She relayed what Shayne had said, and the guerrilla at the wheel glanced around, frowning. The mobile loading steps had been wheeled into place against the 707, and the first passengers were beginning to stream out of the lounge.
“That’s it,” Shayne said crisply. “Tell him to remember there are no handles on these doors. One of them go ahead up the steps, one behind. Don’t be too rough. We look fairly authentic. The Senora won’t give us any trouble, but if she does, we’ll slug her and carry her aboard.”
Paula murmured in Spanish. The driver asked a question, slowing, and checked the mirrors. He consulted with his colleagues.
“We like to rehearse these things,” Paula said, “to be sure of assignments. Will Lenore be quiet?”
“Lenore will certainly be quiet,” Lenore said fervently.
The guerrillas exchanged curt nods. The driver slid under the wing of a big passenger plane and came back toward the 707.
He stopped at the foot of the loading ramp, blocking the trickle of passengers. The other uniformed man opened a rear door and ordered the prisoners to dismount. Paula had her hand inside her big purse. Senora Alvares was too terrified to move without help. Using both hands, Shayne walked her forcibly up the steps.
He brushed past the stewardess at the top, who was trying to ask a question.
Inside, Shayne surrendered the frightened woman to Paula. He told the stewardess calmly, “There’s been an uprising in Caracas. Don’t do anything to attract attention. We have to get off immediately.”
Her professional smile had vanished. Giving her no time to react, he blocked her back into the airplane and pulled the door shut. He took Paula’s Luger and went into the cockpit.
The pilot was drinking coffee out of a plastic container. He dropped it when he saw the long gun in Shayne’s hand.
“What the hell?”
“Nothing to be nervous about. We’re just taking off a couple of minutes early.”
The co-pilot said, “Aren’t you Mike Shayne?”
“Yeah. Notify the tower you can’t wait any longer.”
“Hell, man-”
Shayne lifted the gun. “This can’t be your first hijacking. Follow company policy. They don’t want you to risk the airplane. I have four armed men in the first-class cabin.”
“How many?”
Shayne grinned. “Two, as a matter of fact, but they’re pretty excited. Plus a girl, who’s as militant as they are. If you try to get help, bullets are going to be flying around.”
The co-pilot said reasonably, “This is Mike Shayne. You know he’s got reasons. Let’s roll.”
The pilot swore under his breath and brushed the spilled coffee off his clipboard. He reached for the transmitting switch.
“All right, where to?” he said sourly. “Havana?”
“Palm Beach.”
EIGHTEEN
The plane had been cleared for the Palm Beach International Airport. It came in from the east, giving up altitude rapidly as it sliced across the narrow strip of sand between the ocean and Lake Worth.
Lenore Dante was in the cockpit beside Shayne, watching the approach. Suddenly she gasped and seized Shayne’s arm.
“Look.”
One of the business blocks on the main north-south avenue was on fire. Lenore’s face showed her consternation.
“Can you bring us around again?” Shayne asked the pilot.
He said sullenly, “After all the trouble I’ve already had from you guys-”
“Don’t let’s get chintzy at this late date,” the copilot told him.
The pilot sighed, and told the control officer they were having instrument difficulty. Receiving clearance to make another approach, he wheeled about slowly.
“My gallery’s on that block,” Lenore said quietly.
Shayne said nothing, watching her. She was gripping the back of the co-pilot’s chair. She turned her head slightly so Shayne couldn’t see her face.
On the next approach, the pilot brought them closer to the fire. The block was surrounded by fire apparatus, pouring plumes of water on the burning buildings. Flickers of flame could be glimpsed through the billowing masses of smoke.
“How fireproof is your safe?” Shayne said.
“Oh, that doesn’t matter. There’s nothing in it that’s important. A few papers.”
They flashed across the long sand-spit and the blaze passed out of sight beneath their wing. The blood had left Lenore’s face. When she turned to look at Shayne her eyes were unfocused.
“Too bad,” he said evenly. “But you must be insured.”
“But the pictures. The diary.”
She brushed past and entered the cabin, her walk very stiff. She sat in one of the many empty seats and fastened her seatbelt for the landing. Shayne continued to watch her. She was staring ahead fixedly.
They landed, rolled along the runway and turned to come back. The few passengers who had managed to get aboard before the abrupt takeoff were concentrated in the rear of the cabin; the plane’s destination had been New Orleans. Senora Alvares, alone in a row of seats, was looking better. She had borrowed lipstick and a comb from one of the stewardesses. Coffee and time had drawn the sting of the champagne. She was still an erect, handsome woman, but there was something crafty about the look she gave Shayne.
“I should warn you, I intend to ask for the protection of my Ambassador, who will provide me with the name of a good lawyer. You are back in your own country, where you can be sued.”
“For what?”
“Injury to my person and my sanity. Kidnapping and assault.”
“Throw in rape and you’ll get more ink in the papers.”
“Don’t try it,” she warned him. “Put one finger on me and you’ll know you’ve been in a real battle.”
The plane rolled to a stop, and a set of mobile steps banged against the door.
“Now we’ll find out if we were right to trust you,” Paula said.
Shayne grinned at her. “We all know this has to end in a deal. I always do my best to satisfy everybody.”
Shayne was first down the steps. Howie Boyle, the Palm Beach Chief of Police, was waiting at the bottom.
“You’re under arrest for stealing an airplane,” he said.
“Not just me, I hope,” Shayne said. “We all did it together.”
He introduced the others as they descended.
Senora Alvares said firmly, “I spit on you. They had to carry me on board, and I have witnesses who will testify to that-the stewardess, others.”
“The Chief’s going to hold you as a material witness,” Shayne said. “I’d hate to lose you at this point. You may not realize it, but your life is in danger.”
“My life is definitely and emphatically not in danger.”
Chief Boyle had brought two of his own patrolmen, and there were several armed men from the airport security unit, several more from the county Highway Patrol. The two Venezuelan guerrillas didn’t like it, but they were relieved of their guns.
“What about the two guys I told you to pick up?” Shayne asked Boyle as they moved toward the terminal. “Frost and Mejia.”
“I’ve got them, Mike. And you weren’t kidding, they have credentials. They’ve been doing some screaming.
