“Wait a minute,” Mervyn said.
They all looked at him.
“All right, I’ll fly you out of here, but there’s a condition.”
Vincini said: “Shut up and move. You can’t make no fuckin’ conditions.”
Mervyn spread his arms wide. “So shoot me,” he said.
Nancy let out a cry of fear. These were the kind of men who would shoot someone who dared them; didn’t Mervyn understand that?
There was a moment of silence, then Luther said: “What condition?”
Mervyn pointed at Diana. “She stays.”
Joe, the little man, gave Mervyn a killing look.
Vincini said: “We don’t need you, shithead. There’s a whole bunch of Pan American pilots up front—any one of them can fly that seaplane as well as you.”
“And any one of them will make the same condition,” Mervyn said. “Ask them—if you’ve got time.”
Nancy realized that the gangsters did not know there was another pilot in the Goose. Not that it made much difference.
Luther said to Joe: “Leave her behind.”
The little man went red with anger. “Hell, why—”
“Leave her behind!” Luther shouted. “I paid you to help me kidnap Hartmann, not rape women!”
Vincini intervened. “He’s right, Joe. You can pick up another cunt later.”
“Okay, okay,” Joe said.
Diana began to cry with relief.
Vincini said: “We’re running out of time. Let’s get out of here!”
Nancy wondered whether she would ever see Mervyn again.
From outside came the sound of a Klaxon. The skipper of the launch was trying to get their attention.
The one they called Kid spoke up from the next room. “Holy shit, boss, look out the fuckin’ window!”
Harry Marks was knocked out when the Clipper splashed down. On the first bounce he fell headlong across the piled suitcases; then, just as he was getting to his hands and knees, the plane flopped into the sea and he was flung against the forward wall. He banged his head and was out cold.
When he came round, he wondered what the hell was going on.
He knew they had not arrived at Port Washington: they were only about two hours into a five-hour flight. This was an unscheduled stop, then; and it had seemed like an emergency splashdown.
He sat upright, feeling his injuries. Now he knew why planes had seat belts. His nose was bleeding, his head hurt like hell, and he was bruised just about everywhere; but nothing was actually broken. He wiped his nose with his handkerchief and considered himself lucky.
There were no windows in the baggage hold, of course, so he had no way of finding out what was going on. He sat still for a while and listened for clues. The engines were shut down, and there was a long period of quiet.
Then he heard a shot.
Firearms meant gangsters, and if there were gangsters on board they were probably after Frankie Gordino. More important, gunplay meant confusion and panic, and in those circumstances Harry might be able to get away.
He had to take a look outside.
He opened the door a crack. He saw no one.
He stepped out into the corridor and went forward to the door that led to the flight deck. He stood behind it, listening hard. He heard nothing.
Gently and silently, he eased the door open and peeped through.
The flight deck was deserted.
He stepped over the high threshold, treading softly, and went to the top of the staircase. He could hear men’s voices raised in argument, but he could not make out the words.
The cockpit hatch was open. Looking through it, he could see daylight in the bow compartment. He went closer and saw that the bow door was open.
He stood up and looked through the window, and saw a motor launch tied up to the nose of the aircraft. There was a man on deck in rubber boots and a cap.
Harry realized he could be very close to escape.
Here was a fast boat that could take him to a lonely spot on the coast. There appeared to be only one man on board. There had to be a way Harry could get rid of him and take the boat.
He heard a footstep right behind him.
He spun around, his heart pounding.
It was Percy Oxenford.
The boy stood in the rear doorway, looking as shocked as Harry felt.
After a moment Percy said: “Where have you been hiding?”
“Never mind that,” Harry said. “What’s going on down there?”
“Mr. Luther is a Nazi who wants to send Professor Hartmann back to Germany. He’s hired some gangsters to help him and he gave them a hundred thousand dollars in a briefcase!”
“Blimey,” said Harry, forgetting to do his American accent.
“And they killed Mr. Membury—he was a bodyguard from Scotland Yard.”
So that was what he was. “Is your sister all right?”
“So far. But they want to take Mrs. Lovesey with them because she’s so pretty—I hope they don’t notice Margaret....”
“God, what a mess,” said Harry.
“I managed to sneak away and come up through the trapdoor next to the ladies’ toilet.”
“What for?”
“I want Agent Field’s gun. I saw Captain Baker confiscate it.” Percy pulled open the drawer under the chart table. Inside was a compact revolver with a short barrel, just the sort of gun an F.B.I. man might carry under his jacket. “I thought so—it’s a Colt Thirty-eight Detective Special,” Percy said. He picked it up, broke it open expertly and spun the cylinder.
Harry shook his head. “I don’t think that’s such a great idea. You’ll get yourself killed.” He grabbed the boy’s wrist, took the gun from him, put it back and closed the drawer.
There was a loud noise from outside. Harry and Percy both looked out of the windows and saw a seaplane circling the Clipper. Who the hell was this? After a moment it started to descend. It splashed down, riding a wave, and taxied toward the Clipper.
“Now what?” said Harry. He turned around. Percy had disappeared. The drawer was open.
And the gun was gone.
“Damn,” Harry said.
He went through the rear door. He dashed past the holds, under the navigator’s dome and across a low compartment, then looked through a second door.
Percy was scampering along a crawlway through a space that got lower and narrower as it approached the tail. The plane’s structure was bare here, with struts and rivets visible and cables trailing along the floor. The space was obviously a redundant void above the rear half of the passenger deck. There was light at the far end, and Harry saw Percy drop down through a square hole. He remembered seeing a ladder on the wall next to the ladies’ room, with a trapdoor above it.
He could not stop Percy now: it was too late.
He recalled Margaret saying they could all shoot—it was a family obsession; but the boy knew nothing about gangsters. If he got in their way they would gun him down like a dog. Harry liked the boy, but his own feelings did not concern him so much as Margaret’s. Harry did not want her to see her brother killed. But what the hell could he do?
He returned to the flight deck and looked out. The seaplane was tying up to the launch. Either the people from the seaplane would come aboard the Clipper, or vice versa: in any event someone would soon be passing
