Lone Wolf #7: Peruvian Nightmare
Page 14
“In the plane,” Wulff said. He spun the chambers, clicked the dead trigger. The bearded man turned, got a handhold on the door, arched his way in. He disappeared into the blackness; after a moment, a small ladder came out. Holding the gun in front of him Wulff came up, got into the cockpit.
“You’ve just filled it up,” Wulff said, “you can take it pretty far on what you’ve got in there. If we need to refuel we can touch down somewhere.”
“You’re crazy,” the bearded man said. “You’re crazy if you think this will work.”
“That’s my problem.”
“Stavros is dead. Stavros made things work. Without him you’re not going anywhere.”
“He didn’t make them work that fucking well,” Wulff said. “Close the door.”
The bearded man leaned forward, pulled on something and the door closed. “Keep your hands on the controls and your mind on business,” Wulff said. “And don’t talk. I messed with one pilot up in Havana a while ago and that was enough. It’s not going to happen again.”
“All right,” the man said, “all right.” He did something with levers and the motor staggered into life. Wulff could feel the cabin shaking with the props. A miracle. A miracle if they made it north in this thing. Still, it was a miracle to be here in the first place. You kept on. You kept on going, that was all. You did so in the faith that sooner or later, at one stage of the game or the next, it made sense. If anything did. If anything did at all.
“Take it up,” Wulff said.
They ascended.
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Copyright © 1974 by Mike Barry
All rights reserved.
Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
eISBN 10: 1-4405-4240-6
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-4240-4
Cover art © 123rf.com/Alexey Stiop