Shooting Script

TWENTY-SIX

Just before we should have reached the Punta del Almirante, the southernmost tip of the Repúblicaitself, I tried restarting the starboard engine. For an air start you don't need a starter motor: unfeathering the blades should let the airflow spin the prop to a speed at which it'll fire the engine – and it did.

I throttled back the port engine to give it a rest – that was the main object of the exercise – and kept the speed down to 160 mph. We still had time to make Santo Bartolomeo at five past five. And if Clara had left most of the island still covered in cloud, first light would be a little late today.

The faint northerly wind must have backed to westerly -which made sense, if the hurricane was now about due north of us. Anyway, we reached the Punta afew minutes ahead of my revised ETA, and a bit north of track, so that we crossed the point itself for a few miles until the coastline swung sharply back north again.

I said: 'Welcome home.' Luiz peered down over the cockpit sill at the dark land until the coastline had passed beneath the wing.

'Strange,' he said quietly. 'It does not look much from here…'

'You should've seen some of the country we were fighting for in Korea.'

'I saw a lot of Texas, once.'

I grinned and swung left on to 045 degrees. By my guess, that should bring us past Santo Bartolomeo before we hit the coastline. And with an obvious landmark like the city, I could double back on an exact course for the air base without a lot of noisy searching around.

The starboard engine misfired again.

I looked sorrowfully at the engine instruments. I'd done everything I could: run it with full rich mixture, cowl, flaps wide open – everything a father could do for an engine. Andhere it was in trouble again, after just twelve minutes running.

So we tilted into another shallow dive, and stopped it again. Losing height now didn't much matter. But making the attack at ground level on two engines – that meant I'd have to escape on one. And I didn't like the idea of trying to climb on just the port engine. That could strain it a bit too much. We'd be heading for Puerto Rico low, over the sea.

I said: 'Any idea of where in Puerto Rico we might put down? You don't have any security-minded friends with private airstrips?'

He said thoughtfully: 'I have friends in the República. Had you considered landing at Santo Bartolomeo? The civil airport, naturally.'

I hadn't thought anything of the damn sort. 'Was Jiminez planning to grab it?'

'I think not. It is not important.'

That's what I'd thought: it was about fifteen miles out of town, and unless Jiminez had arranged an airlift of supplies, he wouldn't bother with it. Still, neither would the generals: they already had their own airfield.

But it was still walking down the tiger's throat and hoping he'd forget to swallow.

'We can't exactly hide the Mitchell,' I said. 'And as soon as the civil airport hears of the raid-'

'You remember most of the country telephone lines are down?' he reminded me. 'And if I know Santo Bartolomeo, that airport will very soon be full of senior civil servants suddenly remembering a holiday they had planned in Puerto Rico. It w Ul be one great confusion.'

He could be right there. I looked up at the VHP dial, but there wasn't a crystal for the SB civil frequency. I could check the radio beacon on the direction-finding set, but it probably wouldn't be on the air anyway at that hour: nobody in the Caribbean flies after midnight.

He had switched on his own radio and was twiddling once more – and suddenly it was hooting out martial music. Then a voice came, and he jammed the set against his ear.

Just for something to do, I tuned the DF set to Aguadilla beacon in Puerto Rico, found it working, and took a bearing. Itwas too close to our course to be much help navigationally, but at least it showed we couldn't be far off track.

Then Luiz put the set down in his lap.

'Well?' I asked. 'Has Jiminez moved?'

He groped for his transmit switch, and his voice was puzzled. 'I do not know. But General Boscohas moved: he has proclaimed himselfpresidente.'

When I'd digested this, I said: 'You mean the Air Force is deposing the Army?'

'It seems so. They are calling General Castillo a traitor for being too soft on the Jiminez rebels. They say Boscohas all under control.'

'Well, I suppose it adds up. The generals weren't supposed to love each other, and we know Bosco's been building up the Air Force: first the jets, then the "airfield defence units" your girl-friend told us about. He'd need ground troops to grab control of the city.'

'True – true. But why should he movetonight?'

'Exactly the same reason Jiminez is moving tonight: the hurricane's busted communications. And it's the Army that's stranded in the hills, the Army that's held up with blocked roads. The Air Force is still there just outside SB: tonight's Bosco's best chance. Now I see why Ned risked keeping the Vampires there through the winds.'

'Mother of God,' he whispered. 'Now we have a three-cornered revolution.'

"They say anything about Jiminez moving?'

'No… but mey would not, anyway. They would not want to announce it.' He jammed the set back to his ear.

I flew on. It was nearly half-past four: eighty miles and thirty-five minutes to go.

What did this do to the raid? Well, it meant the Air Force would be up and about earlier than usual – but not necessarily that they'd risk flying off the Vamps before first light. In fact, they might be more inclined to keep them at home, and when it was fully light make a few low loud passes over the city to show the citizens the Air Force was really in control.

But they'd want to run a reconnaissance to see what the Army was doing; if it was turning around and heading for SB. They might use a flight of Vamps – but it would be better to use something that could hang around the target for longer. One of their Dakotas, or – blast their eyes – my Dove.

Luiz put the radio down again. 'They are warning people to stay indoors, no matter what they hear. That means there has been shooting. Jiminezmust have moved.'

'What does this do to his chances?'

'I do not know. He has failed to take the radio. And he must have met armed Air Force squads. There is shooting in the streets.'

Revolutions always kill somebody, a voice said.

I said: 'You must have expected that.'

'Walt and J.B. are there.'

I snapped round. 'They'rewhat?'

'They went in on the Pan Am flight last night.'

I just stared. 'So Whitmore could ride in triumph behind Jiminez in the big parade? And you let J.B. go, too?'

'My friend, one does notletagirl like J.B. do things. And it was her idea, anyway; she thought it best to catch Jiminez at his moment of success when he would be most grateful… You do know why Whitmore is concerning himself in this affair?'

'I know,' I said grimly. 'But they've already been expelled from there once. The Air Force probably had them under arrest straight off the plane.'

'J.B. did not think so. She thought we were not expelled officially – just a temporary whim of General Bosco's. And now we know the Air Force must have been very busy yesterday, preparing for tonight. They probably did not have time to check passenger lists.'

'You managed to stop Miss Jiminez going, I noticed.'

'My friend, the Jiminez family does not walk openly into the República. Not just yet. That is a very different matter.'

I looked back at the instruments and noticed I'd wandered nearly ten degrees off course. I wrenched her back angrily.

'And I suppose Whitmore insisted on staying at the Americana?' I growled.'Boscomay not have checked the passengerlists, but he'd notice Whitmore sitting around the bar. That place is nearly Air Force headquarters.'

'I know that,' he said calmly. 'They are staying at the Colombo, on the beach front near the old town. Jiminez will control the old town, whatever happens. Now, we must consider if the move by the Air Force changes our raid.' He glanced at my meagre ten-channel VHP. 'I wish we had arranged communication with Jiminez.'

'It doesn't change the raid at all. Those Vamps are the only high card the Air Force has got. Without them…'

'But also they are the only things to stop the Army's tanks and artillery. If we let the Air Force and Army fight it out and exhaust themselves-'

'Testículos. Bosco'll play every card in the pack twice over before he starts knocking out tanks and guns. He's thepresidentenow; they'rehis tanks and guns, his army – he hopes. He wants it in one piece to keep Jiminez down.'

He thought this over. 'So you think perhaps he will not use the jets today?'

'He'll use them for strafing in the streets, if there's still any fighting in SB. Those twenty-millimetres could knock down a house.'

He nodded. 'But it might have a reverse effect: to swing people to Jiminez, if they see the Air Force-'

'And J.B. could be dead!'

After a time he said quietly: 'My friend, what war are you fighting?'

'One in which J.B. doesn't get killed.'

'Others, my friend, are fighting for somewhat larger objectives. So you will forgive me if / take the decisions now.'

'You take what you like. I'm going to knock out those Vamps.'

'I may decide that is best. But / will decide.'

'Testi-' but then I saw the hand and the short fat revolver glowing in the instrument lighting.

'Well, well, well,' I said slowly. 'So that's the famous snake gun. One shot, and you can try landing this old tub all by yourself – and see if that doesn't qualify for the fiasco of the year.'

'No fiasco,' he said pleasantly. 'Just two martyrs, lost in the dark sea.'

We were still over the sea.

I looked at him; his face set and unsmiling, just beside my shoulder in the narrow cockpit. And at the gun, less than an arm's grab away. Would he shoot – risk killing himself, too? Yes, he would – if I challenged him to.

I felt the cold, slow anger building inside. Always someone with a gun, saying don't fly here, saying step aside – but not any more, not tome, not now I'm back doing the one job I know…

Then I remembered that now this had become different from all the other missions I'd flown. This wasn't just because I was the best – not now. Ihad to get those Vampires before they started shooting.

'You're forgetting who you are, chum,' I said quietly. 'You're Luiz Monterrey – big star, big success symbol. I go missing and nobody'U notice. Butyou get killed, in an old bomber going to take part in a revolution – and that's really failure. That's a fiasco. It'll get more publicity than Jiminez himself.'

He frowned thoughtfully. 'I do not think there will be time for that to matter, perhaps.'

'This isn't going to be a one-day wonder – not now the Air Force has stepped in. Jiminez has got a long way to go – and he hasn't got very far yet, has he?' I made a small gesture at the radio in his lap. 'There'll be plenty of time for the reporters to get in. They're probably on their way already -somebody else will have picked up that broadcast.'

For a long time, he didn't say anything. I eased the Mitchell back on to her proper heading again and checked the time. It was nearly a quarter to five; under fifty miles still to go. I tuned the instrument lighting right down and stared carefully at the eastern sky. Was there just a hint of lightness there? Or just the distant clouds over the Repúblicamainland?

Then Luiz said: 'We will attack.'