered?"

"Please," Pitt coaxed. "Just make the call."

Looking up the White House number, Scott followed Pitt's instructions. Slowly, his face changed expressions like a comic actor's. From suspicion to curiosity to downright bafflement. When he set down the receiver, he stared with newfound respect.

"Well?" asked Giordino.

"President Wallace himself came on the line and directed me to get you and your relics to the White House in the next ten minutes or he'd have my badge."

"Don't fret, Lieutenant," Giordino said congenially. "We won't time you."

WITH sirens blaring and lights flashing, Pitt and Giordino and the bronze box were rushed to the northwest gate of the White House. Once inside, the bronze box was opened and searched under the watchful eyes of the Secret Service for weapons or explosive devices. The n.a.z.i relics were removed from their leather cases and unwrapped from the linen and examined. Then, rather than go through the trouble of replacing and rewrapping again, Giordino simply took the sacred lance and carried it in one hand. Pitt kept the little bronze plaque and gave the sacred bloodstained flag to an agent. The silver urn he kept in his possession, firmly gripped with both hands.

The President's secretary stood as she saw them approaching, surrounded by no fewer than four Secret Service agents. She smiled and greeted Pitt and Giordino. "The President and quite a few high-ranking people have been patiently waiting for you in his office."

"We look pretty shabby for a reception," said Giordino, surveying his rumpled clothing.

"If I may have a moment," asked Pitt. "Could you direct me to the nearest bathroom?"

"Why, certainly," she said sweetly. "The men's room is just behind you to your right."

In a few minutes, Pitt and Giordino entered the Oval Office. They were stunned to find the room crowded: the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the President's cabinet and top aides, Admiral Sandecker with Hiram Yaeger and Rudi Gunn, several congressional leaders, and Loren Smith, who showed no fear or embarra.s.sment by coming over and kissing Pitt square on the lips. There was a solid round of applause as Pitt and Giordino stood stunned with astonishment.

When the sounds of clapping hands and voices quieted, Pitt could not refrain from saying, "This is certainly a better reception than we got at the Gordons Corner airport."

"Gordons Corner?" blurted Sandecker. "You were supposed to land at Andrews Air Force Base, where a reception committee was still waiting for you."

"Yes," said the secretary of state, Paul Reed. "What's this about you being arrested and held by the police?"

"The Wolf family made an attempt to retrieve the relics," answered Pitt.

"They tried to hijack the relics?" asked General Amos South of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. "I certainly hope they failed."

"They failed," Pitt a.s.sured him. "We have the relics."

President Dean Cooper Wallace walked up to them. "Gentlemen, the nation, no, the world, owes you a debt of grat.i.tude that can never be repaid. Unfortunately, only a select few will ever learn how close the world came to chaos and what you did to prevent it."

Vice President Brian Kingman stood beside the President. "It's an injustice for you not to receive proper acclaim for your tremendous achievements, but if the story of how the world's population came within minutes of being obliterated became known, there would be total chaos. The media would go ballistic, and despite the danger having pa.s.sed, fear and terror would last for years to come."

"Brian is right," said the President. "Knowing Earth is susceptible to being struck by a comet or asteroid, or experiencing an earthquake, is hardly a concern of the public during their day-to-day existence. But they could never shrug off the thought of another madman like Karl Wolf and his family attempting to annihilate billions of people to fulfill a compulsion for world domination. Fear would run rampant, a situation we cannot allow to happen."

"I don't mind, Mr. President," Giordino said, cheerfully brazen. "I've always hated the thought of people coming up and demanding my autograph while I was dining in a restaurant."

Pitt turned away to suppress his laughter. Sandecker rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. The President looked blank, not knowing if the little Italian was joking or serious.

"I think what my friend is trying to get across," said Pitt, "is that he and I are quite content to remain anonymous."

At that point, everyone in the room began asking questions, mostly about how they had crossed the ice in the Snow Cruiser and saved the Special Forces teams. Then the President stared down and saw the spear in Giordino's hand.

"Is that the Holy Lance I've heard so much about?" he asked.

Giordino nonchalantly laid the lance in the President's hands. "Yes, sir, it is."

Wallace held the lance over his head, as everyone in the room stared in awe.

"The most sacred relic in all of Christendom," proclaimed Pitt. "It's said the man who wields it can command the destiny of the world for good or evil."

"Obviously, Hitler chose the latter," said Admiral Sandecker.

"Is it truly the spear that pierced Christ's body on the cross?" Wallace asked reverently, gazing at the spear point as if expecting to see a hint of dried blood.