You've Got It Coming

chapter three

I

Fifty minutes before the scheduled take-off, they arrived at the airport in an old Roadmaster Buick. Borg was at the wheel; Harry sat beside him. Lewin and Franks were at the back.

“Over to your right,” Harry said, as Borg drove through the gates into the parking lot. “Far end. We'll be able to see the aircraft from there.”

Borg drove down the tarmac, lined on either side by parked cars, and manoeuvred the car into a space by a white wooden fence that cut the parking lot off from the airfield.

Under a battery of lights, a hundred yards away, stood a twin-engined Moonbeam. Five men in white coveralls were checking the plane. A girl in the C.A.T.A. uniform was supervising the loading of a number of canisters from a four-wheel truck into the plane. Harry recognized the girl. Her name was Hetty Collins.

He had flown with her two or three times, and knew her to be a smart and efficient hostess. He wondered who the crew captain was going to be, and if he would be anyone he knew.

He was feeling cold, and there was a tight band across his chest that made breathing difficult. His hands sweated and his mouth was dry.

This was it, he kept telling himself. In another hour I'll be at the controls, bringing her down in the desert. That is if the crew don't act heroic and start a fight. His stomach tightened at the thought. The two sitting behind him were killers. If anyone started trouble they would shoot. He had no doubt about that.

Lewin was a small guy, around thirty. His face was thin, granite hard, his eyes restless. Franks was over fifty, tall, bulky, with a coarse, brutal face, small pig's eyes and a disconcerting twitch that kept jerking his head.

But they were as nothing compared to Borg.

Borg unnerved Harry. He had never encountered anyone like him before. He felt the menace in him as one feels the menace in a sleeping tiger. He knew this man was deadly. Whereas Lewin and Franks were brainless thugs who killed because they were paid to kill, Harry had a feeling that Borg would kill because it would please him to kill. It made him fed slightly sick to be sitting next to him, to listen to his short, wheezing breathing and to the disgusting bubbling sound he made with his thick lips from time to time.

“Is that it?” Borg asked, pointing a thick finger at the aircraft.

“That's her,” Harry said. “When they have fuelled and checked her, they'll run her over to those sheds over there to the right. We have plenty of time.”

Borg grunted, fumbled for a cigarette, lit it and slumped back in his seat.

While they waited, Harry thought back over the past four days. He had taken care of everything. By now Harry Green was a notorious character. He wasn't likely to be forgotten. When his description appeared in the newspapers, there would be at least a dozen people to come forward and claim that they knew him.

He thought of Glorie and wondered what she was doing at this moment. He had written to her, giving her his final arrangements. He had told her he was handing the diamonds to Borg at the Sky Ranch airport As soon as Borg had gone, he intended to get rid of his disguise, and then take a bus to Lone Pine. He had asked her to rent a cabin at the motel there under the name Mrs. Harrison. She was to buy a second-hand car and wait for him. They would remain at the motel the whole of the next day.

When they were sure nothing had gone wrong and it was safe to move, they would drive to Carson City. They would stay there for a day and again see what progress the police were making.

If it seemed safe to go, they would sell the car and go to New York. From there they would go to England and begin their European trip.

Harry had made arrangements with the managers of the Los Angeles Bank and the Bank of California to transfer the two sums of twenty-five thousand dollars to the National Finance Bank of New York as soon as the cheques had been paid in. He had paid them in that afternoon, and he knew the money would be waiting for him when he reached New York.

He had spent the rest of the day in Berg's company, aware that two men had followed them to the banks, and had remained in a car outside Lamson's, and had followed them to the gates of the airport.

The sudden sound of motorcycle engines broke in on Harry's thoughts. He looked up sharply.

Out of the darkness, across the airfield, came four motorcycle cops, escorting an armoured truck. The trade pulled up close to the aircraft and the cops dismounted.

“Here it is,” Harry said softly and leaned forward to watch through the windshield.

The steel doors of the truck swung open and two men, in brown uniforms and peak caps, revolvers in holsters at their hips, jumped down. One of them was carrying a small square box.

While the four cops stood guard, the other two men crossed to the aircraft, spoke to the air hostess, and then the one with the box climbed the stairway into the plane, followed by die air The other guard returned to the truck, slammed the doors, had a brief word with one of the policemen, then got into the truck and drove away.

Harry's heart skipped a beat.

“Looks like the other guy's going to travel with the rocks,” Lewin said.

“So what?” Franks said. “He won't cause trouble.”

Harry wasn't so sure. This was unexpected. He hadn't thought that a guard would fly with the diamonds.

“He's paid to cause trouble,” he said uneasily.

Franks laughed.

“Okay, so he'll earn his dough.”

The aircraft engines started up with a roar.

“They are going to bring her over,” Harry said. “We'd better get moving. You two guys know what to do; no move until I give you the signal.”

“Where will the guard be?” Lewin asked.

“He may travel in the cabin or he may keep in the luggage bay. If he travels in the cabin we'll handle him before we go to the flight deck,” Harry said.

“Okay,” Lewin opened the car door and stepped out.

Borg twisted his bulk around so he could look at Harry.

“You go with him. Franks will follow,” he said. “And listen, Green, watch your step. There are a couple of guys waiting outside the airport should you change your mind about making this trip. No diamonds, no dough—get it?”

“Sure,” Harry said and got out of the car.

“I'll be waiting at the Sky Ranch airport for you.” Borg went on, his fat face peering out of the car window.

“We'll be there,” Harry said and hoped they would be. He walked down the tarmac with Lewin towards the reception hall.

They didn't say anything to each other. As they neared the entrance, Lewin dropped back.

“You go ahead,” he said.

It seemed odd to Harry as he limped up the steps and into the luxuriously appointed reception hall to be entering this place.

Although he worked with C.A.T.C. for six years, he had never once been in the reception hall.

A dark, pretty girl, wearing the C.A.T.C. uniform, took his ticket and told him his name would be called in twenty minutes or so.

“The bar's to your right sir,” she said. “When you hear your name called would you please go to Bay Six: over there,” and she pointed. “I’ll be waiting to take you to the aircraft.”

Harry thanked her and went into the bar. There were a number of people grouped around the bar. He wondered if they would be travelling on his flight. He ordered a double Scotch and water, and, leaning against the bar, he examined them casually. They were of the same breed as those who used to travel on his aircraft when he had been crew captain. The rich, fat business men: the glamorous, mink-coated women: the hard-faced, sharp-eyed salesmen: all drinking and yakitting like magpies.

Lewin wandered into the bar and ordered a beer. He carried his drink to a table away from the group of people, lit a cigarette and stared around him, his hard eyes missing nothing. Franks didn't show up.

Harry was glad of the whisky. His nerves were jumpy, and he was sweating. He kept assuring himself nothing would go wrong, but the thought of the armed guard on the aircraft worried him.

If the fool tried to stop them, he'd get hurt. Harry shied away from the thought of violence. The guard might even get killed.

He took out his handkerchief and wiped his hands, and looked at the people at the bar. No one paid him any attention. He looked across at Lewin who stared back at him, his eyes expressionless.

Minutes ticked by, then a voice came over the loudspeaker announcing Flight Six. He heard his name called, and finishing his second drink, he limped to the door, followed by three men and two women in mink. Lewin strolled after them.

They, joined eight other passengers and Franks at Bay Six.

Hetty Collins appeared. She had the passenger list in her hand, and she quickly ticked off the names, smiling at each passenger.

“If you will please follow me?” she said, and took them down a passage into the open where the Moonbeam was waiting.

Harry felt a chill crawl up his spine as he saw the four policemen were still guarding the aircraft.

One of the women in mink said, “Look, Jack, they're giving you a police escort.”

A thick-necked, red-faced man, smoking a cigar, grunted.

“This kite carries freight,” he said. “I expect there's something valuable aboard.”

“But surely nothing as valuable as you, darling,” the woman said sarcastically.

“Oh, shut up!” the man returned, his face turning a deeper shade of red. He followed the woman up the stairway into the aircraft.

One of the policemen was standing nearby. He looked at each passenger as they mounted the stairway. He looked particularly hard at Franks who stared back at him, a twisted grin on his coarse, brutal face.

Harry was the last to limp up the gangway. He didn’t look at the policeman, but he felt him looking at him.

Hetty Collins met him as he stepped into the cabin.

“Is there anything I can get you?” she asked, professionally interested. “Would you like a drink or some coffee later on?”

“No, thanks,” Harry said.

“Your seat is right in front on the left aisle,” she told him.

He nodded and made his way along the gangway. He had been lucky to get the outside seat, right by the door to the flight deck.

The inside seat was occupied by a tall, scraggy woman in a mink coat. She looked up as Harry paused by her. She took in his shabby trench coat, his scar and his limp, and she drew the skirts of her coat around her, scarcely suppressing a shudder of disapproval.

Harry sat down beside her, then turned in his seat to see where Franks and Lewin were.

Franks was at the rear of the cabin, by the door leading to the galley. Beyond the galley were the toilets and the luggage bay where the diamonds would be: the diamonds and the guard.

Lewin sat halfway up the cabin on Harry's right. Harry was satisfied they were all well seated. Both Lewin and Franks could see him and could see his signal when the time came to take over the aircraft.

Hetty Collins moved down the aisle, seeing that the safety belts were properly fastened. The woman seated on Harry's left was having trouble with hers.

“You put that through this,” Harry said, showing her one end of the belt. “It'll clip automatically.”

She glanced at him, gave him a wintery nod and fixed the belt.

“You might care to look at the evening paper,” she said, pushing the paper at him as if she were glad to get rid of it. Then she half turned her shoulder as if dismissing him and looked out of the window.

Harry held the paper on his lap. He was fixing his belt when Hetty Collins came up.

“Oh, I see you have your belts fixed. Are they comfortable?” she asked.

The woman in mink ignored her. Harry said his was fine.

The girl smiled brightly at him, and he looked up, letting her have a good look at his face. She showed no sign of recognition and turned back to begin working down the right-hand gangway.

Harry glanced at the newspaper. His eyes scarcely took in the print. His heart was hammering so violently he wondered if the woman next to him could hear it.

Another fifteen minutes, he thought. He glanced over his shoulder and caught Lewin's eye. Lewin was poker-faced. He slouched in his seat, his collar turned up, his hat pulled low, his hands in his pockets. Harry looked beyond him at Franks who was smoking. His head was twitching and he scowled at Harry.

The no-smoking warning flashed up and Harry put out his cigarette. Then he glanced down at the front page of the paper he was clutching in his hands. A bye-line caught his attention, and he stiffened. As he began to read the short paragraph the engines of the aircraft roared into life.

TAKAMORI WINS DIAMOND FIGHT

After eighteen months of persistent negotiation with U.S. Consulate officials, Li Takamori, millionaire owner of the Far Eastern Trading Corporation, succeeded last week in his fight to supply Tokyo with industrial diamonds from this country.

Permission to export three million dollars’ worth of diamonds has been granted, and the diamonds, under special guard, are being flown tonight to San Francisco to be shipped to Tokyo.

In an interview with our special correspondent, Mr. Takamori said that in spite of considerable opposition in certain quarters, he had at last succeeded in convincing the U.S. Consulate that industrial diamonds were essential to Japan's economic recovery.

It is believed that Mr. Takamori has financed the deal himself, and this has been the deciding factor in the protracted negotiations. When asked if he were guaranteeing payments, Mr. Takamori refused to comment.

Rumour has it that Mr. Takamori will be flying to Tokyo at the end of the month for an audience with the Emperor when he will be honoured for services rendered.

Harry folded the paper and dropped it under his seat. He remembered Borg's warning: no diamonds, no dough. This Takamori guy was going to get a shock. No diamonds, no honour.

The aircraft was moving now. He saw the lights of the parking lot flash by. The Roadmaster Buick had gone. Borg would be driving hell for leather to Sky Ranch airport.

Harry looked at his watch.

Ten minutes from now.

Hairy slid his hand inside his trench coat and his fingers touched the cold butt of his Colt .45. He wondered how the crew of the aircraft would react when they saw him come on to the flight deck. There was the crew captain, the co-pilot and navigator, the flight engineer and the radio operator. They would all be young and keen; their nerves steady. Suppose they acted heroic? Suppose they rushed him? He decided to fire a shot into the deck. That should bring them to their senses. He wasn't too worried about them, but he was worried about the guard. He was a professional, paid to handle trouble. Was he in the luggage bay or in the passage? Franks would have to take care of him.

Lewin would take care of the passengers. If he had known there was to be a guard with the diamonds, he would have asked Delaney for a fourth man.

He suddenly felt he had to know where the guard was, and he stood up and stepped into the gangway.

He saw Lewin's hand slide inside his coat and he shook his head. Lewin scowled at him. He kept his hand inside his coat as he watched Harry limp past him.

Franks was leaning forward also watching Harry as he approached him. Again Harry shook his head. He opened the door and stopped into the galley.

Hetty Collins was mixing a batch of martinis. She glanced up and smiled at him.

“Second door on the right,” she said.

He nodded, but he wasn't looking at her now. He was looking down the passage that led to the luggage bay.

The guard was sitting on a tip-up seat outside the door to the luggage bay. He half turned when he saw Harry and his right hand dropped on to his gun butt. He wore a wash-leather glove on his gun hand. His movements and the glove scared Harry: they were the hallmarks of a professional.

The guard was youngish, about Harry’s age. He had pale blue eyes and a square-shaped face with thin lips and a watchful, alert expression. He looked tough and quick, and Harry's heart sank. This guy was going to make trouble. He was suddenly sure of it.

He went into the toilet and shut the door. He stood for a long moment, his mind busy. The safest and easiest thing to do would be to seal the guard off, he thought. By locking the door between the cabin and the galley, the guard would be out Of action until Harry could get the aircraft grounded. Then the three of them could tackle him. He thought of the narrow passage. They wouldn't be able to rush him. Only one man at a time could tackle him. If he showed fight, he could make a lot of trouble.

Harry felt a trickle of cold sweat run down his face. He glanced in the mirror above the toilet basin. He saw he was white and his eyes were frightened. He tried to force a grin, but his mouth seemed frozen.

He stepped out of the toilet, not looking at the guard.

Hetty Collins was carrying a tray of martinis into the cabin.

He pushed open the door for her, followed her into the cabin and closed the door.

He paused by Franks.

“He's sitting in the passage,” he said, leaning down, his mouth close to Franks' twitching head. “I'm going to seal him off. There's a bolt on this side of the door. We can tackle him when we're down.”

“No,” Franks said. “You take care of the crew. I'll handle the guard. As soon as you get the crew in here, I'll go in and take him.”

“He looks quick and tough. He's dangerous.”

“Aw, shadup!” Franks snarled. “Do you think I can't handle a punk like him?”

Harry shrugged.

“Well, okay, it's your funeral, but watch out. I'll wait until the girl goes back to the galley, then I'm going on to the flight deck.”

He returned to his seat.

The woman in the mink coat was sipping a martini and smoking. She gave him a look of disapproval as he sat down. He refused the martini Hetty Collins offered him, then, as she walked down the gangway back to the galley, he stood up, looked at Lewin and nodded, looked at Franks and nodded again.

Lewin slid out of his seat and came quickly up the gangway to join him at the door to the flight deck.

Two or three of the passengers were looking at them, puzzled.

Franks got out of his seat and leaned against the door to the galley.

“Listen, you punks,” he bawled at the top of his voice. “This is a hold-up. If any of you move, you're going to get it! Sit still and keep your yaps shut and you'll be all right.”

His .45 automatic was in his hand now. Lewin had also pulled his gun.

Harry didn't wait to see the passenger’s reaction. He opened the flight-deck door, climbed the three steps on to the deck. He had his gun in his hand, his heart was hammering as he looked at the familiar scene.

The flight engineer, a guy he didn't know, was seated at a desk before his instrument board. The radio operator was watching the green screen of the radar with bored eyes. Close by was the co-pilot and navigator's desks; beyond that were the two pilots seats. He recognized Sandy McClure's back: a pilot he had been friendly with: a good guy and a good pilot. The second pilot he didn't know.

The flight engineer was staring at him with bulging eyes, and he half rose to his feet.

“Stay where you are,” Harry snapped. “This is a hold-up! Get your hand away from that key!” he yelled as the radioman's hand dropped on to the tapping key. “Get into the cabin, you two.”

“You're crazy!” the flight engineer said, his face red with anger. “You can't get away with this!” He half turned towards the pilot. “Mac! Hey! Mac!”

Harry stepped up to him and hit him across the face with the barrel of his gun, knocking him off his seat. He backed away so he could cover the four men, sweat running down his face.

McClure turned and stared at him. The second pilot had got to his feet, his face white and his eyes scared.

“You three get into the cabin or I'll blast a hole in you!” Harry snarled. “Get your hands up!”

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.”

He half expected the guard would start shooting, but he didn't.

Hetty Collins came out. She looked at Harry, then at Lewin, her face pale, but Harry could see she was a lot less scared than he was.

“A woman's fainted up there. I'll give you a hand with her, he said. “I want her out of here.”

He walked up the gangway and got hold of the woman in the mink coat and carried her to the exit door. He handed her down to two of the men passengers, then dropped on to the sand and helped Hetty down.

“Get clear of the aircraft,” he said to the crew while Lewin stood above him in the doorway, covering them with his gun.

“Get the passengers away. When we're through you can come back and radio for help.”

The crew got the passengers organized and led them across the sand away from the aircraft. Two of the men passengers carried the woman in the mink coat; the crew helped McClure.

Sam Meeks ran up, gun in hand. His thin, rat-like face showed his excitement.

“Gee! I thought she was going to crack up when you landed her,” he said. “What's cooking?”

“Plenty,” Lewin snarled. “There's a trigger-happy guard in there with the diamonds. He's already plugged Ted.”

Meeks' mouth dropped open. Harry saw fear jump into his eyes. He had guessed right. Meeks wasn't going to be any use in tackling the guard.