1955 - You've Got It Coming (11 page)

“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.

II

F
ranks dragged himself out of his seat and came over to the doorway. He leaned his weight against the side of the door and looked down at Harry and Meeks.

“That punk's like a streak of lightning,” he said. “I went in there with my rod in my hand and I shot at him. He got his gun out and he was firing before I got my sight on him. You're not going to take him in a hurry.”

Lewin said viciously, “I’ll take him! He's not going to stop me getting my hands on three million bucks worth of rocks.”

Harry looked at Meeks.

“Stay here and watch that bunch over there. You got the ignition key of the car?”

“Yeah,” Meeks said, backing away to watch them.

Harry swung himself up into the aircraft.

“We can't be long about this,” he said to Lewin. “The radio operator is supposed to send out signals every so often. They'll start looking for us if they don't get a signal soon.”

“I'll get the door open,” Lewin said. “You keep out of the line of his fire. Ted, you'd better get out of here.”

“I'm sticking,” Ted snarled, his face twisted with pain. “If I get a sight of that sonofabitch I'll fix him.”

Lewin made his way up the gangway. Harry followed him.

When they reached the door leading into the galley, they stepped between the seats on either side of the door.

Pushing his gun forward, Lewin took hold of the handle, turned it and let the door swing open. He fired a shot down the passage, then leaned forward, took a quick look and jerked back.

“He's not there.”

Harry's heart sank. That meant the guard had gone through into the luggage bay, making it even more tricky to get at him.

“He's in the luggage bay,” he said. “You stay here. I'll go to the loading door. It opens from outside. Give me two minutes to get the door open. I'll draw his fire while you rush the passage and get the luggage-bay door open.”

Lewin nodded.

Harry went down to the exit door. As he passed Franks he saw he had slumped down in his seat, his head had fallen forward.

He was breathing heavily, but he still held on to his gun.

Harry dropped to the ground.

Meeks was standing nearby watching the group of passengers and crew who made a black puddle of shadows on the white sand some two hundred yards away.

His heart thumping, his mouth dry and sour, Harry ran along the side of the aircraft to the loading door. He reached up and caught hold of the lever that held the door shut. He pushed it up and ducked low as the heavy door swung open.

Cautiously he peered into the luggage bay. His hand was shaking so badly he could scarcely hold the gun.

The luggage bay was empty!

Even as he stared, even as he realized the guard was not hiding in the bay, the crash of gunfire within the aircraft startled him and he nearly dropped his gun.

He then knew what had happened. The guard had fooled them.

He had been either hiding in the galley or in the toilet.

Harry turned cold. Had the guard nailed Lewin? He swung around in time to see Meeks, his eyes bulging, his face ghastly in the moonlight, jerk up his gun. Another gun barked from the doorway of the aircraft, a yellow flash lit up the darkness.

Meeks was flung back as the slug caught him between his eyes, scattering his brains and smashing his skull.

Harry saw a shadowy figure in the doorway. He recognized the flat peak cap and he fired wildly. The guard fired back and Harry felt the slug fan past his face. He dropped on hands and knees and tried to take cover under the aircraft.

He could see the guard as he leaned out of the aircraft. The moonlight glittered on his gun. This is it, Harry thought. He's going to nail me. He shut his eyes, squeezing himself further down in the sand.

There came the choked bang of a gun from inside the aircraft.

Harry flinched. He opened his eyes in time to see the guard drop his gun and fall forward, landing on the sand with a thud.

For a long moment Harry stared stupidly at the body of the guard, then he slowly got to his feet. Franks appeared in the doorway of the aircraft. He leaned against the doorpost. Harry could hear his laboured breathing from where he crouched.

As Harry began to move forward, Franks fired again at the guard. .

“I got him!” he panted. “I said I would. The punk went right by me. He didn't see me.”

Harry went to the guard and turned him over with his foot.

The sight of the dead, set face made him feel sick.

“Get the rocks!” Franks gasped. “I can't hold on much longer. Hurry!”

Pulling himself together, Harry climbed into the aircraft.

“I want you out there to watch that bunch,” he said. “I'll give you a hand down.”

He helped Franks on to the sand and propped him up against the wheel of the aircraft. The effort was too much for Franks.

His head dropped on to his chest and his fingers let go of his gun.

Harry looked across at the passengers. One of them was standing up.

“Sit down!” he yelled, and, raising his gun, he fired a shot over the man's head. He hurriedly sat down.

Harry shook Franks.

“Hang on! Watch them!”

Franks grunted, took hold of his gun that Harry pressed into his hand and mumbled something.

Harry scrambled into the aircraft and ran down to the galley.

He found Lewin lying in the passage, shot through the back of his head. He didn't have to turn him to know he was dead. He opened the door into the luggage bay and stepped inside. It took him a few moments to find the small, square-shaped box. When he tried to open it, he found it was locked.

Holding it under his arm, he jumped down on to the sand.

Then he ran over to where Meeks lay. He went through his pockets until he found the key of the car.

Returning to Franks he found he was now lying face down on the sand. Harry bent over him and dragged him upright. Franks was breathing heavily. He was unconscious, his arm sodden with blood.

Leaving him, Harry ran to the car, put the steel box on the front seat, got in the car and started the engine. He drove over to the aircraft. Leaving the engine running, he got out and went to Franks. He hauled him to his feet, tipped him over his shoulder and staggered with him to the car. He got him in the back, slammed the door and slid under the driving wheel.

He bad a twenty-five mile drive to Sky Ranch airport: a good, straight road, flanked on either side by sandhills. The brilliant light of the moon made his headlights unnecessary. He slammed in the gear, let in the clutch and sent the car streaking across the sand to the road.

In twenty minutes, even less, aircraft would be up and looking for him. He should have put the radio out of action, he thought, and given himself more time. He had to get to Sky Ranch airport before he was spotted on the road.

With the gas pedal flat on the boards, he sent the car racing along the road at over eighty miles an hour.

The guard was dead, he thought, his hands gripping the driving wheel until his knuckles turned white. It was murder. If they caught him he'd go to the chair. If he had known this was going to happen he wouldn't have been so crazy as to risk his life for fifty thousand dollars. When he had planned the robbery he hadn't thought it possible that it would end in murder. He had been a fool not to have asked for two hundred thousand. Delaney would probably clear two million on the deal, and he was taking no risk.

He was sitting pretty. Two million dollars!

Harry reached out and put his hand on the steel box. If only he had Delaney's facilities for getting rid of the diamonds, he thought, he wouldn't part with them. Delaney could damn well whistle for them, but they were useless to him. He wouldn't dare try to sell them. He knew no one to whom he could go.

Well, at least he was getting something out of it. Borg's threat of no diamonds, no dough, didn't apply now. His mind shifted to the paragraph in the newspaper he had read. No diamonds, no honour.

He very nearly swerved off the road. He wrenched at the wheel, straightened the car and slowed down. What a dope he was! Of course, Takamori! He might do a deal with Takamori!

Takamori had been fighting for eighteen months to get the diamonds. He was to be received by the Emperor who was going to honour him. Money meant little to a guy like that, Harry thought, but the honour did. He might ask for a million and a half. Takamori would be a fool to pass up such an offer. He'd probably never be allowed to export more diamonds. It seemed to Harry he had Takamori where he wanted him. The deal would be a tricky one, but it had a good chance of coming off. It would take nerve, but the risk was worth it. He would be gambling on Takamori wanting the diamonds so badly he would go behind the backs of the police and not give him away.

He heard Franks groan. The sound jerked him back to his present position. He was rushing towards Borg, and Borg was now the last person he wanted to run into. He slowed down and stopped the car. He hadn't much time to make a plan. In another ten minutes or so aircraft would be setting out to rescue the passengers and crew. The police would be alerted. Every road would be watched.

Dare he continue in the car? It had been standing in the shadows and none of the passengers nor the crew had gone within two hundred yards of it. They couldn't possibly give the police a description of it. He had to take the risk and keep it. Without it he was sunk.

There was Franks. . .

He turned and looked at the wounded man as he sat slumped in the back seat. Franks stared at him.

“What are you stopping for?” he mumbled. “What's the matter?”

Harry saw he still had his gun in his hand. Even though he was in a bad way, Franks could still be dangerous.

“We've got a flat,” Harry said.

Franks grunted and shut his eyes. His head lolled forward.

Leaning over the back seat, Harry grabbed at his gun. He had expected Franks' grip on the gun to be light, but instead, he found his grip like a vice. As Harry jerked at the gun it went off.

The bang and the flash stunned Harry, but he somehow kept his grip on the gun and dragged it out of Franks' hand.

Franks heaved himself up, cursing. His fist struck Harry in the face, but there was no bite in the punch.

Sweeping aside his upraised arm, Harry hit Franks on the top of his head. Franks slumped back.

Dropping the gun, Harry scrambled out of the car, opened the rear door and lugged Franks on to the sand. He tore off his trench coat, then, taking out his pocket-knife, he levered off the extra sole he had nailed to his shoe to give him a limp. He then began to strip off his disguise. In a few minutes

Harry Green had disappeared and a somewhat wild-eyed Harry Griffin had taken his place.

Rolling the disguise inside the trench coat, he carried the bundle over to a nearby sandhill. He dug feverishly with his hands until he had scooped out a hole large enough to take the bundle. When he had buried it, he stamped the sand flat, then he went back to the car. He put the steel box in the glove compartment, then slid tinder the driving wheel and drove away fast down the desert road.

III

T
en miles of furious driving brought Harry to a fork in the road. A finger post indicated to the right was Sky Ranch airport and to the left Lone Pine. Without slowing speed, he swung the car on to the left fork, and stormed up a climbing, twisting road that led over the foothills and away, from the desert.

A few miles further on, he slackened speed. Traffic was beginning to appear on the road. He didn't want to call attention to himself by driving too fast. He felt safer as he overtook the big oil trucks that were fighting their way up the steep incline. He was back in civilization, where the lone car was no longer suspect.

After he had driven another five miles, he saw ahead of him a long line of red tail-lights, and he braked, slowing to a crawl.

Ahead of him he could see at least eight cars and two trucks at a standstill. Crawling towards them, he leaned out of the car window. His heart skipped a beat when he saw there was a crash barrier across the road. A number of speed cops, lit up by the headlights of the cars, were standing behind the barrier.

He pulled up behind a truck, his mouth dry, his heart thumping. Reaching down, he groped on the floor of the car until he found Franks' gun. He wedged it between the two front seats.