Shooting Script

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.'

For once, his eyes moved quickly. I got a sharp dark glance. Then he took the dice from the croupier, shook them, and threw them with exactly the same movement.

Three – a crap-out on the first throw, but now meaningless Only an 8 or 7 counted now.

J.B. looked at me, then said carefully: 'General, if you were thinking of working up charges against Mr Carr, that could make a headline, too. The Boss Man is good copy even as a witness.'

Boscolifted his shoulders fractionally and threw 10.

Whitmore's mind found the wavelength with a click. 'Unarmed passenger plane forces down jet fighter. I'd say that was news.'

'Film star bites dog,' Luiz murmured.

Whitmore smiled at Ned. 'That's a great squadron you're running there, Coronel.'

Ned's face shut as tight as a bank vault.

The General threw a 6.

J.B. said flatly: 'If you push charges, you'll get your air force laughed out of the air anywhere anybody can read a newspaper.'

Boscosighed. 'It is possible that persons not familiar with aerial tactics might get the wrong impression.' He threw a 7, the croupier's face went stiff with horror. The General turnedaway, 'So – I lose.Coronel Rafter, I think we would be advised not to proceed against Señor Carr.You find sometimes that an act of mercy is better in the broad view than sticking to the letter of justice.'

It was gracefully done. It only missed out the other side of the coin: that the broad view in a dictatorship sometimes means chopping an innocent head as well.

Ned said tightly: 'You're the general, General.'

Boscosmiled his sad smile. 'I understand your feelings, Colonel. And I commend your zeal. But…' The cigar waved gracefully.

'A training crash,' Ned said.

Bosconodded. 'A training crash. One has also to remember that Ramirez was disobeying orders.'

Ned's face closed up again. Then he looked at me and said slowly: "That makes four. Three in Korea and one here. Another one and you'll be an ace. Don't try and makethat one here, killer.'

'I'm a Dove pilot, Ned.'

'That,' the General said, 'is something we have still to discuss.'

In the silence there was just the faint rumble of dice on the table and then Luiz saying: 'Is this game over or does anybody want some of my money?'

He was rolling the dice hand-to-hand across the table, with the croupier giving him a worried look. But everybody else was looking at Bosco.

Ned said: 'You can't offer him a job in the squadron again – not after he's-'

'Of course. ' The General held up his hand. 'That would hardly improve morale. Although -Señor Carrhas more than lived up to theréputationyou gave him, Coronel. So, it is a pity. But Señor'he looked at me 'your Dove is rather old, I think?'

'About twelve years,' I said slowly. I couldn't see where this was going.

'Ah. ' As if that explained something. 'The authorities at the airport inform me that it is in – a rather regrettable condition. But now I see it is not surprising.'

I knew what it explained now. I said grimly: 'Go on, General.'

The cigar fluttered. 'We have a duty – to others who use the airport, to those who live nearby. We should be failing this duty if we allowed an aeroplane to take off – totry to take off – which was not in proper condition.' He smiled – and not sadly. Not sadly at all. 'I am sure, Señor, that it will not take you long – or cost you much – to bring it up to the standards at which the airport authorities would permit you to take it off.'