Terror Flower (River Sunday Romance Mysteries Book 5)

by Thomas Hollyday

  That guard yelled to the others, with his British accent, “I’ve got them. Call back to Stagmatter.”

  Chapter Twenty

  4AM Saturday August 21

  Stagmatter walked by Tench as he, Julie, Smote and her father lay tied up in the belly of the aircraft. He saw that Tench was awake and staring up at him.

  “You like my B24 Bomber?” he said, as he stopped in front of Tench.

  “It’s not yours,” said Tench. Beneath his bare feet he felt the leaking gasoline and mixed with its smell the urine that the guards had had sprayed on him and the others.

  Then the big man calmed himself, letting his fists unclench. “You are a fool.”

  “It belongs to the Air force crew who died fighting the Italians. Strake and you stole it from him,” said Tench.

  “A technicality, which is unimportant at this moment,” he said, with the part smile that Tench knew so well. Stagmatter looked at his own watch and then glanced forward. Tench followed his gaze and saw Doctor Owerri sitting in one of the pilot seats, reading pages in a large folder.

  “She learning how to fly this thing?” asked Tench.

  “She can fly any airplane. So can I,” said Stagmatter.

  “I figure you clowns will wreck this thing on takeoff,” said Tench.

  Stagmatter glanced at him, first angry then calm, and said, “We shall see.”

  “I do appreciate you, Stagmatter. I mean, you’ve taken such a derelict airplane and returned it to its former glory. You’ve got a real weapon of great power.”

  Stagmatter smiled.

  Tench continued, “Hitler would have been pleased at his countryman, that is, if he was still alive. People like that always get killed though, don’t they?”

  “They fail and get killed when they rely on fools,” he replied. “I will be proud of my accomplishment myself. That is all that matters.”

  “You got me tied up so I can’t congratulate you, shake your hand, about this mechanical wonder. I guess you must be afraid of what I might do to ruin your day, Stagmatter.”

  “Yes, you are tied up, Tench, and you will stay there until you die.”

  “So tell me how you did it?” Tench asked.

  “It was me all right. Right from the beginning. They didn’t do anything until later. They couldn’t understand the front of an engine front from the back. Too stupid. It was all my genius.”

  “I figured that. Tell me how you did it.”

  Stagmatter stared at him for a long moment, then said, nodding his head, “I see no harm in telling you. You will be dead before long anyway. You see the genius of my plan so you deserve to know.”

  “A brilliant man deserves to have his ideas understood by someone who cares.”

  “Yes. I agree.”

  “You say you repaired this derelict. Where did you ever find one?

  “Your country, it has so much power that it forgets, it wastes, and from that waste, we can get what we need to kill you.”

  “So you robbed one of our dumps?”

  Stagmatter smiled again. “You call it treachery. I call it, how do you say, entrepreneurship.” Stagmatter wrinkled his face, his twisted mouth showing even in the dimness of the aircraft. “You ever heard of the World War Two bomber that was found in 1959 in the middle of the Libyan desert? “

  Tench shook his head, “Can’t say as I did.”

  Stagmatter ignored Tench’s sarcasm. “It crashed in 1943 after it returned from a bombing run in Italy. It overflew its base at Bengazi in Libya and crashed far to the south in the desert. Search crews never found it or its crew. Then an oil exploration team spotted it in 1959. The bomber was a B24 Liberator four engine aircraft like this one. Its crew had written the name of the plane on its nose and they called it the ‘Lady Be Good.’”

  “This is the Lady Be Good?”

  “No. That bomber was too far gone. Its fuselage was broken from the crash landing.”

  “So where did this plane come from?”

  He looked up at the cockpit and saw that Doctor Owerri was deep in study of the airplane manuals. Then he turned back to Tench. “Years after the Lady Be Good was found I traveled in the desert to see that old bomber. I wanted to see up close an aircraft that was similar to the one that had killed most of my family in Germany during the War.”

  “Kind of a morbid guy, aren’t you, Stagmatter?”

  Stagmatter almost snarled as he said, “You Americans could never understand this, the hatred of defeat, of being destroyed like an animal.”

  Stagmatter stooped in front of Tench and spoke in a lower voice as if he were confiding a secret. Tench realized what was happening. Stagmatter’s pent up ego was forcing the man to speak, to tell his story to someone like Tench who he apparently respected as a fellow mechanic. At the same time the big man was afraid of Owerri hearing him do it. She must be the real power in this escapade, Tench thought.

  Stagmatter said, “I was working in southern Africa on a project designing a new Mercedes repair station for its automobiles. I went north to see the plane on my vacation. Yes, I was the best of their men in Africa, a trained mechanic setting up garages to repair cars for the rich whites.

  “I found the old wreck after much trouble and discovered that it was not worth saving. You see I wanted to restore it, to fly it to America, even then and load it with bombs. I was going to take the revenge on one of your cities, using the same incendiary bombs and fire that killed my family. It was not to be, however, at least with that old wreck. The plane had not rusted, the engines were still in good shape, but, unfortunately for me, the fuselage and the wings were cracked from the landing impact.

  “When I was there I befriended a tribesman from a local village who had traveled far in the desert region. His family had served the German Army years before when they had ruled the lands under General Rommel. When he found that we had a love of Germany in common, we had much to discuss.”

  “You befriended someone. That must have been a thing to see.”

  “He was my friend until I killed him.” Stagmatter laughed. “I think you have an insight into my character, Mister Tench. Stagmatter beamed, and Tench could see he was reveling in pride for himself as he told of his quest for the aircraft.

  “This man told me of another wreck, one that the Europeans had not found, one that he was keeping for someone who had money to buy it. He assured me that he was the only one who knew where it was and that I should deal only with him.

  In those days I did not have money, but he trusted me which was his mistake.”

  “Why did he trust you, a European?”

  “He and I found we shared the same hate of the other Europeans and especially the Americans. He was a devout man and believed that the West was destroying his religious world.”

  “Foolish him. You were going to destroy him,” said Tench.

  “Yes, but he did not know that,” said Stagmatter, with his snarl of a smile. “I set out with him across the desert to the east from where the first wreck was located. You see, these bombers had a base to the north on the coast and sometimes they would come back from bombing runs in the Mediterranean and overfly the base. The Lady Be Good that I first visited was lost for decades because the records showed it crashed much closer to the base than it really did. The searchers never found it. The plane that he was leading me to had a different story. This plane was supposedly lost at sea in the Mediterranean. No one at the base knew for sure as it lost radio contact and couldn’t report its condition or its location. Apparently the plane flew on like the first and landed far into the desert. The men on board deplaned and walked away to their death, lost without water in the dry desert.

  Tench could see his eyes light up, even in the dimness of the airplane. “The plane itself was a great find. If you have ever seen a valuable antique that was untouched by weather or any kind of rot this was it. It had landed in a valley between dunes and was almost completely hidden from passersby had any come. Commercial flights did not go over this
part of the desert. As a matter of fact the plane was resting on its landing gear in perfect upright condition and simply stated could have been flown away had it been refueled and fitted with a new set of rubber tires. My belief was that the aviators landed it carefully thinking that they would be able to fly it away later. It had run out of fuel and, of course, they were completely lost.”

  “This was the Black-eyed Susan that we are inside at this moment?” asked Tench.

  He nodded. “I could not have picked a more perfect name for a plane that was intended to destroy the State of Maryland.”

  “What happened to the fliers?”

  “I never found out. Of course I spent little time looking for them. I supposed they were like the crew of the first plane, starved and dehydrated on the desert and lying dead for years perhaps twenty miles away in their untouched uniforms, their flesh dried out by the desert air.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t care.”

  “Of course not. Nor did my guide. He and I began to negotiate for the plane. He wanted a substantial amount of American dollars for it, you can be sure. After all the plane even had some of its bombs aboard and he knew that it was a weapon to be treasured and used by the right party. He knew it was worth a good fortune for him.”

  “How long did he live?”

  “Only a few hours. We had our meal and sat and talked about Allah and other foolishness and then I knifed him. When I left the spot I was sure that no one else would know of the plane until I was ready.”

  He nodded toward Owerri up forward. “I knew that a substantial civil war was going on in an African country to the south so I went there to discuss my new weapon. Actually I was looking for just the right partners. Someone who could plan with me a great raid on the United States.”

  “You found the Snake?”

  “You are very wise. The Snake was the only customer that had the imagination for the attack I wanted to make.”

  “How did you find the Snake?” Tench kept him talking hoping that Smote was well on his way to planning his escape.

  “You forget that my mechanical expertise preceded me and I had many contacts. It did not take long to find Marengo.”

  “Where did rebels out in the jungle get the money to help you restore the old plane?”

  “Marengo got it by selling Strake’s cars.”

  “Strake never knew?”

  “Strake couldn’t do anything. We made sure of that.”

  “You killed his family off one by one and then threatened his last daughter Julie,” Tench said, his tone even though he was brimming with disgust for this murderer in front of him.

  “Even Strake had a conscience you see. Marengo knew his man. Strake became our prisoner, trapped by his fear of what we would do to the girl. We got the money easily, shipped the plane here in parts, and put it back together all restored.”

  “Your bomber was disguised as auto parts. I saw part of a cowling that day at the bridge.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you waited for the best time to attack.”

  “That came along when we heard of the air show and it turned out to be scheduled ironically on the twenty-first of August. We all thought that was an auspicious date for our mission.”

  “Got to admit it ties in. That’s the date of Owerri’s revolution, when her family was murdered.”

  “That’s why we know we’ll succeed.”

  “Succeed how?”

  “We will burn many Americans with the gasoline they hunger for. Instead of in their cars, it will burn them to death in a great fire.”

  “You guys will get yourself killed too.”

  “A good way to die.”

  “For your fatherland.”

  “You would die for your country, wouldn’t you, Tench?”

  “Not by murdering innocent people,” said Tench.

  “Well, you will be with me so you will die for your country anyway. I must go. It’s been good talking with you. I wish we’d have time to have more discussion of the interesting machinery in this plane. Americans are good inventors.” He stood up and walked towards the cockpit.

  In the dim light, silhouetted by the plane’s dash lights, Tench saw Owerri’s dark figure stand up, the flight manual in her hand, as she moved to the other pilot seat and motioned Stagmatter to sit in her vacated place.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  5AM Saturday August 21

  In front of the plane Tench heard the mechanics start the engines of the two pickup trucks. He felt a tremble in the fuselage of the bomber. He realized the men were pulling the bomber further out into the field.

  Suddenly the big plane lurched, then tipped backward on its tail spine. The nose went up, tilted into the air several feet. The plane shuddered and Tench slid sideways towards the tail. Julie slid against him, her father not far behind her, and, further towards the front of the bomb bay, Smote did not slide but fell over on his side. He was apparently more securely bound to the wall frame of the plane than the rest of them. Doctor Owerri was standing in the pilot compartment doorway and fell forward, losing her balance on the steps. She grabbed at the side of the cockpit frame and pulled herself up. Now she wore the pilot’s suit that he had seen piled outside on the concrete floor of the hanger. He met her eyes and saw the depth of hate there. Owerri wanted to kill.

  Tench heard yelling outside and, from the pilot’s compartment, Stagmatter yelled out the cockpit window to his ground crew.

  “You must slow down the trucks. You will pull her apart before we can even take off.”

  Men rushed behind the bomber and, starting the engine on a tractor mounted hoist in the hanger, lifted the back of the plane until the nose came down and the bomber once again sat correctly balanced on its tricycle landing gear.

  The trucks began to pull the bomber forward again, but this time more slowly. Before long the bomber was stopped near the mansion. Hoses were run from the stand pipes of the underground fuel tanks and attached to the bladders inside the plane to top them off. Tench watched as one of the Africans who had been guarding them methodically twisted the hoses on to the filler pipes for the bladders. Then he listened as the fuels began to spurt into the rubber bags, the fluid sloshing against the insides. He watched them fill, the rubber sides moving outward. The smell of the fuel was intense. The plane itself would fly on aviation fuel but he suspected that bringing large quantities of that out to the farm would have aroused suspicion. After all, Stagmatter was hiding the airfield here and did not want to draw attention to it. Tench thought that the aviation fuel was already loaded into the plane’s flight tanks. The fuel that was being loaded now was the readily available gasoline that had been procured by the trucks, simple automobile fuel that was easy to explain as for the classic cars but was just as powerful as any other gasoline in incinerating the people on the other side of the Bay.

  The bladders were soon pumped so full that the Africans had to move sideways to get between them from the front of the plane to the back. Tench could see Smote across in the dim light as his friend worked at his ropes. Smote sat against the fuselage wall and Tench could see his arms working as he tried to cut the lines. Tench was doing the same on his own bonds.

  The African guard had begun his prayers and was not watching them closely.

  After about twenty minutes Smote winked at Tench. Tench took this to mean that Smote had found a way to untie his hands.

  Julie and her father had been secured again to the fuselage and stuck behind the closest large bladder. They lay flat on the floor but her head was near Tench, not more than four feet away.

  He whispered to her, “Can you make a diversion?”

  Her hand tapped on the fuselage wall signifying her understanding.

  He nodded his head to Smote and hoped that he could understand this was a time to make a break. Smote for his part nodded back, what Tench took to be a yes.

  Tench moved his eyes towards the guard and then towards to Julie.

  Smote winked.

&n
bsp; Tench mouthed the word diversion and hoped that Smote’s poor English would understand the syllables. Smote nodded again.

  Tench watched as Smote leaned forward and untied his feet, carefully placing the rope back over his feet. The guard still looked toward the ceiling of the plane, still praying. Tench decided to talk to the guard.

  “You came into my garage one day,” Tench said.

  The guard dropped his eyes and looked at Tench, his face impassive. Tench saw him grasp the rifle he was holding, a bolt action single shot probably taken from Strake’s extensive collection of antique guns.

  “Don’t you remember?” persisted Tench.

  “I do,” the man said.

  “You’ll go back to your home and be a mechanic there?” asked Tench.

  The man smiled.

  “You’ll make lots of money,” Tench added.

  The guard nodded.

  “Why do you want to kill me?” asked Tench.

  “I follow my leader and it is his wish,” the man answered, softly, nervously.

  “You sound like you don’t like killing.”

  “It is not the way of God, but it is necessary.”

  “Is Marengo your relative?” The family arrangements could be complex in Africa. Strake had told him that his oil lease deals sometimes had to go through several layers of cousins before being agreed to since so many had claim to the lands.

  Tench added, “Your family must want you home and safe.”

  The guard nodded.

  “Will men hurt your family if you do not kill Americans?”

  The guard looked away. “You must keep quiet now, Mister Tench. Be still.”