Shooting Script

Whitmore looked around at each of us in turn. 'Well,' he said finally, 'that seems the best we can do – right?'

Miss Jiminez said: 'You are really going to drop just bricks on these aeroplanes?'

'We ain't got anything else, honey. You heard what Carr said; it adds up. Anyhow – if he just knocks out half of them, we're fifty per cent ahead of the game. Your old man's going to move anyway, right?'

She frowned. 'He seems to be taking the "calculated risk": that he will gain more from the hurricane than he will lose from Capitán Carr.'

I said: 'Thanks.'

'All right, then,' Whitmore said soothingly. 'Tell J.B. what you need and she can track it down in the morning.'

'I need four nets – strong, but not too big. You'll get them in Kingston or Mo Bay, probably. Then I'd like the remains of that drum of control cable your boys were using to rig the bomb release. And the bricks. Say two thousand pounds of bricks. Don't know where you'd get them.'

Luiz said: 'Roddie used some bricks for the foundation of his church.'

Whitmore snapped his fingers. "That's right. We're tearing the thing down tomorrow anyway. We just send the bricks along here.'

Luiz smiled, a little wanly. 'There is a philosophy there somewhere, Walt. An illusion of a church is used for a real bombing raid.'

'Hell, are you getting religion?'

'No.' Luiz shook his head. 'Come to think of it, it is not a new philosophy.'

TWENTY-THREE

The glow of the station-wagon's lights faded up the coast road. J.B. watched it out of sight, her hand on the Avanti's door.

Then she said: 'So you talked yourself right back into the war. Nobody else would've thought of bricks and nets; the whole deal would've been off.'

'A good deputy's supposed to put up ideas to the sheriff, isn't he?'

She may have winced. 'I might have been wrong about you, Carr. You've really worked on this thing, you really want to go… Why?'

I took a deep breath. 'I suppose, because Ned Rafter's there.'

'You mean it's just a private war between you two?' She looked at me curiously, her face very still in the soft underglow from the car's headlights.

I shrugged. 'I suppose, in a way.'

'Just because he beat you? Took your plane off you? So now you've got to beat him?'

'No.'

'He called you a killer.'

'Ah, he's been seeing too many movies. There shouldn't be anybodybut killers in fighters.'

'The boy in that jet over Santo Bartolomeo.' And her voice was as cold and distant as the tall night.

I nodded. 'That's right. You'd thought I got into combat in Korea by accident? That I'd shot down three Migs by mistake? Of course I'm a killer; it was my job. And it's the only way I can fight a war – if I'm fighting one.'

'A private war.'

I blew up. 'Christ, so what about your tall friend? I know why Luiz is in it – but Whitmore isn't exactly a great liberal leader.'

She stared. 'At least you're right there. Whenever he talks politics he ends up about three goose-steps to the right of the Nazi Party.'

'That's what I guessed. Well, that shouldn't put him behind Jiminez, but there he is, all right. Ifthat isn't a private war…'

'You didn't fenow?'

'Know what?'

'I heard himtell you. He's got $250,000 in profits frozen in the República.And he's also got a piece of paper saying the first thing Jiminez does when he takes over will be unfreeze them. Along with your aeroplane.'

I just nodded stupidly. But hehad told me about that money, back in the bar at Santo Bartolomeo. I said slowly: 'And I thought he just wanted to play Bolivar Smith in real Ufefor once.'

'Well, maybe… but not at less than his normal rates.'

I found myself laughing softly. 'Well, it sort of restores yourfaith in human nature. What's good for Walt Whitmore is good for the República.'

She looked up sharply. 'You aren't exactly a great Jiminez-for-Presidente man yourself, are you?'

'I don't give a damn about Jiminez; never have. It's not my business. Not my country.'

'So you're just going because you want to get that man Rafter.'

'Well, somebody's got to, haven't they?'

There was a long silence. Then she said curiously: 'Just what d'you mean?'

'Somebody'sgot to stop Ned and those Vamps getting off the ground when Jiminez moves. I'd just as soon stop Jiminez moving – but I can't. So somebody'll get killed. Somebody'll poop off guns in the streets, stick somebody else against a wall. All right, so that's normal. But the Vamps aren't.'

She frowned. 'I still don't get it…'

'You wouldn't. Not you, not Whitmore, not Jiminez, not even the generals. None of you's seen a real pro like Ned leading a squadron on ground-attack. But I've seen it. I saw Ned and just five planes behind him take out a village in Korea. Napalm and cannon fire. It took them forty-five seconds and then there just wasn't any village. Imaginehim and ten planes loose over a nice crowded target like Santo Bartolomeo. No anti-aircraft fire, and maybe six or seven missions a day. Their base is only a few miles out. After that, the town'll just be a dirty word in the history books. And win, lose, or draw won't matter. There won't be the pieces to pick up. Nor the people.'

After a time she asked: 'Would the generals really do that?'

'I told you, they don't know. Only Ned and I know…' Then, quieter: 'Yes, they'll do it. They'll have to: with the Army stuck in the hills, Ned and the Vamps are the only weapon they've got. They'll use him.'

'Only you're going to stop him.'

'Hurricane permitting.'

She nodded, then walked slowly and thoughtfully out across the headlights to the Mitchell and stood looking up at theshining wrinkled side. And said softly: 'And that's the only reason?'

'Call it good commercial sense, if you like,' I growled. 'There won't be much trade for a charter pilot to pick up in SB after Ned and the boys have worked the town over.'

'I like your noble reasons better, Keith.' Then her voice got serious again. 'It's not something personal against Rafter?'

'I left that business eight years back – remember?'

'Was… this sort of thing why?'

'Perhaps. Or perhaps because you get to like it. You like seeing a man go down burning.' I shrugged. 'Why not? Most people who're good at their jobs like the job – and I was good, all right. But – I didn't have to like liking it. And I couldn't change: go on shooting down fighters but change the reasons. I couldn't think "That's a blow for freedom and democracy" or "That's probably saved a pal's Ufe."I'd always be doing it because I was Keith Carr, the Great Unbeatable – because I liked it.'

'But – tomorrow?'

I smiled. 'You don't count the ones you knock out on the ground anyway. Old fighter pilot tradition.'

She looked up at me. 'Keith – I'm sorry; I was wrong about you…' She shivered, as if from a sudden wind or an old memory. But there wasn't any wind. 'Give me a cigarette, will you?'

'Sorry.'

'Of course: you aren't an owner-smoker. Some in the car.'

I found a pack on the crash-pad above the dashboard. I also found the headlight switch and turned it off. Then walked back to her in the quiet, dusty starlight.

We lit the cigarettes. For a long time nobody said anything. Far down the strip a small light twinkled like a fallen star; my oil lamp, waiting patiently to become a flarepath. Waiting for the north wind.

I reached and ran a hand through her long, tangled silky hair. She stiffened. 'Wait – Keith… You know I fixed this whole thing. I got Jiminez's signature on his promise to the Boss Man, that afternoon.'

Td guessed that. A nice watertight contract?'

'Look – I'm Whitmore'slawyer.' There was a small, desperate edge to her voice. 'Ihad to^ say it was a good deal. He spends twelve thousand on the aeroplane and a few hundred on you – and most of it deductible – for a chance, a good chance, at a quarter of a million. Ihad to say that's a good deal. But not for you. You don't have to be any part of it.'