The radio operator moved slowly from his seat. He helped the flight engineer to his feet. Blood ran down the flight engineer's face. He looked dazed.
“Get in there!” Harry said.
They went down the steps into the cabin. A woman screamed when she saw the flight engineer.
Lewin shoved the three men past him and yelled at them to sit in the gangway. From the savage note in his voice, Harry guessed he was getting jittery. He wanted to look in the cabin to see if Franks had gone after the guard, but he didn't dare take his eyes off McClure.
“Shove her on automatic,” he said to McClure, “and get into the cabin.”
“Don't talk wet,” McClure said. “I've got to look after this kite. I'm responsible for the passengers. I'm not quitting here. You're crazy. You can't get away with this.”
“Shove her on automatic!” Harry said. He wiped the sweat out of his eyes with the back of his hand. “I'm taking her over. Come on, snap it up!”
“You?” McClure gaped at him. “I'm not letting you handle this kite.”
“If you don't get out of that seat I'll shoot you!” Harry shouted.
McClure hesitated.
“Can you handle her?”
“Of course I can. Get out of that seat!”
McClure knocked in the automatic pilot. He got reluctantly out of the pilot's seat.
“Don't start anything,” Harry said, backing away to give McClure room to pass him. “There's two more outside, and they're a damn sight more dangerous than I am.”
“If you're after the diamonds,” McClure said, “you'll' never get away with them. There's an escort waiting for us to land at the airport.”
“Get in there and shut up!”
McClure looked at Harry, his face set and determined. Harry had a feeling that McClure was going to jump him. He could see it in his eyes. He knew he couldn't bring himself to shoot McClure. He braced himself, waiting for McClure to come at him.
Then he heard the sound of a shot, followed immediately by another from a heavier gun.
McClure started, turned his head and stepped to the door leading into the cabin. Harry let his gun slide through his fingers until he had it by the barrel. He swung at the back of McClure's head. The butt slammed down on McClure's skull, driving him to his knees. Harry hit him again and McClure straightened out.
Stepping over him, Harry looked into the cabin.
The passengers were sitting like graven images; white faced and horrified.
Lewin stood in the gangway, gun in hand, his face pallid and shiny with sweat. The crew sat in the gangway, their hands on top of their heads.
Harry took in this scene with one quick glance. Then he saw Franks, who leaned against the door leading into the galley, clutching at his shoulder. Blood ran down the inside of his coat sleeve, and dripped off his fingers. As Harry watched him, his legs gave under him and he slid down on to the floor.
Harry said, “What's happening?”
Without looking round, Lewin said, “It's that guard! He's in there. He's got Ted. He's likely to come out shooting!”
Lewin's voice was high pitched. He sounded as if his nerve was cracking.
“He' won't do that,” Harry said. “He'll stay in there. I told the fool . . .”
“Come down and fix Ted's arm,” Lewin said. “He's bleeding to death.”
“I've got to handle the kite,” Harry said savagely. “Get one of the crew to do it.”
He bent down and catching hold of McClure's unconscious body he dragged him down the steps into the cabin.
The scraggy woman in the mink coat took one look at McClure, made a sound like the whinnying of a horse and heeled over in a faint. Another woman screamed. The flight engineer half rose to his feet, but Lewin yelled at him to sit down.
Harry went back to the flight deck. He knocked out the automatic pilot and took over the controls. He was shaking and his heart was hammering.
The sky had cleared now, and there was a brilliant moon. He altered course and headed towards the desert. Minutes ticked by.
He kept thinking that when he bad brought the aircraft down, he and Lewin would have to tackle the guard. The thought turned his mouth sour with fear.
Damn Franks! He had warned him. Now the guard was alerted and would be ready for them. If he shut himself in the luggage bay, he could keep them off for hours. The chances were they wouldn't get the diamonds now.
He didn't envy Lewin. He wouldn't want to be out there, facing all those people and the crew with Franks bleeding and the guard waiting.
He thought of the fifty thousand dollars now in New York.
No diamonds; no dough. Somehow they had to get at the guard.
They might even have to kill him. The thought turned him cold.
He flew for ten minutes or so, then he began to pick up landmarks. Again he altered course. The desert stretched out below like a white crumpled bed sheet. He brought the aircraft down to fifteen hundred feet. He could see the sand dunes and the hills clearly. Somewhere to the east was a broad strip of flat land. He took the aircraft lower, leaning forward to look through the perspect, forgetting for the moment what was going on in the cabin.
Then he saw a light flashing. He could see the car and a tiny figure waving a powerful flashlight.
He hadn't thought much of Sam Meeks when he had met him.
He was a thin-faced, seedy-looking youth, not more than nineteen, with a dirty looking line of fuzz on his upper lip that served as a moustache. Lewin had said he was a good driver, but Harry couldn't see him tackling a guy like the guard.
He took the aircraft in in a wide circle. It didn't occur to him that he would have trouble in landing. He put on flaps and lowered the undercarriage. He came down, aiming the nose of the aircraft at the flashing light. He had shown Meeks exactly where he was to stand when he, Borg and Meeks had been out the previous day to survey the ground.
He felt the wheels touch, bounce, then touch again. A shudder ran through the aircraft, and, scared the undercarriage wouldn't take the strain, Harry hurriedly cut the engines. Sand flew either side of the perspect, then the aircraft responded to the brakes and came to a stop.
Harry swung himself out of his seat, snatched up his gun that he had laid on the floor beside him and walked quickly to the door and looked into the cabin.
Franks sat huddled up on a seat near where Lewin stood.
Someone had cut the sleeve out of his coat and had bandaged his shoulder. His face glistened with sweat and he looked pretty bad. He was holding his .45 in his left hand.
The passengers sat motionless. They all looked at Harry as he stood in the doorway.
“Listen, you people,” he said, “no one is going to get hurt unless they act smart. Do what you're told and you're going to be okay. We're in the desert. The nearest town is a hundred miles from here so it's no use running away. I want you all out of here. Get a couple of hundred yards from the plane and sit down and wait. When we're through, the radio operator will call for help and they'll come for you. You've got nothing to worry about so long as you obey orders.” He came down to the gangway. “Open the exit door,” he said to the flight engineer. “Snap it up!”
The flight engineer got the door open and jumped down on to the sand. The other two members of the crew lowered McClure, who was returning to consciousness, down to him.
“Come on! Come on!” Harry shouted. “Get out, all of you!”
Jostling and scared, the passengers clambered out of the aircraft.
“Where's the air hostess?” Harry asked Lewin.
“She's in with the guard.”
Harry went down the gangway, stepped to one side and opened the door leading to the galley a few inches.
“Hey, girl! Come out here,” he called. “There's a passenger who wants your help.”