od, but too many killing tools can get
by them."

Thornberry seemed more than willing to continue the discussion, but
the tractor-trailers were pulling off the bridge. After a moment's
jockeying, they turned so that the back of the trailers pointed toward
The Cage.

[Illustration]

* * * * *

A corporal eased out of the white car that had led the convoy. He
shifted his shotgun to his left arm, saluted, said, "General
Bennington? Corporal Forester, with thirty-four prisoners."

"Thirty-four? We expected thirty-five."

"Ralph Musto tried to get another idea in the Harrisburg terminal.
He'll be in the hospital about ten days."

"Musto?" For a moment, the name meant nothing to Bennington.

"Connecticut, sir, one of the murder and bank cases. Are you prepared
to accept delivery of the others?"

"Yes, we are. But we are unfortunately a little short-handed
today...."

"We always stay around till the boys are in The Cage, sir," the
corporal said.

"Thanks. Start unloading."

Corporal Forester saluted again and turned to face the vans. He waved
his arm and another trooper unlocked the door of the trailer to the
general's left. A group of men slowly jumped out and stood blinking in
the sun.

A trooper opened a large compartment beneath the van and yanked out
several large bags, all locked, all bulging, all the type Bennington
had known too well since the Second War.

The prisoners' personal effects, Bennington decided, and lifted his
megaphone.

"Form a single line facing the gate," he commanded.

There was an excess of shuffling movement, but at last a line was
formed.

Corporal Forester waved his hand again. The doors of the trailer were
locked and it started across the bridge.

Then the second trailer was unloaded and sent away. When its cargo had
added themselves to the line, the corporal again approached
Bennington.

"Want a roll call, sir?"

"The count is correct, but a roll call will help get them in order, in
the right frame of mind." Bennington raised his megaphone to his lips.
"Now get this! When your name is called, sound out HERE and run for
that gate. Then walk up the path and through the open door.

"John Musto."

A stockily-built, dark-faced man stepped from the line and with an
exaggerated slowness dawdled toward the gate. His pose lasted only a
moment. One of the Duncannon guards stepped forward and smacked his
rifle barrel across Musto's kidneys. Th