by Gavin Lyall
Whitmore spat on his hand and sent the dice across the table with an experienced flip.
The croupier chanted:‘Cinquo. A point of five to make.’
The General smiled again. ‘No win, no loss – yet. Please continue, Coronel.’
Ned was speaking to me now. ‘I grant you didn’t start it, Keith. But oncehe started it, you killed him. You dragged him down and stalled him. I don’t know how – maybe with that old flaps trick. But I know you did it, and you know yourself.’
J.B. said icily: ‘In an unarmed plane full of passengers? He killed your brave jet pilot?’
Whitmore rolled again. The croupier chanted:‘Ocho. Eight. Still the point of five to make.’
Ned glanced quickly at the table, then shook his head. ‘Guns ain’t all of it, sweetheart. For some they ain’t always enough when they got ‘em, and some others don’t always need ‘em. What really matters is if you’re a killer. Keith is.’
I said: ‘He was still flying a fighter, Ned.’ I stretched my hand. ‘Give me your gun and I’ll point it at you and you can guess if I’m going to shoot. Then tell me how it feels.’
‘He wasn’t going to shoot! ‘
I felt the cold anger rising inside. ‘Wasn’t he, Ned? Then I must have missed your postcard: Dear Keith, you’re going to get beaten up by a boy in a Vamp but don’t worry because he’ll be disobeying orders and he probably won’t disobey them as far as to shoot. So sorry I missed it, Ned, and put you to all this trouble. So sorry.’
The dice bounced. The croupier chanted:‘Seis. Six. The point of five still to make.’
The General murmured: ‘And still no win, no loss.’
Ned ignored both the dice and the general. His mouthtwisted in disgust. ‘Ah, don’t bleed so easy, Keith.’
‘I’mbleeding easy? I knock down one of your jets with an unarmed Dove and you start screaming murder?’
There was a long silence.
Then the dice galloped on the table.‘Siete-seven. The shooter loses.’
The General said softly: ‘So I win.’
J.B. was staring at me coldly: ‘Are you admitting you deliberately made that jet crash?’
There was another silence, with just the rustle of Miranda picking up Whitmore’s money.
I shrugged. ‘Somehow, they never teach passive resistance in fighter squadrons. There’s only one sure way to avoid getting shot down.’
Ned said: ‘Shoot first.’
The General said, still softly: ‘Or, of course, stay away. ‘ He drew on his cigar. ‘I believe Coronel Rafter met you in San Juan earlier this week and warned you that you were not any more welcome in the República. Perhaps you should have taken notice of that warning.’
‘If you’re closing Repúblicaairspace you could announce it and get it in a Notam and make it official.’
‘Ah yes,’ the cigar did another neataerobatic.‘But we are not closing our airspace. We welcome airlines – even charter pilots – who bring genuine business to our island. Provided they are politically – shall we say? – neutral.’
Tm not playing Repúblicapolitics.’
‘Ah, but’ – the cigar half-rolled off a loop – ‘we have heard other reports.’
‘So I gathered. Part of the reason I came today was to talk that out and get it killed.’
The dark eyes studied me carefully. Then he said softly: ‘You made a bad start to such talks, Señor Carr.’
Miranda said: ‘General, do you wish to shoot?’
Boscosmiled quickly at the word, then shrugged and held out his hand for the dice. The croupier whipped them across.
Miranda chanted: ‘The General bets whatever anybody else wishes to bet.’
Whitmore tossed some more notes on the table and went back to looking at J.B. and me. After a moment Luiz put down two ten-peso notes.
J.B. seemed to wake up and said: ‘If your pilot had shot Walt Whitmore down, it would have made headlines all over the States. All over the world.’
‘Most certainly.’ The General shook the dice with a’snap and threw them up the table. An 8. No win, no loss; 8 to make again. ‘Most certainly – but what could my government have done then? We would have apologised, we would have tried and convicted the pilot himself. But what more could you have asked – as a democratic government yourself?’
I said: ‘And reading between the headlines, the message would have got across: the República Air Force is a tough, shootin’ air force.’
For once, his eyes moved quickly. I got a sharp dark glance. Then he took the dice from the croupier, shook them, and threw them with exactly the same movement.
Three – a crap-out on the first throw, but now meaningless Only an 8 or 7 counted now.
J.B. looked at me, then said carefully: ‘General, if you were thinking of working up charges against Mr Carr, that could make a headline, too. The Boss Man is good copy even as a witness.’
Boscolifted his shoulders fractionally and threw 10.
Whitmore’s mind found the wavelength with a click. ‘Unarmed passenger plane forces down jet fighter. I’d say that was news.’
‘Film star bites dog,’ Luiz murmured.
Whitmore smiled at Ned. ‘That’s a great squadron you’re running there, Coronel.’
Ned’s face shut as tight as a bank vault.
The General threw a 6.
J.B. said flatly: ‘If you push charges, you’ll get your air force laughed out of the air anywhere anybody can read a newspaper.’
Boscosighed. ‘It is possible that persons not familiar with aerial tactics might get the wrong impression.’ He threw a 7, the croupier’s face went stiff with horror. The General turnedaway, ‘So – I lose.Coronel Rafter, I think we would be advised not to proceed against Señor Carr.You find sometimes that an act of mercy is better in the broad view than sticking to the letter of justice.’
It was gracefully done. It only missed out the other side of the coin: that the broad view in a dictatorship sometimes means chopping an innocent head as well.
Ned said tightly: ‘You’re the general, General.’
Boscosmiled his sad smile. ‘I understand your feelings, Colonel. And I commend your zeal. But…’ The cigar waved gracefully.
‘A training crash,’ Ned said.
Bosconodded. ‘A training crash. One has also to remember that Ramirez was disobeying orders.’
Ned’s face closed up again. Then he looked at me and said slowly: “That makes four. Three in Korea and one here. Another one and you’ll be an ace. Don’t try and makethat one here, killer.’
‘I’m a Dove pilot, Ned.’
‘That,’ the General said, ‘is something we have still to discuss.’
In the silence there was just the faint rumble of dice on the table and then Luiz saying: ‘Is this game over or does anybody want some of my money?’
He was rolling the dice hand-to-hand across the table, with the croupier giving him a worried look. But everybody else was looking at Bosco.
Ned said: ‘You can’t offer him a job in the squadron again – not after he’s-‘
‘Of course. ‘ The General held up his hand. ‘That would hardly improve morale. Although -Señor Carrhas more than lived up to theréputationyou gave him, Coronel. So, it is a pity. But Señor’he looked at me ‘your Dove is rather old, I think?’
‘About twelve years,’ I said slowly. I couldn’t see where this was going.
‘Ah. ‘ As if that explained something. ‘The authorities at the airport inform me that it is in – a rather regrettable condition. But now I see it is not surprising.’
I knew what it explained now. I said grimly: ‘Go on, General.’
The cigar fluttered. ‘We have a duty – to others who use the airport, to those who live nearby. We should be failing this duty if we allowed an aeroplane to take off – totry to take off – which was not in proper condition.’ He smiled – and not sadly. Not sadly at all. ‘I am sure, Señor, that it will not take you long – or cost you much – t
o bring it up to the standards at which the airport authorities would permit you to take it off.’
‘An eye for an eye,’ I said grimly. ‘A plane for a plane. So I lose the Dove.’
‘But no. There is no question. Only it needs – what was the phrase? – ah, yes: a “check four”, I think.’
‘It isn’t due a check four for another hundred hours.’
He smiled again. ‘I fear one cannot stand too much on regulations and hours. One must use common sense in matters of air safety – as every newspaper would agree. The authorities believe a check four is needed, so…’
Whitmore said: ‘I flew down in that plane, General. Now you’re saying it ain’t safe?’
‘I am sure, Señor Whitmore, that you know much about aircraft engineering. But possibly not quite so much as our qualified engineers.’
J.B. said: ‘You confiscate Carr’s plane and your jet crash canstill make a headline.’
The General said blandly: ‘What crash?’
He looked at Ned, then at Miranda. ‘Was there a crash, Capitán?’
Miranda spread his teeth in the big, homely smile of a hungry shark. ‘I seem to recall a training crash; mi General -some time last week. Ateniente… teniente…’ he snapped his fingers, trying to remember ‘… Ramirez. I remember now.’
Luiz said suddenly: ‘Film star bites dog. Itdoes seem difficult to believe – especially if you cannot produce the dog.’
J.B. started to say something. I put a hand on her shoulder. ‘They say the husband’s usually the last to know, honey. Not this time. I’ve lost her.’ Just like that. Maybe it’s like losing awife; I wouldn’t know. I never had a wife. Only an aeroplane. Now, just the cold anger inside.
The General said to Whitmore: ‘Naturally I must apologise for die inconvenience this causes you, Señor. But you understand it is also for your safety… Tickets for the Pan American flight to San Juan tonight will await you at the airport.’
‘Tonight?’ Whitmore said.
‘Tonight, ‘ the General said firmly. He looked around. ‘I much regret, Señorita, Señores, but…’ he turned to go.
Miranda waited just long enough to say,‘Rebelde!’
I said to Ned: ‘Only one thing I’m sorry about – that it wasn’t Capitán Miranda in the Vamp. Except diat he wouldn’t have counted a whole kill, being only half a man.’
It wasn’t the season’s newest, snappiest insult. But for a man like Miranda it didn’t have to be. He took a quick dancing step and led with his right.
I went in under the punch and hit him once just at the bottom of the ribs. Hard. Maybe not hard enough to pay for one confiscated aeroplane, but at least I was trying.
The two bodyguards moved quickly back, groping under their coats. The General snapped something, and they froze. He looked down at Miranda, sitting on the floor and trying to get his head up off his knees. The General said something else and the bodyguards moved warily to pick him up.
Whitmore drawled: ‘I’ll give you an eye-witness statement about that, too, General.’
‘Tonight, ‘Boscosaid quietly. ‘For your own safety, Señor.‘He led the way out.
TWELVE
I looked around for my beer. Ned was still with us, watching me, completely expressionless. Luiz was still playing with the dice; Whitmore and J.B. were frowning ateach other’s feet as they chewed over the changed programme.
I found my glass, emptied it, and said: ‘I seem to have bitched up the trip pretty thoroughly.’
Whitmore looked up, then shook his head. ‘No sweat, fella. If they’re going to pick on us, I’d rather it happened now than when we got the full unit in. And I still like the way you drop your shoulder in the punch.’ He pulled out his cigarettes. ‘So what’s a check four gonna cost you, fella?’
‘Three thousand pounds. Eight thousand dollars. No – more: they won’t have engineers qualified on Doves down here, so I’d have to fly them in and put them up for a couple of weeks.’ Then I shook my head. ‘It doesn’t make any odds. They’re going to sit on the plane just as long as they want, no matter what I do or don’t do.’
Ned gave one very small nod.
Whitmore grunted. ‘Well, looks like you got trouble, fella. Maybe we can figure something out. I’m going to get some chow: we can still take a ride around die sights this afternoon, right? What time’s that plane go?’
‘About eleven,’ Ned said.
Whitmore ignored him. ‘Howsabout you, fella?’
‘I,’ I said firmly, ‘am going to do a little drinking.’
He nodded appreciatively. ‘Just stick around the hotel. We’ll see you make the flight.’ Finally he turned to Ned. ‘Thanks for everything, Coronel.’
Ned just looked at him, stolid, expressionless. Whitmore and J.B. walked away.
Luiz came away from the table still idly shaking the dice in his hands; the croupier chased after him. Luiz said something fast and quiet in Spanish that stopped him like a slap in the face.
Then there were just Ned and me.
After a while he said: ‘You want to get started on that drinking?’
‘Yes; step aside. You’re blocking the route to the bar.’
He stayed where he was. ‘I ain’t going to apologise to you, Keith. Frankly, I’d’ve liked to see you banged in jail a few months. But I didn’t expect him to pinch your plane.’
‘Don’t cry too hard. You’ll wet your pistol.’
‘You don’t have to believe me.’
‘I don’t even have to waste time deciding whether I believe you or not. Now stand aside.’
‘I didn’t expect him to ground you,’ he said doggedly.
I just stared. But perhaps, in a way, I did believe him. Being in jail is one thing: you can get out of jail. Losing your plane is having the whole sky pulled from under your feet.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘So I believe you. Now will you-?’
Til buy you the first bottle. I owe you that for slugging Miranda. I been wanting to do that myself a long time.’
‘So why didn’t you?’
Tm a colonel – remember? His superior officer. I ain’t used to being a superior. You can’t slug hardly anybody.’
We seemed to be walking out together. So – why not? Unless I was going to practise high dives into a whisky bottle in my own room, Ned was still better company than anybody I’d meet at the bar.
We got into a lift. On the way up, he said: ‘You’ll get the insurance on your plane, won’t you?’
I looked at him. ‘D’you want to bet? Confiscation’ll come under “riots, strikes, and civil disturbances” and on the standard policy you aren’t insured against them. Anyway, I’d have to prove confiscation – and I can’t see you helping me on that. I’m just grounded for safety reasons, and an insurance company isn’t going to pay onthat. Not after I swore to keep the plane up to standard.’
He frowned. ‘Yeh. You really have got trouble.’
We got out at the top floor and walked down a normal hotel corridor and round a corner. I was just about to ask where the hell we were going, when he stopped outside an unnumbered door and started turning keys in a couple of locks that were a lot more serious than any an hotel normally uses.
It was a wide, cool room looking – surprisingly – inland. At first sight it seemed to be just another millionaire suite: lined with low expensive-looking Scandinavian cupboards and cabinets, thick green wall-to-wall carpeting, modern copper lampshades, ice-cold air-conditioning. Then you saw the touches that were Ned’s: a heavy old green baize card tablewith a ring of tall leather chairs, the three telephones, the easel with a map board, the Braun T1000VHP receiver on the window-sill.
That was why the room faced inland, of course: most of the air messages would be coming from inland.
Ned walked over to the receiver, switched it on, and tuned it delicately. All he got was a faint crackle and hum. He picked up a red telephone, got an immediate answer, and said:‘Coronel Rafter at the Americana. I’ll be here m
ost the day.’
He put the phone down and waved at a cabinet. ‘Start the round. I’ll have a beer.’
The cabinet turned out to be a wood-covered refrigerator filled to withstand a long siege if you didn’t happen to care about food. There were bottles of everything I could think of including several of Australian Swan beer. How Ned managed to get that hauled in across 9,000 miles… but perhaps being a superior officer has its compensations.
I poured his beer and gave myself a Scotch stiff enough to stand up without the glass. When I turned round Ned had dumped his gun and harness on the table and stripped off his flying suit, leaving him in just a pair of striped underpants. He took the beer, said ‘Cheers,’ and went out through the side door. I heard a shower start.
I took a long gulp of whisky just to set the tone for the afternoon, and wandered over to the receiver. It was a neat square job, a little smaller than a portable typewriter stood on end, well styled without being fussy: you could read the wavelength exactly. I read it.
Then I looked at the telephones: red, green, white. I wondered what the green one was for, then wondered about picking up the red one and telling the squadron to scramble and dive itself into the sea. In the end I just took another mouthful of whisky and walked over and picked up Ned’s revolver.
It was a Smith amp; Wesson Magnum.357. A squat, heavy gun as used by the Chicago police because it’s supposed to drill clear through a car engine from end to end. Also as carried by most pilots in Korea in case we met the whole Chinese Army standing end to end. By putting both hands on the gripand holding very tight, you might actually have hit the Chinese Army. About hitting a car engine you’d better ask the Chicago police.
I put it back in the holster.
The receiver crackled and said faintly:‘Ensayo. Uno, dos, tres, cuatro. ‘Another voice said: ‘Okay. Cinco, cinco.’
Ned stuck his head out of the bathroom, dripping water. ‘What was that?’
‘The squadron’s gone on strike for a forty-whore week.’
‘Whatwas it, sport?’
‘Just testing.’
He ducked back and I walked over to the map on the easel. It was standard ICAO one-millionth-scale air map, but with a number of neat pen markings noting the airfields. There was the civil airport, the local base, and another military field up in a rather pointless position on the north coast. I knew about them. But I hadn’t known about another base marked about sixty miles to the west, just before the real hills started. It was logical, though: most of the rebel troubles would come in those hills, and you could use a forward airstrip up there both for bringing in supplies and parking a flight of Vampires just a few minutes away from action.