A glass shattered a few inches from Shayne’s head. After a long moment’s silence, he heard one of the girls whisper, “My God, Sue. What was that?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know.”
The buzzers were clamoring. Shayne pulled the pillows out of his way. His fingertips were on the edge of the sliding panel. As far as he could tell, the plane was flying normally, with no unusual vibration. One of the passengers in the rear of the cabin called back, demanding to know what had happened.
“Better check with Lassiter,” one of the girls said in a low voice.
“Here he comes.”
Shayne got a better foothold, ready to push off. Lassiter’s voice, easygoing and unexcited: “Did you kids hear a bang?”
“Did we!”
“Now stop shaking, dear. Nothing’s wrong with the engines. Nothing shows on the instruments. We’re on full power and everything’s answering. Where did it seem to come from?”
“Right underneath, Joe. I thought it was in one of the luggage compartments.”
Lassiter considered for a moment. “I wonder if we’re getting any tail-cone vibration.”
Apparently he squatted, ready to pull the sliding panel. His next words came from that level. Shayne’s teeth came back from his lips.
“Hell with it,” Lassiter said, and stood up. “If we’ve got one of those insurance nuts who bring in time bombs in their luggage, we’d better get back to St. Albans and check it out.”
All the buzzers were sounding now. Shayne heard Lassiter’s departing footsteps.
He pulled the door open far enough to look out. The stewardesses had begun moving up the aisle, flashing professional smiles. After Lassiter passed, a man rose and followed him into the cockpit.
The plane banked. Then it rocked and began to turn back in the opposite direction. The first stewardess swung around to look at her friend.
Almost immediately a voice came over the public address. “Ladies and-”
It was Moss’s voice. It broke off abruptly, to resume again an instant later.
“Ladies and gentlemen. This is not your captain speaking. Kind of hectic up here for a minute. Everything under control. Jaime, they’ve got a stupid idea about turning back to St. Albans, so let’s us spring into action.”
Another man went to the front of the cabin. When he turned, he was seen to be wearing a grotesque monster mask.
“This is a robbery, folks,” the public address said. “We hope nobody’s going to get hurt. This airplane has been taken over by the Venezuelan Armed Forces for National Liberation.”
A delayed scream sounded from the rear of the cabin.
“I could give you a little political lecture,” Moss was saying, “but I’m afraid it wouldn’t stay with you. So we’re passing out pamphlets, one for each passenger. Read it at your leisure. My colleague at the front of the cabin is named Jaime Sanchez. He’s a professional revolutionary. The reason he’s wearing that horrible mask is so you won’t be able to describe him to the police. Some of you probably saw him when he came aboard, but you’ve forgotten what he looks like, haven’t you? I don’t want you to remember that he has a scar over his left eye, pockmarks, and a missing lower tooth in front.”
He gave a high, happy laugh, which made the loudspeaker vibrate. “I’m holding a pistol to your captain’s head, and he intends to do exactly what I tell him. If he tries any funny stuff and I have to spatter his brains over the windshield, don’t be alarmed. You may hear the gun but don’t give it a thought. I’m a qualified pilot. I’ve logged twenty thousand miles in DC-8s. And the boys up here will be glad to help me with advice and assistance, I feel sure. Jaime, get to work.”
The masked bandit at the front of the cabin called, “Money and jewelry, passports. Watches, travelers checks, credit cards. Drop in the bag.”
He shook out a canvas U.S. mail sack and offered it to the passengers in the front seats. Moss came back on the public address.
“Don’t hold out, any of you people. When you read those pamphlets, you’ll understand the reason we need money, to overthrow a corrupt and inefficient and murdering government. And don’t forget it’s deductible. You’re really making a political contribution, but this way you can tell the Internal Revenue Service you’ve been robbed. Did you follow that?”
After each passenger contributed, Jaime gave him a pamphlet. Suddenly he reached out and cuffed somebody. Dropping the sack, he pulled a woman into the aisle. She was one of the tour’s single women; Shayne had seen her with Mary Ocain. The robber held her erect and ripped her dress to the waist. She huddled her arms together.
The voice on the public address said, “I keep thinking of things to tell you. Some of you are going to think you can get away with slipping a couple of bills in your shoe. Don’t. Jaime’s a kind of fanatic. He wants your cooperation. He doesn’t want to feel he’s forcing you to contribute against your will. Now this would be a foolhardy thing to pull with just the two of us, wouldn’t it? We have friends and sympathizers scattered throughout the plane. They’re watching you. Viva the Front of National Liberation!”
Jaime had punctuated this speech with slaps and blows. Shayne snicked back the slide of the forty-five and moved the door another inch. The robber broke the straps of the woman’s bra and turned it inside out. A small ring skittered into the aisle. He pounced on it and held it up for everyone to see.
Crane Ward finally came to his feet. “You’ve made your point. Let the woman alone.”
Jaime’s mask had huge pop eyes, a bad scar or a burn, a craggy underslung jaw. Lowering his head, he caught Ward by the front of his clerical vest and yanked him around.
“Because she hide something, I give her a kick in the pants. If a man tries to hide something, I give a crack with the gun on the side of the cheek. That way everybody knows to give me all their money.”
He walked Ward back to his seat and sat him down hard. He ground his fist deliberately against Ward’s nose and laughed.
“I spit on priests.”
He spat through the mouth hole, then wrenched the half-undressed woman around and did as he had promised-gave her a powerful kick which lifted her off the floor.
“Anyone else?” he shouted. “All of you, give everything you have and I promise we will use it for guns and ammunition to overturn the Yanqui puppets.”
His sack filled rapidly. Deciding arbitrarily that one of the old men was holding out on him, he pulled him into the aisle to be searched. Finding nothing, he apologized, gave him a pamphlet and moved on.
He bowed elaborately to the two stewardesses, in the last seat in the cabin.
“Such pretty girls. Maybe you would like to join us in the mountains? We need women to cook and mend clothes and sleep with us.”
“Thanks very much,” one of the girls said drily. “We appreciate the thought, we really do.”
Reaching down, he touched her face gently. “So pretty. Keep your money.”
He continued into the galley and bawled out loudly, “Everybody straight ahead. Look around once and I promise you-”
He dropped the sack and dried his hand on his pants. Gradually he lowered the gun until it was pointing at the floor. Shayne slid the panel open, seized the bandit’s gun hand in both his own and dragged down hard.
For that first instant, he used his full strength. The hard jerk got the movement started, and then Shayne was able to apply leverage to twist the arm. He completed the pull by releasing the wrist and delivering a short, punishing blow to the unprotected skull behind the right ear. The bandit sagged to the floor.
Moss, on the public address, was denouncing American imperialism. As far as Shayne could tell, the little flurry of movement in the galley had gone unnoticed. He ripped off the rubber mask and pulled it over his own head. Freeing the mail bag, he pulled it around to cover the Brazilian’s head and shoulders. He stood up with the forty-five.
“Got everything, Jaime?” the voice on the public address said. “You must have by now. We’ll be over Aruba in a minute. Can’t you find the buzzer? I’m worrying up here. The captain’s worrying.”