Code Three

the exploding wreckage was stillgrowing as Clay slammed down on the fire-control panel. A curtain ofthick chemical foam burst from the poised nozzles atop Beulah's hulland a split-second later, another stream of foam erupted from theother patrol car. The dense, oxygen-absorbing retardant blanketsnuffed the fire out in three seconds. The cranes were still securedto the foam-covered heap of metal. "Never mind the caution," Bencalled out, "get it apart. Fast."

  Both crane operators slammed their controls into reverse and with anear-splitting screech, the twisted frames of the two vehicles rippedapart into tumbled heaps of broken metal and plastics. Martin andFerguson jumped down the hatch steps and into ankle-deep foam and oil.They waded and slipped around the front of the car to join thetroopers from the other car.

  Ferguson was pawing at the scum-covered foam near the mangled sectionof one of the cars. "He should be right about," Clay paused and bentover, "here." He straightened up as the others gathered around thescorched and ripped body of a man, half-submerged in the thick foam."Kelly," he called over the helmet transmitter, "open your door. We'llneed a couple of sacks."

  He trudged to the rear of the patrol car and met the girl standing inthe door with a pair of folded plastic morgue bags in her hands.Behind her, Clay could see the body of the woman on the surgicaltable, an array of tubes and probes leading to plasma drip bottles andother equipment racked out over the table.

  "How is she?"

  "Not good," Kelly replied. "Skull fracture, ruptured spleen, brokenribs and double leg fractures. I've already called for an ambulance."

  Ferguson nodded, took the bags from her and waded back through thefoam.

  The four troopers worked in the silence of the deserted traffic lane.A hundred yards away, traffic was moving steadily in the slow whitelane. Three-quarters of a mile to the south, fast and ultra hightraffic sped at its normal pace in the blue and yellow lanes.Westbound green was still being rerouted into the slower white lane,around the scene of the accident. It was now twenty-six minutes sinceCar 56 had received the accident call. The light snow flurries hadturned to a steady fall of thick wet flakes, melting as they hit onthe warm pavement but beginning to coat the pitiful flotsam of theaccident.

  The troopers finished the gruesome task of getting the bodies into themorgue sacks and laid beside the dispensary ramp for the ambulance topick up with the surviving victim. Car 119's MSO had joined Kelly inBeulah's dispensary to give what help she might. The four patroltroopers began the grim task of probing the scattered wreckage forother possible victims, personal possessions and identification. Theywere stacking a small pile of hand luggage when the long, low bulk ofthe ambulance swung out of the police lane and rolled to a stop.Longer than the patrol cars but without the non-medical emergencyfacilities, the ambulance was in reality a mobile hospital. A full,scrubbed-up surgical team was waiting in the main operating room evenas the ramps opened and the techs headed for Car 56. The team had beenbriefed by radio on the condition of the patient; had read the fullrecordings of the diagnostician; and were watching transmitted pulseand respiration graphs on their own screens while the transfer wasbeing made.

  The two women MSOs had unlocked the surgical table in Beulah'sdispensary and a plastic tent covered not only the table and thepatient, but also the plasma and Regen racks overhead. The entiretable and rig slid down the ramp onto a motor-driven dolly from theambulance. Without delay, it wheeled across the open few feet ofpavement into the ambulance and to the surgery room. The techs lockedthe table into place in the other vehicle and left the surgery. From astorage compartment, they wheeled out a fresh patrol dispensary tableand rack and placed it in Kelly's miniature surgery. The dead wentinto the morgue aboard the ambulance, the ramp closed and theambulance swung around and headed across the traffic lanes toeastbound NAT-26 and Philadelphia.

  Outside, the four troopers had completed the task of collecting whatlittle information they could from the smashed vehicles.

  They returned to their cars and One One Nine's medical-surgicalofficer headed back to her own cubby-hole.

  The other patrol car swung into position almost touching Beulah's leftflank. With Ben at the control seat, on command, both cars extendedbroad bulldozer blades from their bows. "Let's go," Ben ordered. Thetwo patrol vehicles moved slowly down the roadway, pushing all of thescattered scraps and parts onto a single great heap. They backed off,shifted direction towards the center police lane and began shoving thedebris, foam and snow out of the green lane. At the edge of the policelane, both cars unshipped cranes and magnalifted the junk over thedivider barrier onto the one-hundred-foot-wide service strip borderingthe police lane. A slow cargo wrecker was already on the way fromPittsburgh barracks to pick up the wreckage and haul it away. When thelast of the metallic debris had been deposited off the traffic lane,Martin called Control.

  "Car 56 is clear. NAT 26-west green is clear."

  Philly Control acknowledged. Seven miles to the east, the amberwarning lights went dark and the detour barrier at Crossover 85 sankback into the roadway. Three minutes later, traffic was again flashingby on green lane past the two halted patrol cars.

  "Pitt Control, this is Car 119 clear of accident," the other carreported.

  "Car 119 resume eastbound patrol," came the reply.

  The other patrol car pulled away. The two troopers waved at Martin andFerguson in Beulah. "See you later and thanks," Ben called out. Heswitched to intercom. "Kelly. Any ID on that woman?"

  "Not a thing, Ben," she replied. "About forty years old, and she had awedding band. She never was conscious, so I can't help you."

  Ben nodded and looked over at his partner. "Go get into some dryclothes, kid," he said, "while I finish the report. Then you can takeit for a while."

  Clay nodded and headed back to the crew quarters.

  * * * * *

  Ben racked his helmet beside his seat and fished out a cigarette. Hereached for an accident report form from the work rack behind his seatand began writing, glancing up from time to time to gaze thoughtfullyat the scene of the accident. When he had finished, he thumbed theradio transmitter and called Philly Control. Somewhere in the bloody,oil and foam covered pile of wreckage were the registration plates forthe two vehicles involved. When the wrecker collected the debris, itwould be machine sifted in Pittsburgh and the plates fed to recordsand then relayed to Philadelphia where the identifications could beadded to Ben's report. When he had finished reading his report heasked, "How's the woman?"

  "Still alive, but just barely," Philly Control answered. "Ben, did yousay there were just two vehicles involved?"

  "That's all we found," Martin replied.

  "And were they both in the green?"

  "Yes, why?"

  "That's funny," Philly controller replied, "we got the calls as asideswipe in white that put one of the cars over into the green. Thereshould have been a third vehicle."

  "That's right," Ben exclaimed. "We were so busy trying to get that galout and then making the try for the other man I never even thought tolook for another car. You suppose that guy took off?"

  "It's possible," the controller said. "I'm calling a gate filter untilwe know for sure. I've got the car number on the driver that reportedthe accident. I'll get hold of him and see if he can give us a lead onthe third car. You go ahead with your patrol and I'll let you knowwhat I find out."

  "Affirmative," Ben replied. He eased the patrol car onto the policelane and turned west once again. Clay reappeared in the cab, dressedin fresh coveralls. "I'll take it, Ben. You go and clean up now.Kelly's got a pot of fresh coffee in the galley." Ferguson slid intohis control seat.

  A light skiff of snow covered the service strip and the dividers asCar 56 swung back westward in the red lane. Snow was falling steadilybut melting as it touched the warm ferrophalt pavement in all lanes.The wet roadways glistened with the lights of hundreds of vehicles.The chronometer read 1840 hours. Clay pushed the car up to a steady75, just about apace with the slowest traffic in the white la
ne. Tothe south, densities were much lighter in the blue and yellow lanesand even the green had thinned out. It would stay moderately light nowfor another hour until the dinner stops were over and the nighttravelers again rolled onto the thruways.

  Kelly was putting frozen steaks into the infra-oven as Ben walkedthrough to crew quarters. Her coverall sleeves were rolled to theelbows as she worked and a vagrant strand of copper hair curled overher forehead. As Martin passed by, he caught a faint whisper ofperfume and he smiled appreciatively.

  In the tiny crew quarters, he shut the door to the galley and strippedout of his wet coveralls and boots. He eyed the shower stall acrossthe