It was a military transport plane bearing the insignia of the Colombian Air Force. I spotted it as the three of us were trudging dejectedly back toward the row of hangars. One of the airport maintenance trucks had towed it onto the runway. The two-truck unhitched from it and drove away. As we approached, the four-man crew was just boarding it.
“Hey!” I exclaimed. “There’s our answer. That baby could overtake Mendoza in no time.”
“You’re right,” Foster agreed. “If only we can contact Colombian Intelligence to cut through the red tape for us quickly enough.”
“Never,” Vickie said positively. “They’d have to check on us through Washington and maybe London. By the time we got clearance and they agreed to cooperate, Von Koerner and Mendoza could be halfway across the continent.”
“Look,” I said, “you two are the pros and I’m only the amateur, but it strikes me that this is no time to start going through channels. We’ve just got to act fast and worry about diplomacy later. We’ve got to steal that plane and kidnap the pilot and do it now. Are you game?”
They were game. We sprinted for the plane and reached it just as the last crewman went through the hatch. We followed after him with our guns drawn. The three airmen were dumbfounded as we entered. Vickie and I covered them while Foster went forward and shoved his gun under the pilot’s nose. Then we waved our guns around until the crew members got the idea and disembarked. I went forward and covered the pilot while Foster slid into the co-pilot’s seat. Moments later we were in the air, the nose of the plane pointing in the general direction Mendoza had been heading.
“Keep an eye on the flyboy here while I figure this out,” Foster said. He’d found the radar scope and was fiddling with the equipment.
“Do you know anything about it?” I asked him.
“Luckily, yes. I was a radar man on a sub during the Korean fracas. This stuff looks pretty advanced, but the principle must be the same. I should be able to figure it out.”
A few minutes later Foster twisted a dial and sat back looking smug as the radar screen lit up. “Got it,” he said. “Now, let’s just see . . .” He fiddled with some other dials and then snapped his fingers. “There she is,” he said, pointing to a green blip on the screen. “That’s Mendoza’s plane. He’s about fifty miles southeast of us.”
I held the gun to the pilot’s temple while Foster had him set the controls for the indicated course. We both pretended we knew what he was doing, but the truth was he could have headed the plane in the opposite direction without our being aware of it. But the gun at his head impressed him, and as things turned out he followed our instructions. The plane was a twin-motor job without jets, and we had him open it up to top speed.
Foster watched the radar scope carefully. A while later he pointed out to me that the blip had grown larger. We were closing the distance between Mendoza’s little cabin plane and us rapidly.
Then Foster had a thought and twisted some other dials. The blip of Mendoza’s plane vanished. The screen was empty for a moment. Foster adjusted a dial and pointed. “Look,” he said. “We’ve got company.”
I followed his finger and saw a group of dots moving in formation down near the lower right-hand corner of the screen. “What are they?” I asked.
“Probably pursuit planes,” Foster told me. “We’ve probably got the whole Colombian Air Force on our tail. Judging from their speed, they’re jets. They’ll have no trouble at all catching up with us.”
“Oh, great. Do you think they’ll catch us before we catch Mendoza?”
“It’s touch and go. But even if we do catch up with Mendoza, what are we going to do?”
“Well, we could shoot him down.”
“And risk killing Von Koerner? Don’t forget, he’s what we’re after. If we kill him, we’re just as bad off as if he gets away from us.”
“Well, at least his neo-Nazi pals won’t have him and his weapon—-whatever the hell it is.”
“I know, Steve. If it comes to a choice, you’re right. But remember, our real job is to get him and bring him back alive. Whatever his invention is, we want it.”
“Alan, honestly now, don’t you know what it is, either?”
“No.” He shook his head. The earnest way he looked convinced me that he was telling the truth. “And I’m not sure that anybody except Von Koerner himself does.”
“Oh, hell, Vickie must.”
“No. She knows what it does. But she doesn’t know what it is. That’s what she told me back in Santo Domingo, and I believe her.”
“Well, what is it that it does?” I persisted.
“She won’t tell me.” He held up his hands and grinned. “She simply refuses.”
“What about the Cuban who was knocked off back in Miami? He was a victim of this thing-whatever it is. Doesn’t that seem to indicate that the Castro boys might already have it?”
“Negative. They don’t have it. They killed the Cuban after the German himself used this weapon on him. And my guess is Von Koerner wouldn’t tell them anything about it. If he made a model of whatever it is, he must have destroyed it. We know he doesn’t have it with him now. And we know he isn’t carrying any plans — unless he stashed them in his underwear or something. That could be so, but it’s more likely that he’s just carrying the formula, or the plans, or whatever, around in his head. That’s why it is so important to get him before the neo-Nazis do.”
“Then we’ll just have to try to follow Mendoza to his destination and hope those jets don’t catch up with us before he gets there.”
“Or maybe make Mendoza think we’re going to shoot him down so he’ll make a forced landing. Then we could follow him down. We’d have more of a chance of getting Von Koerner alive if they’re on the ground.”
“Do you think we’ll have the time to do that?” I asked.
Foster studied the Mendoza blip on the radar screen. Then he switched for a look at the jet-dots. They looked a little larger to me now. “The next half-hour will tell,” Foster said. “We’ll see.”
He must have figured it pretty accurately. It was exactly thirty-two minutes later that we sighted Mendoza’s plane. I was in the cabin with Vickie when Foster called back to us that we’d caught up. At the same time Vickie was pointing out through the Plexiglas gun-blister, and I saw that she had spotted the jet-streams of our pursuers approaching fast. I went forward and filled Foster in on this development.
He had the pilot close in fast on Mendoza’s plane. I went back to the gun-blister, and as we came up behind the Piper I fired a few rounds which purposely just missed his wingspan. I could hear Foster arguing with the pilot. He wanted him to get above Mendoza and try to force him down. We’d only have time for one real pass before the jets would be on us. The pilot was trying to stall. I came up behind him, pressed the barrel of my pistol against the back of his neck and clicked off the safety. He got the message. He did as Foster wanted. He swung the plane into a steep climb and then dived at Mendoza. I went back to the gun-blister and tried. for a few more near-misses as we swept past him.
Mendoza dove then, and we lost him in the clouds. When we came out from under them, I spotted the Piper in a steep dive, heading for a crash. At first I thought we’d have to kiss Von Koerner good-bye. Then I saw the two chutes opening far beneath us. Von Koerner and Mendoza had opted to jump.
A moment later the reason for decision became obvious. The jets were on us now, and I realized that to the pair of neo-Nazis it must have looked as if they were with us and pursuing them. By now they must have realized by the way the jets were coming for us that we were the prey and not them. But by now it was too late. They’d already jumped.