Shooting Script

'They're mechanics. You don't carry a gun to repair a plane.'

He cocked a slow eyebrow. 'Or she may not even be fuelled. Or the batteries-'

'She's the General's getaway plane. She'll be ready to get away.'

Logical-but with a lot of hope sprinkled on top. I turned and strolled back towards the Dove.

Luiz was still standing guard by the car, Ned near him. J.B. was leaning inside the open door, her hands out of sight behind it: she must have had the sub-machine gun there. And Whit-more had his Colt, Luiz the rifle – but Ned still had the Magnum. Well, if it came to a gunfight, my job was throwing rocks.

As I rounded the little aeroplane's nose I casually kicked the chock away from the nosewheel, then ducked under the wing-tip down to the door on the left side. That put the Dove between me and the honest workmen.

After the Mitchell, she seemed abruptly unfamiliar; lower, a little wider, and clean, neat, modern. I smiled to myself: I'd never expected to thinkthat of her. Then the familiar Dove smell hit me, and I knew her perfectly again. I dipped my head just the right. amount, angled myself sideways just enough to pass between the passenger seats, and walked quickly up to the cockpit.

I didn't need to sit down. I just leant in over the seats and ran my hands across the controls and switches. Quietly, she woke up. Lights came on across the panel, instrument needles jumped off their stops, swayed, settled down. The fuel was there, the power was there, the air pressures were there – more than I'd ever seen on her. The General must really have had some work done. I shifted the fuel, throttle, and pitch levers to where I wanted them; but that was all I could do. The next stage was the noisy one.

I hurried back and out of the door. The group had drifted in beside the Dove's nose, out of sight of the hangar. Except for Luiz, still stiffly at attention in a way the República Air Force had never achieved.

'All aboard that's coming aboard,' I said.

J.B. and Whitmore moved. Luiz stayed. Out of the side of his mouth, he said: 'I think, my friends, that I will stay.'

Everybody turned. Whitmore said: 'You're doing what?'

'Jiminez can use this gun. Perhaps me also.'

Whitmore blew up like a 500-pounder. 'Christ, you got a picture to finish! '

Luiz smiled very slightly. 'Perhaps in a week or so, Walt. When things are settled – one way or another.'

I said: 'You could've picked a better place to stay; not the middle of a fortified base.'

'I shall take the car.'

'You won't get it through the gate.'

'I think there is a hole in the wire – where Señor Rafter crashed. I can take the car that far.'

'It'll be guarded.'

He hefted the rifle in his hands. "They will not be quick to shoot at this uniform.'

Whitmore said: 'You're still crazy.'

This time Luiz turned. 'Walt-I also have an investment to protect. Not as big as yours, perhaps – but I have it.'

I said softly: 'Just one Ufe.'

But nobody else knew what we were talking about.

I said: 'All right – if anybody's going, let's go.'

Ned said: 'Nobody's going.'

THIRTY-THREE

"e hadn't been lookingat him – not for far too long. The Magnum was in his hand.

Whitmore frowned at it, then me. 'You emptied it, didn't you?'

Ned said: 'But I filled it. Always carry a few loose rounds.

Never know when you might need 'em.'

I said bitterly: 'And I thought you were paying a bet.'

He nodded. 'All paid. Said I'd get you through the gate. Well, you're through. Now let's go and talk to Bosco.'

Luiz, still watching the hangar with his back to Ned, said: 'Honour does not end as the clock strikes, my friend.'

'I'll bet it sounds even better in Spanish. Put down your gun and turn around.'

Slowly Luiz laid it down, stood up, turned. The Magnum flicked to J.B. She brought the sub-machine gun from behind her back and put it down.

'Fine.' Ned let the Magnum hang loose, pointing towards the floor. 'I know Mr Walt bloody Whitmore's got one, but I think we'll leave it there. Unless he wants to try another fast draw?'

Whitmore just looked at him.

Ned grinned. 'Right. Now let's-'

Miranda came around the hangar wall, pistol in his hand.

Ned glanced at him, sighed. 'Your timing never was much good, was it, matey?'

Miranda frowned, the pistol poking around suspiciously. 'I saw your car arrive, Teniente. You were told to stay at the Americana. Why isthis?

He looked carefully around us. He saw Whitmore and J.B. and me, just standing; he saw Ned, the Magnum not pointing at anything; he saw the Dove behind us…

Luiz said: 'Just a short trip to Puerto Rico.'

Miranda stared, then recognised Luiz's face above the uniform. And he got the idea. Almost the right one.

'Traidor THe screamed at Ned.

'Now, look-' Ned started.

Miranda shot him.

The hangar was suddenly silent. Then Whitmore grabbed behind him and the big Colt was blasting. Miranda was flicked away as if by a gust of wind.

Then just the echoes in the metal rafters.

Luiz snatched up the Browning, ran out in front of the Dove and threw a burst at the roof. There was a rush and clatter asthe mechanics dived off the Vampires for cover.

Luiz yelled: 'Get going! '

But I was bending over Ned. His eyes opened, and he grinned a bit crookedly. 'He's no better'n you are, Keith… should've blown me apart at that range.'

But there was already a wide bloodstain spreading through his flying suit, just below his left ribs.

I said: 'I'll get you out of here.'

'Go to hell…' His voice was a series of grunts. 'You was right… I'm in command here… specially now Miranda's finished…'

'Ned, don't be a damn fool.'

Luiz shouted: 'Getstarted! '

Ned managed another grin. 'You heard him.'

I waited uncertain for a moment – then lifted a hand, waved, and ran for the Dove.

Thirty seconds later she started to move, both engines turning, but spitting and coughing as I pushed them from cold to full boost.

Luiz fired a last burst across the hangar, threw himself into the Mercedes, and backed away in one tearing sweep. As we bumped on to the grass, I saw him straightening out and accelerating on the perimeter track.

There was hardly any wind – but there was that mounted machine-gun. I pushed down twenty degrees of flap and just held her straight across the grass, across the runway – and into the air two hundred yards short of the far boundary fence.

A few minutes later, as I climbed out over the sea heading for the Puntadel Almirante, J.B. came forward into the cockpit. 'I think Luiz made it. I saw the car by the fence. If he got that far, he'd get the rest.'

She eased herself carefully into the co-pilot's seat. 'Well, it's been quite a day for a boy who doesn't take risks and doesn't gamble. You really are slipping, Keith. Better retire now.'

I nodded. 'How's Whitmore?'

'Busy figuring out how he can write Luiz out of the script if he gets killed or elected Minister of Culture or something.'

We passed through 8,000 and I took her up another 200,throttled back and put her on the step. The General really had done some work on her; she was in a lot better shape than when he'd first pinched her. And now even a check four wouldn't come too expensive.

I trimmed the Dove precisely and loosed the wheel to prove it. J.B. reached across and took my hand.

'Jamaica?' she asked.

'First stop.'

'And second stop?'

I considered. 'Tell me – d'you happen to know a place the FBI not only doesn't have an office but doesn't go on holiday, either?'