Shooting Script

'I'm going to have to feather that engine,' I announced.

Luiz said: 'We must turn back then.'

I looked at him. 'We can still reach the target. We won't get back to Jamaica on one – but we can get on to Puerto Rico. That's less than a couple of hundred miles from-'

He said calmly: 'We must not make the attack.'

'I thought,' I said, 'that you came along just to see Ididn't turn back. To make sure I was a press-on type that Clausewitz would have been proud of.'

'Then you misunderstand, my friend. One thing a revolution cannot afford isa nasco. To come in an old bomber and drop just bricks is bad enough, but to crawl in on one engine and because of that perhaps to miss… Could a futurepresidentebe one who employed such a feeble weapon? Jiminez would never survive the joke. It is better not to start than to fail so ludicrously.'

'I wasn't planning to fail.'

The engine missed. The second magneto was feeling the heat, all right.

I swung back on to heading. Luiz said: 'You understand? It is better to go back now.'

'If I cut her now, before she fails on her own account, she'll cool off. Then I can restart her for periods later – it'll take time for the heat to build up again. We can make the attack itself on two engines.'

'You are certain?'

'No – I'm only the pilot. But if Ican't restart her we can reconsider the whole business then. And still make Puerto Rico on one.'

He said softly: 'You really wish to make this raid.'

'You've noticed, have you?'

When he didn't say any more, I tilted the plane into a shallow dive to keep the speed up, throttled back both engines to reduce the swing, then jabbed the starboard feathering button and cut the levers back.

As its blades twisted to meet the airflow side-on, the propeller slowed, came to a wavering stop. I twirled on rudder trim to balance die uneven pull of die port engine, and at 7,000 feet we levelled out again; slightly nose-high, slightly crabbing, the speed coming down to 150 – but still heading on 090 degrees.

When I got everything balanced into die new pattern, I said: 'So that's why you killed Diego.'

He looked at me, moved his lips, but had forgotten to push his transmit switch. Then he remembered and said: 'Why should you think this thing? He was the son of my old friend Jiminez.'

'It's been worrying me – since that fuss around the plane last night. Tirâtwas the sort of secret service the generals run: a couple of down-and-outs sent just to slash the tyres. Not a tough hired killer. And you always had the best chance: you were with Diego all that evening, running around die airport. And you come from Repúblicaoriginally – so you'd likely know as much about snake pistols as anybody there. You could have brought one to Jamaica – you might have thought it was snake country, too. But I never sawwhy you should have killed him.'

He waited to be sure I'd finished, then: 'But now you think you see?'

'You just told me: a revolution can't afford a fiasco. Diego flying this raid would've been die fiasco of die year. He'd've cracked up on take-off or missed or run it into die ground at that end – somediing, anyway. With your aircrew training youmust've seen he wasn't the type. But now – he's a martyr and everybody thinks the generals are foul assassins.'

'And a true professional is flying the raid, no?'

I looked at him sharply, then realised that was right, too. 'You're a cold-hearted bastard, Luiz.'

In the faint light from the instruments I saw his face wince with pain. Then he nodded slowly. 'Perhaps… perhaps I am, to have done this thing. Yet – he was a playboy, but he was ready to die for his father's cause. And probably on this attack he would have died – stupidly. Perhaps. I only arranged things a little better.'

'And it – doesn't worry you?'

'About being found out? I think it unlikely, my friend.'

'That wasn't quite what I meant.'

'You have killed people yourself?'

'Yes, but-' I paused. 'I was going to say "Only in a good cause." But that's the only reason anybody ever gets killed.'

'And perhaps from a distance, in an aeroplane, with your own side cheering you on. That, perhaps, makes it easier.'

After a time, I asked: 'Does Whitmore know?'

'Yes: I had to tell him. He knows I have the snake gun. But for him, I had to pretend it was an affair over a girl. He would not have understood the truth.'

'And J.B.?'

'No.' He looked at me. 'Will you tell her?'

I shrugged. 'I doubt it'll come into the conversation.'

He went on looking. 'And you, my friend?'

'It's still film star bites dog, isn't it? – Who'd listen? But I won't tellher, if that's what you mean. That's your problem.'

After another time, he said quietly: 'Yes, that is what I meant. She should have been her brother, then…' But he left it there.

With the port engine grinding its heart out, we crabbed on across the night.

TWENTY-SIX

Just before we should have reached the Punta del Almirante, the southernmost tip of the Repúblicaitself, I tried restarting the starboard engine. For an air start you don't need a starter motor: unfeathering the blades should let the airflow spin the prop to a speed at which it'll fire the engine – and it did.

I throttled back the port engine to give it a rest – that was the main object of the exercise – and kept the speed down to 160 mph. We still had time to make Santo Bartolomeo at five past five. And if Clara had left most of the island still covered in cloud, first light would be a little late today.

The faint northerly wind must have backed to westerly -which made sense, if the hurricane was now about due north of us. Anyway, we reached the Punta afew minutes ahead of my revised ETA, and a bit north of track, so that we crossed the point itself for a few miles until the coastline swung sharply back north again.

I said: 'Welcome home.' Luiz peered down over the cockpit sill at the dark land until the coastline had passed beneath the wing.

'Strange,' he said quietly. 'It does not look much from here…'

'You should've seen some of the country we were fighting for in Korea.'

'I saw a lot of Texas, once.'

I grinned and swung left on to 045 degrees. By my guess, that should bring us past Santo Bartolomeo before we hit the coastline. And with an obvious landmark like the city, I could double back on an exact course for the air base without a lot of noisy searching around.

The starboard engine misfired again.

I looked sorrowfully at the engine instruments. I'd done everything I could: run it with full rich mixture, cowl, flaps wide open – everything a father could do for an engine. Andhere it was in trouble again, after just twelve minutes running.

So we tilted into another shallow dive, and stopped it again. Losing height now didn't much matter. But making the attack at ground level on two engines – that meant I'd have to escape on one. And I didn't like the idea of trying to climb on just the port engine. That could strain it a bit too much. We'd be heading for Puerto Rico low, over the sea.

I said: 'Any idea of where in Puerto Rico we might put down? You don't have any security-minded friends with private airstrips?'

He said thoughtfully: 'I have friends in the República. Had you considered landing at Santo Bartolomeo? The civil airport, naturally.'

I hadn't thought anything of the damn sort. 'Was Jiminez planning to grab it?'

'I think not. It is not important.'

That's what I'd thought: it was about fifteen miles out of town, and unless Jiminez had arranged an airlift of supplies, he wouldn't bother with it. Still, neither would the generals: they already had their own airfield.