platform, Shayne scrambled backward and out again five feet away. A bullet buried itself in the edge-beam above his head. He fired. The youth went backward and lost the rifle.
Shayne ran across to him and snatched it up. The main siren was going, the big one that was saved for major calamities. Fire apparatus, salvage trucks, pumpers and ambulances were on their way from the fire and rescue station at the center of the field. Shayne worked his way to the end of the platform.
His view of the field was partly blocked by a Port Authority sedan and two trucks. The second plane was beginning to stir. Armed men from the disabled plane were running toward it. Others, working desperately, pulled the big pallets into the plane’s belly.
There was a piercing whistle. A man appeared on the opposite loading platform. He had a pistol strapped to his side and carried a submachine gun. As he turned in Shayne’s direction, Shayne saw the heavy-lidded eyes, the deep mark above the nose, the pale olive skin of the magazine photographs-Gil Ruiz.
A dead cigar was clamped between his lips. He relighted the stump as several unarmed men coming out of the warehouse passed him and jumped down onto the apron and ran toward the moving plane. Shayne brought his rifle around to bear on Ruiz. He waited a moment, his finger grazing the trigger. He raised the barrel without firing. He wanted this man alive.
Ruiz saw someone Shayne was unable to see, frowned and half shook his head. There was an explosion from the burning plane, and Shayne didn’t hear the shot. Ruiz was struck in the chest. Like Eliot Crowther in the hotel corridor fifteen minutes earlier, he looked surprised, a little indignant. He staggered sideways and tumbled off the edge of the platform.
Another booming explosion blew the burning plane back onto the runway. A big pumper was pouring chemical spray on the fire. Shayne could feel the heat.
An unlikely vehicle raced across the field from the terminal-a motorized ramp. One man was at the controls, another man and a dark-haired girl were behind him, clinging to the steps. As it turned into a cross taxi-strip, Shayne put a bullet into one front tire. It careened away, out of control, and tipped over on the grass. In a moment the two men were running.
Shayne left cover and darted forward between the two trucks. Hands reached down from the plane’s belly to haul the two men aboard. Shayne, on one knee, took careful aim at the big tire. The hammer clicked down on nothing.
Moving back fast, he grabbed the submachine gun dropped by Ruiz when he fell. The plane’s pilot had decided to take a chance on getting off using only three quarters of the runway. The plane seemed to hesitate while he used his brakes to let the power build up, and then it leaped forward.
Shayne returned to his position between the trucks, threw the safety flap and waited for the plane to come back within range. There was a wild crackle of small arms as the fire reached the ammunition boxes in the burning plane.
At that moment two airport security guards in black uniforms ran in front of Shayne. One was unarmed, the other had a revolver. The plane came rapidly down the runway. Shayne yelled at the armed guard to get out of the line of fire, and the man whirled and snapped off a shot. The bullet hit the concrete to Shayne’s right and screamed away. Shayne dived beneath the truck. The guard ran to his right, back to his left, squatted and tried to shoot again.
Swearing, Shayne sent the submachine gun skidding into the open to make the guard think he was surrendering, then wriggled out beneath the truck on the warehouse side. The guard screamed at him to hold still and put his hands over his head. Shayne swore again, fiercely, but he stopped and did as he was told.
Teddy Sparrow, with two more guards, burst out of the next warehouse. Sparrow had been tied up, and a length of clothesline dangled from one wrist.
“They’re getting away!”
“Aren’t they,” Shayne said dryly. “Will you tell your man we’re both on the same side?”
Sparrow jumped down, shouting. He landed on a spare tire lying on the ground, and one leg crumpled beneath him. Shayne started to move, but the excited guard made a menacing gesture with his pistol and Shayne stopped again.
Sparrow came to his feet. Hobbling out to the submachine gun, he snatched it up and fired a burst at the departing plane as it lifted off the runway and made a climbing turn to the southwest.
He turned back toward Shayne, his face contorted. He was nearly crying.
“I blew it! I knew I would! I knew it would happen!”
CHAPTER 13
Shayne knew he had very little time.
The main siren was still screaming. More emergency vehicles had gathered. Kneeling beside Ruiz, Shayne went through his pockets quickly.
“I see we got one of them, anyway,” Sparrow said miserably. “You can’t blame my people, Mike. They haven’t had military training. These guys were soldiers! They came in on us from all sides.”
“Round up your men and cordon off the area,” Shayne said. “Don’t let anybody in or out. You’ll have reinforcements inside of fifteen minutes.”
Sparrow straightened his shoulders and looked serious. “That’s right, maybe everybody didn’t get away. I certainly would like to capture a couple. It wouldn’t be such a total disaster.”
He climbed up on the platform. “Fellows!” he shouted. “Over here. We’re going to cordon off the area. Don’t let anybody in or out.”
Shayne checked the black official sedan at the loading dock. The key was still in the ignition. He swung in and started the motor.
“Mike, where are you going?” Sparrow called.
Ignoring him, Shayne wheeled around and entered the diagonal taxi-strip to the runway. He had seen movement near the wrecked mobile ramp. Crossing the runway, he saw Adele Galvez sitting on the grass, looking around. There was a smear of dirt across one cheek.
“Get in,” Shayne said, pulling up beside her.
She pushed back her hair with a dazed gesture. “Mike?” Shayne set the hand brake and got out. Understanding suddenly that she was about to be taken prisoner, she scrambled for a shotgun lying on the grass. Shayne kicked it away, pulled her to her feet and thrust her into the car.
“The fight’s over. You’re all by yourself, as far as I know.”
As he drove down the runway toward the terminal area, she looked back at the burning plane. Another box of ammunition let go. In the mirror, Shayne saw flaming bits of debris erupt across the runway.
“That was you in the helicopter, wasn’t it?” she said.
“That was me.”
“Did the others-”
“You took a few casualties, but everybody else got off, and maybe they’ll make it. I’m hoping the air force knows about them by now.”
“Luckily they don’t,” Adele said quietly. “Before we left the tower we smashed the radios. All the telephone cables have been cut.”
“That may not be quite enough.” He swung between the Delta maintenance building and Concourse 1, cutting beneath the wing of a parked 707. “But never mind about them, think about yourself for a minute.”
“I don’t care! It was splendid! We paralyzed a great American airport. We stole a shipment of arms intended for our enemies.”
“All of which,” Shayne said, “carries a heavy jolt in jail. But be a nice girl and maybe we can deal. Do you have a car?”
“Yes.” She looked at him sharply. “You mean you’re letting me go?”
“That depends on a number of things. How you behave, for one.”
He pulled up alongside his Buick and slid out. Unlocking his own car, he picked a Phillips screwdriver out of the tool kit beneath the glove compartment. He felt Adele’s restlessness behind him. Half turning, he saw that she
