1955 - You've Got It Coming (10 page)

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.