He slapped the desk top. 'By Johnny! If we pull this one off, we'll sweep the board!" The 'Johnny' he'd sworn by was John Wayne, hero of the First Family and the nearest thing the G.o.dless Amtrak Federation had to a patron saint.

Karlstrom, whose organisation kept tabs on all over-ground movements, cast his mind back to that morning's overview presented by his operational command staff.

'Don't we have a SIG-INT unit in that area at the moment?"

'Yes, we do. They're in radio contact with Johnson/ Phoenix. When they called in, they were between Mount Rainier and Mount St Helens. I instructed SIG-INT to tell them to re-set the monitoring package so that it broadcasts the seismic data every hour."

Jefferson read the unspoken question in Karlstrom's eyes and spread his palms. 'They're out there to replace the batteries, Ben. This adjustment I'm asking for takes fifteen minutes at the most. The people at the Life Inst.i.tute tell me a woman can be in labour for anything up to eighteen hours."

'Or less than four .... ' 'There's no set time, Ben. But since this is Clearwater's first child, she'll probably be in labour for several hours. The SIG-INT unit will have plenty of time to get clear."

Jefferson smiled. 'It's not like you to be squeamish."

'I'm not - but getting run down by a stream of molten lava must be a h.e.l.l of a way to go."

Jefferson disagreed: 'No, I've been screening the data on this. Unless you're very unlucky, lava streams are something you can run away from.

The thing you want to avoid is what they call a nue ardente - a fire-cloud of hot gases and small, incandescent particles of rock like coa.r.s.e grains of sand.

'These fire-clouds- which are triggered by an explosive release of gas - burst out of a volcano, then roll down the side like an avalanche.

Burns everything in its path - and here's the real bad news - they can travel at speeds of up to a hundred miles an hour."

'Jeeezusss!" Jefferson laughed. 'Fortunately, n.o.body inside the Family can access this data if they have a below-5 rating. Which means that most people outside this office - including this SIG-INT unit knows squat about volcanoes. They were sent out to service some equipment and that's what I expect them to do - whether the ground is shaking or not."

'In other words, if it blows, they won't know what hit them. '

Jefferson sat forward in his chair. 'Why the sudden concern, Ben? You didn't turn a hair when we sacrificed the crew of The Lady."

Karlstrom made a calming gesture. 'I must be sending out the wrong signals. It's not the men. It's this whole prophecy thing that makes me uneasy. The birth tied in with the eruption. If this child is the Talisman, and he has these powers, we could be letting ourselves in for more than we bargained for."

'That's why I've done everything to make sure the cards are stacked in our favour. We're playing for high stakes, Ben. It's not just the lives of the men in that SIG-INT unit that are at risk, it's the lives of everyone in the Federation! If we want to secure the future, it's a gamble we have to take." He smiled. 'There is, of course, always the possibility that I've allowed myself to be totally misled by the Inst.i.tute. And overexcited.

The cramps could be a false alarm, and the fact that this earth-tremor occurred at the same time could be pure coincidence."

He hadn't, they weren't and it wasn't ....

The bi-annual expeditions to the Cascade range had kept a road open through the dense pine forests from Mount Rainier to Mount St Helens.

It had once been a state highway, but was now little more than a muddy logging track, running south-west to Davisson Lake. Lieutenant Marriot led the Bobcats across the headwaters at the eastern end, then snaked round the western flank of Winter Mountain to begin the eleven mile run south towards the strange, cratered, mud and lava landscape that surrounded the meandering headwaters of the Toutle River.

From here, a track - last cleared five years ago - ran eastwards for nine miles up towards Spirit Lake, a big stretch of water that filled the saucer-shaped hollow between Mount Margaret and her southern sister, Mount St Heleus. From the lake, the track turned sharp right towards the shattered mountain and continued on up for another three and a half. The equipment package was at the top of this spur, in the open-ended caldera formed by the 1980 eruption.

It was as the column of Bobcats came out from behind Winter Mountain that It Marriot had the luckiest breakdown of his life. A fractured drive shaft. Fortunately, the unit carried a range of crucial spare parts but it was a three to four hour repair job.

Marriot consulted his watch. 12.45. This was his second run out to the Cascades, but his first as commander. To reach the equipment, the 'Cats had to travel another twenty-three miles over difficult terrain, the package had to be fitted with a new power pack, then reset for hourly transmissions and checked using its own built-in diagnostic programme, and finally the radio signal had to be tested and confirmed by Johnson/Phoenix. Three hours at the most, but if they all waited until his 'Cat was back on the road, they would run out of daylight.

Marriot talked it over with his No.2, Ensign Cantrill, and Sgt Lyman who had logged three such trips. Both agreed there was no point in losing another day. Marriot called the unit together and explained the revised plan.

One Bobcat crew would stay behind to cover his own crew and help speed the repairs, a third would wait at the Toutle River turn-off and the remaining three, led by Ensign Cantrill and Sgt Lyman would head on up to Spirit Lake, from where Lyman's crew would service and reset the equipment while a second 'Cat rode shotgun.

The third, Cantrill's, would remain on stake-out by the lake at the foot of the mountain road.

When the repairs were completed, Marriot's two vehicles would rendezvous with the waiting Bobcat to which Cantrill's section would also return. The column would then proceed down river, pick up the old Interstate, cross over into Oregon and then keep rolling with each of the four-man crews taking turns at the wheel till they reached Arizona.

Yess-surr. Once the job was done, Marriot didn't believe in dragging a.s.s.

Three and a half hours later, as he stood wiping the grease from his freezing fingers, the ground - which had been giving off the odd rumble even before they left Mount Rainier - shook violently under his feet, pitching him against the vehicle. The second Bobcat was parked up on a rocky outcrop which gave a better view of the terrain. The unit hadn't sighted any Mutes on the out-run, but when you were in Plainfolk territory you could never afford to relax between sunrise and sundown.

These lumpheads had a habit of popping up when you least expected it.

There was a sharp hiss from inside Marriot's vehicle as the parked 'Cat made radio contact. A voice burst from the speaker grille on the dash.

'Better get up here, loo-tennant. Somethin's happening' and it . ..

smokin' lumps.h.i.t!" There was a confused babble of voices. Marriot looked up the slope towards the parked 'Cat.

In the sky beyond, it looked as if someone had turned a huge orange spotlight on the thick blanket of grey cloud.

The top hatch of the 'Cat flew open. A figure hoisted his b.u.t.t onto the rim and beckoned frantically. Marriot signalled he was coming and shouted over his shoulder to his three crewmen. 'Lock down the engine covers and get inside the vehicle!" He reached the top of the slope in time to see a huge fireball collapse into a doughnut-shaped cloud around the truncated peak of Mount St Helens. A glowing necklace of death, pink, orange, red and scarlet billows, roiling and boiling like a speeded-up film of clouds - as they tumbled over each other in the race to be first down the mountainside.

The densely-packed pines covering the ridged slopes were flattened by the pressure wave and left blazing from end to end. Sgt Lyman's crew, who were busy servicing the instrument package, and those in the second vehicle mounting guard, barely had time to comprehend the horror before it engulfed them.

Down by the lake, Cantrill and his crew still had two minutes and thirty seconds in which to react to the oncoming avalanche of fire.

Cantrill ordered his driver to high-tail it back down the road. The 'Cat took off with the ensign standing in the roof hatch.

Seeing the unbelievable speed at which the glowing cloud was descending, Cantrill realised they had no chance of getting clear.

Reasoning that a large expanse of water was the best antidote to fire, he dropped back inside the speeding amphib and yelled at the driver to change course. The driver - who had arrived at the same conclusion was already turning the wheel.

The sixty seconds spent driving in the wrong direction proved fatal.

They were still zigzagging wildly through the pines and down to the water when they were overrun by the rolling wave of incandescent gas and volcanic ash. Trees crashed down around them and burst into flame.

Others fell across the vehicle, pinning them down.

Escape was impossible. Within a few seconds, the cabin temperature rose to furnace heat, searing their lungs and blistering their skin.

The tyres caught alight, the fuel tanks ignited, and the metal and gla.s.s-fibre hulls buckled and melted, frying the crew in their seats.

The fire-cloud rolled on, instantly turning the surface of Spirit Lake into steam that exploded upwards, tearing the glowing ma.s.s to shreds and hurling molten particles in all directions.

Four miles downstream, on the north bank of the Toutle River, the stunned crew of the fourth vehicle saw the mountain grow a crown of fire. They had already been jolted out of their seats by the same earth-tremor which had thrown Marriot off balance. Now, this wall of flame was expanding outwards and barrelling down the mountainside, consuming all in its path at incredible speed.

Realising they had to reach'-higher ground, the driver turned the 'Cat's nose towards Winter Mountain, put his foot on the floor and forgot about the damage he was doing to the suspension.

The fire-cloud swept across the lake, washed up against the southern flank of Mount Margaret, then turned left, like a flash-flood, driven by its own momentum to seek the lowest level. The encounter with the lake had slowed it down and taken some of the heat from its turbulent core but it was still lethal by the time it reached the rendezvous point.

All it found was the fuel trailer that the crew of the fleeing BobCat had wisely ditched.