"He's running," Marston said with a nod at the screen. As the globe shot down past white towers, a spotlight on the glass roof flashed red, and a shrill siren stung Engel's ears. Ahead of them a big globe fled out of their way, its passengers looking back at them, frightened. Black dots on the street scurried to the towers.
"I see him!" Dr. Weeve screeched.
Below them a man was running past a gray wall of huddled people. He looked at them, dropped a briefcase, and sprinted into the deserted street. Marston chuckled into the mike. "We have him, Schaeffer. Not putting up much of a fight, is he?"
"No, sir."
Marston glided the globe a few yards above and slightly behind his quarry. As Engel stared down at the man's flapping coat and thin, blond hair, he clenched his fists. It was C. G. The siren moaned to a stop, and in the sudden silence that filled the globe he could hear weary footsteps and anguished breathing. Heavy-lidded eyes narrowed at Engel.
"Recognize him?"
Engel's mouth opened, and his throat tightened. He closed his eyes and nodded.
"Halt, alien!" Marston's voice boomed over a loudspeaker.
C. G. whirled, and they saw a soiled, rumpled suit and a trembling small face. A tear spilled down one cheek.