Shooting Script

He said in careful, almost perfect, English: 'I must congratulate you, Coronel. But – perhaps this would be better dealt with at the Hall of Justice?'

Ned jerked his head. 'It's his passengers. They're witnesses.'

Boscoswung his eyes slowly across us. He sized and priced me in a glance. The second glance got him Whitmore – and he knew him. Luiz took a moment longer, but he got the general idea. J.B. he ignored.

After a moment, he nodded and said thoughtfully: 'Ah-h-h. Yes. Perhaps you did the best thing, Coronel. 'He took a long thin cigar from a breast pocket, and Miranda did a Billy-the-Kid draw with a silver lighter. Boscobreathed smoke, leaned his backside against the table, and said: 'Perhaps you would remind me of the full incident, Coronel.'

Ned said: 'It started with a radio call from Ramirez saying he'd spotted Carr's Dove and was going up closer to get a look at it. After that, nothing – until we got the word a few minutes later that a Vampire had crashed a couple of miles north of the field. I checked with Bartolomeo and found Carr had landed safely. I found him here. Him and Whitmore started a bit of a punch-up with the guards.'

Boscolooked at the gun in Ned's hand, then at Whitmore. Whitmore smiled his thin, confident smile. 'Two of your air cops tried to shove me around, General. I'm not complaining. They may be – when they get off the floor.'

The General smiled a little sadly. 'Nobody likes military policemen, Señor, not anywhere. But unfortunately they are necessary.' He looked back at Ned. 'And what were Ramirez' orders this morning?'

'Just a training flight. But we knew Carr's Dove was on its way, so he'd been asked to report it if he saw it.'

I asked: 'Any orders to bounce me?'

Ned took a deep breath. 'No. I'd told him to stay away from you.'

For all his eagerness to haul me into the scales of justice, Ned wasn't putting any gilding on the frame. In fact, it was hardly a frame at all.

So far.

The General turned to me. 'And you, Señor…?'

I shrugged. 'Your boy made a pass at me. When he came in again I went into a spiral – to keep from under his guns. He stalled out of his turn and went in.'

I could feel Ned's eyes on me. The General asked Whitmore: 'And do you confirm this, Señor?'

'It all happened pretty quick,' Whitmore drawled, 'but that's how I recall it. I was up front with Carr.'

General Boscosucked thoughtfully on his cigar, breamed smoke over our heads, and came to a decision. 'I think, Señores, we had all better have a drink.'

Still staring at me, Ned said slowly and clearly: 'You killed that boy, Carr. Deliberate.'

There were a few confused moments of a waiter asking What Drinks and J.B. asking What The Hell. When the smoke cleared the waiter had vanished and J.B. was smouldering silently with Luiz' hand clampedfirmly onher shoulder. The General was keeping Ned quiet with a steady dark stare.

Then he waved his cigar at the table. 'Perhaps, while we wait, Señor Whitmore would care to…?'

Whitmore frowned, then shrugged, stepped up, and took the dice from the croupier. 'We playing the house or just between ourselves?'

The cigar weaved a delicatechandelle.'The house so kindly permits me to play just as among friends, so…' And he smiled sadly.

The house would so kindly permit him to rip off the roof, shoot down the chandeliers, and borrow the manager's wife, too. The house couldn't stop him. He was General Bosco.

Whitmore tossed some money on the table. 'So fade me.'

The General nodded to Miranda, who said: 'General Boscocovers the bet.'

Boscoturned back to Ned. 'Now, Coronel, you were saying…?'

Ned said flatly: 'Carr killed Ramirez. He started out to kill him, and he did.'

I said: 'I didn't start it, Ned.'

Whitmore spat on his hand and sent the dice across the table with an experienced flip.

The croupier chanted:'Cinquo. A point of five to make.'

The General smiled again. 'No win, no loss – yet. Please continue, Coronel.'

Ned was speaking to me now. 'I grant you didn't start it, Keith. But oncehe started it, you killed him. You dragged him down and stalled him. I don't know how – maybe with that old flaps trick. But I know you did it, and you know yourself.'

J.B. said icily: 'In an unarmed plane full of passengers? He killed your brave jet pilot?'

Whitmore rolled again. The croupier chanted:'Ocho. Eight. Still the point of five to make.'

Ned glanced quickly at the table, then shook his head. 'Guns ain't all of it, sweetheart. For some they ain't always enough when they got 'em, and some others don't always need 'em. What really matters is if you're a killer. Keith is.'

I said: 'He was still flying a fighter, Ned.' I stretched my hand. 'Give me your gun and I'll point it at you and you can guess if I'm going to shoot. Then tell me how it feels.'

'He wasn't going to shoot! '

I felt the cold anger rising inside. 'Wasn't he, Ned? Then I must have missed your postcard: Dear Keith, you're going to get beaten up by a boy in a Vamp but don't worry because he'll be disobeying orders and he probably won't disobey them as far as to shoot. So sorry I missed it, Ned, and put you to all this trouble. So sorry.'

The dice bounced. The croupier chanted:'Seis. Six. The point of five still to make.'

The General murmured: 'And still no win, no loss.'

Ned ignored both the dice and the general. His mouthtwisted in disgust. 'Ah, don't bleed so easy, Keith.'

'I'mbleeding easy? I knock down one of your jets with an unarmed Dove and you start screaming murder?'

There was a long silence.

Then the dice galloped on the table.'Siete-seven. The shooter loses.'

The General said softly: 'So I win.'

J.B. was staring at me coldly: 'Are you admitting you deliberately made that jet crash?'

There was another silence, with just the rustle of Miranda picking up Whitmore's money.

I shrugged. 'Somehow, they never teach passive resistance in fighter squadrons. There's only one sure way to avoid getting shot down.'

Ned said: 'Shoot first.'

The General said, still softly: 'Or, of course, stay away. ' He drew on his cigar. 'I believe Coronel Rafter met you in San Juan earlier this week and warned you that you were not any more welcome in the República. Perhaps you should have taken notice of that warning.'

'If you're closing Repúblicaairspace you could announce it and get it in a Notam and make it official.'

'Ah yes,' the cigar did another neataerobatic.'But we are not closing our airspace. We welcome airlines – even charter pilots – who bring genuine business to our island. Provided they are politically – shall we say? – neutral.'

Tm not playing Repúblicapolitics.'

'Ah, but' – the cigar half-rolled off a loop – 'we have heard other reports.'

'So I gathered. Part of the reason I came today was to talk that out and get it killed.'

The dark eyes studied me carefully. Then he said softly: 'You made a bad start to such talks, Señor Carr.'

Miranda said: 'General, do you wish to shoot?'

Boscosmiled quickly at the word, then shrugged and held out his hand for the dice. The croupier whipped them across.

Miranda chanted: 'The General bets whatever anybody else wishes to bet.'

Whitmore tossed some more notes on the table and went back to looking at J.B. and me. After a moment Luiz put down two ten-peso notes.

J.B. seemed to wake up and said: 'If your pilot had shot Walt Whitmore down, it would have made headlines all over the States. All over the world.'

'Most certainly.' The General shook the dice with a'snap and threw them up the table. An 8. No win, no loss; 8 to make again. 'Most certainly – but what could my government have done then? We would have apologised, we would have tried and convicted the pilot himself. But what more could you have asked – as a democratic government yourself?'

I said: 'And reading between the headlines, the message would have got across: the República Air Force is a tough, shootin' air force.'