“Don't forget that I have you just where I want you. And don't think I won't turn on the pressure if I think it necessary.”
“What about yourself?” MacTavish asked. “Do you think you can get out clean if some, one talks?”
Hector came out of his chair like a thing on springs. His face was purple as he roared at MacTavish.
“Say 'Sir' when 'you speak to me, you swine!” he shouted.
“Sh-h!” Sneed said, stepping between the two men. “We'll get no place shouting at one another. I think it's time we got under way. Our men have already gone. We'll report to Serj el Said at Petra.”
His right elbow prodded MacTavish in the side as he finished speaking. MacTavish tried to twist his ugly face into a smile, and half succeeded.
“Sneed is right, sir,” he said. “You can depend on my loyalty, sir. All three of us are tense. You know things are going to crack wide open quite soon. It's getting inside me.”
“I understand, MacTavish,” Hector grunted. “But keep in mind that there must always be one leader, and to remain leader he must crush opposition without mercy.
“I'm depending on you two to keep your men lined up. When we're ready to strike, things will have to work with the precision of a machine. There can't be any slips. I'm tying up the loose ends now so that there won't be any Slips. A lot depends on your success tonight. You mustn't fail. You'll have the advantage of a surprise attack and superior numbers.
“Carry on with your assignment!”
“MacTavish and Sneed saluted smartly and took their leave. Hector threw his J big hulk into the same easy-chair and again stared straight ahead of him, as immobile as a stone Buddha.
AS the two dark forms of MacTavish and Sneed slunk out of the officers' quarters on the Royal Air Force field, Wing Commander Norton Kestrel sat in his own quarters, staring at his adjutant as though he could not believe what the man had just told him. .
His sunken eyes and lined cheeks gave mute evidence of the fact that he had not had sleep for over thirty-six hours. His twitching face was pale beneath its coat of tan.
“You're sure of this, Creighton?” Kestrel whispered.
“Positive,” Creighton answered. “Two of our Beersheba spies just made a report to me. They are thoroughly reliable. The Bedouins are gathering in tribes.”
“But what Moslem would dare to mutilate the Dushara?” Kestrel asked, his voice stunned. “If the natives believe we did it, the lives of non-Moslems will not be worth a farthing. If we start using an air patrol above the mosque on Jebel Harun it will only add to the natives' conviction that we have c tried to enter the Holy of Holies.”
“I'll get word through to Amman, Jerusalem, and Mecca,” the adjutant said. “The natives will strike when their leader tells them he is ready.”
“We will have to evacuate all women and children and double all guards,” Kestrel said, pulling at his haggard face. “I'll issue general orders, immediately. Then I must have some sleep. Barnes will be here sometime before morning. I wish to see him the minute he arrives.”
IV-OUT OF THE NIGHT
THE PROPS of the three Snorters and the silver bullet that was the Lancer were ticking over slowly as Bill Barnes came out of the administration, building of the airport at Bagdad. The goggled, white-helmeted heads of “Shorty” Hassfurther, Bill's chief of staff, “Red” Gleason, and young “Sandy” Sanders, the youngest of Bill's little squadron of aces, jutted above the rim of their yellow-and-black-and-red amphibians.
They were waiting, impatiently, for Bill to signal the dispatch tower. Luggage, ammunition, emergency equipment in the tails, and fuel had been carefully checked.
Shorty Hassfurther, that blue-eyed broad-faced veteran of a thousand battles in the air, wanted to be on his way to the Royal Air Force field at Ma'an. He wanted to see and talk to James Douglas, the brother of an old War-time pal. He had seen young James a half dozen times in England since his brother r had been killed. And once, young Douglas had spent a couple of weeks with him on Barnes Field, Long Island.
A strong bond of friendship had been forged between Douglas, Bill Barnes, and Shorty Hassfurther during those two weeks. They had been horrified, then angry when they learned that Douglas had been cashiered from the Royal Air Force. Now they wanted to get to him to prove that their friendship was something more than empty words.
Bill Barnes' bronzed face became grim and a little tense as he studied the scudding black clouds racing across the sky. A vision of that night two years before when he and young Sandy had been caught by a sand storm over the Syrian Desert flashed through his mind. Then he shook his head angrily and raised his hand above his head. The dispatch tower acknowledged.
The twin Diesels in Red Gleason's Snorter roared. A signal flashed and the big amphibian rolled forward. It streaked down the runway into the wind. The tail came up. The earth faded away beneath it and the' spinning landing wheels described an arc as the bracing members folded and swung up into their wells. Red took the thundering ship upward in tight spirals to level off at five thousand feet. The wind screamed along the streamlined fuselage as Shorty Hassfurther and young Sandy kicked their ships into the wind and joined him.
Bill Barnes' eyes sparkled as they ran over the instrument layout of the Silver Lancer. He felt a surge of pride as he told himself for the thousandth time that he was sitting in the greatest fighting ship in the world.
He touched the elevating and transversing screws of his telescopic machine gun and 37 mm. cannon sight, tested the radio control group and ran an eye over the Stark 1-2-3 flight instrument layout. He pivoted the infra-red-ray telescope which permitted him to sight along a beam of “black light” through fog clouds or darkness on its two-hinged supports, to test it.
His whole body was singing “as he stuck his booted feet into the rudder stirrups and opened the throttle. He cocked his head to one side as he released his brakes, and listened to the throb of his engines.
He was smiling to himself. He eased l the stick back and took the great ship into the air. The world he decided at that moment, was a pretty swell place to live in. His trip to China and his business with the Nanking government had been successful. Things were on the up and up. To-morrow they would pick up young Douglas at Ma'an and a few days later they would be back on Barnes Field on Long Island.
The yellow wheel-gear light and the green floating-gear light flashed as the amphibian gear folded completely into the fuselage and wings.
Bill threw his radio key and spoke to his men.
“Be sure your running lights are 0.K.,” he said. “Watch out for the air currents over the desert. They're tricky. We'll cruise at two hundred and fifty. Shorty, you take the point of a V with Red on the right and Sandy on the left. I'll be a couple of hundred feet above and behind you. Keep plenty of distance; you'll need it. Signing off.”
“Say, Bill!” young Sandy broke in, breathlessly. “Do you suppose I could pick up a good Arabian horse when we get to Ma'an?”
“How're you going to get him home, kid?” Bill asked, grinning.
“He's going to let Douglas take his ship and swim the horse across the Atlantic!' Shorty Hassfurther offered,
“Naw,” Red Gleason interrupted. “He's going to get a jumper and jump him across the Atlantic. Or, maybe, get that magic carpet some one used to fly around on.
“All right, smart guys,” Sandy said, heatedly. “No one asked you what you thought.”
“We just like to be helpful,” Shorty said. “You know, do our daily good deed. Why don't you buy a camel instead. It-”