Eleven minutes later he cut the power again, slowed, brought the ship once more on its stern, and began his descent over Washington. Within moments they would spot him, would be ready. It would have to be fast, miles from the central space-port--a suburb, near a highway. He let her fall fast. Ten thousand. Eight. Four. He tilted, angled a little north and west, then dropped again. At five hundred feet he trebled the power, and it was as though a great 'chute had snapped open above them. Three hundred feet--the highway perhaps a quarter of a mile distant. No one down there, but they could be hiding, waiting. Fifty feet. Had to time it just so, now.... The last ten feet they fell. CHAPTER XIX He estimated that there would be five minutes at the most before the area was flooded with S-men. The rest of the gamble hinged entirely on what they succeeded in doing, or failed to do, within the space of a few hundred heart-beats. They made the roadside in little more than a minute after leaving the ship. Terry and Mike lay prone in the wide drainage gutter, their swords drawn, their bodies camouflaged by a few handfuls of hastily hacked scrub brush. Doug stood at the side of the superhighway, the power-pack at his feet, his shredded cloak in his hands to wave. The traffic seemed light for so late in the afternoon. The sun was hot, and he was breathing heavily from the stumbling, desperate run across the small, rutted field. The ship towered above what few trees there were, and it marked them for a target. A streamlined shape was racing toward him. It seemed to take all the strength he had left to wave the cape, and he wondered if he were waving it at searching S-men.... The vehicle sped by, whipping the cape in its undertow. It was going nearly two hundred miles an hour, and there was no driver inside it. A robot carrier. Thirty seconds went by before the next one came. It was going slower, and it too was driverless. Doug glanced at the sky. To the west, high, tiny dots-- It was a full minute before the next one came. With both hands, cloak dropped because it was too heavy, Doug waved, and the vehicle was slowing. "Ready, boys...." There was a slight rustle behind him as they came to their knees. The driver stopped his car almost abreast of him, and opened the passenger door. "What's the trouble? You crack up? While we're riding you can use the autophone--" Doug moved into the vehicle slowly, then lashed out at the man's head with the smooth, heavy rock that was in his left hand. In his exhaustion he struck only a glancing blow, and there was barely time for a second, but the second connected, and the driver slumped, jammed behind his semi-circular steering wheel. "Mike, Terry--" In a moment the helicopter would have him spotted, or an S-Council patrol car would be braking beside him.