it—threw the cyclic forward for the second time. With my right hand, I took a squishy grip on the tatters of his uniform and dragged him off it. The pieces slumped on the floor.
One glance across the left-side instrument panel showed what Corbin’s swarm of bullets had done. Most of the engine readouts were shot up, but the turbine sounded steady—for now. The electronic navigation gear was gone, but the digital compass on my side still worked—or seemed to. The radio had evaporated. So had nonessentials like the switches for landing and running lights, the gauges for altimeter, airspeed, and fuel pressure. The important stuff, circuits for the controls and the hydraulics, was on my side, so at least we were still flying upright.
I did not know that baby lawyers could fight with their hands. Nor that Corbin was going to start the minute we lifted off. But once he was launched, I tried to help with a few gyrations that would keep the two terrorists off balance.
My big worry had been the crowd on the landing pad behind us. The bucking of the ship, while Corbin was flying around in the back seat, was going to be noticed on the ground. It would look exactly like the trouble it was. Those people had weapons—and would be firing them into our engine. What a bullet or two does to a high-revving turbine looks like an explosion in a knife factory. Therefore at the first lull in the fighting, while Corbin was trying to climb into the front seat, I cracked on the power and got us a stretch of sand and a big hunk of altitude.
After Corbin had wasted the man with the woman Zahedi’s burp gun, I just took a compass heading for Riyadh and held the ship at 5,000 feet and what sounded like eighty-five percent power.
“You about done?” I asked after a minute.
“Yeah …”
“What about the woman?”
“Her breathing is hitching pretty badly. I think I cracked her sternum.”
“She going to live?”
“For now.”
“What about you?”
“Bruises. Can you fly us out of here?”
“Well …” I gave the proposition serious thought. “Jabrin is one hundred and seventy-five miles northwest of us. Northeast, at about the same distance, is ’Arada. At least two hours’ flying either direction. We can land anywhere, once, if we have to. But after that, we will never get off again without instruments. Now, the engine sounds all right, but with a turbine you have to watch your gas temps and I got nothing to watch with. The flight manual says not to fly with two or more instruments showing faulty readings.” I pointed to what was left of the panel. “And my contract says I can refuse to fly this ship on the grounds of airworthiness. But, unless you want to circle back to the oasis and try to explain this …”
“No thanks.”
“Thought not. So … can we fly? We have to.”
“I wonder what kind of reception we’ll get from the Saudi Security Police?” Corbin mused.
“They will welcome us as heroes, of course.”
“Hmmm.”
”Why not? We foiled a kidnapping of American citizens, by agents of a foreign power operating inside the Kingdom. The Saudis are so paranoid they will shit their jellabas when they find out about it.”
“I think they already know,” Corbin said. When I kept quiet, thinking about that, he went on. “Well, work it out. The Ayatollah’s Boy Army is already entrenched in Kuwait and operating freely in the Neutral Zone. The Saudis don’t dare attack directly or the rolling wave comes right on into the Kingdom. Right across their oil fields ... The other option is to hit the Shi’ites economically. Sybil’s plan.”
“Kind of farfetched. … What does she say about it?”
There was a pause from the back seat. “I don’t think she can talk.”
“Well, then …”
“Faisal wasn’t one of them,” Corbin said suddenly. “He was a Wahabi and son of a sheikh. And he couldn’t fly worth a damn, as you said. And that’s the only thing Sybil wanted from him. So he must have been
One glance across the left-side instrument panel showed what Corbin’s swarm of bullets had done. Most of the engine readouts were shot up, but the turbine sounded steady—for now. The electronic navigation gear was gone, but the digital compass on my side still worked—or seemed to. The radio had evaporated. So had nonessentials like the switches for landing and running lights, the gauges for altimeter, airspeed, and fuel pressure. The important stuff, circuits for the controls and the hydraulics, was on my side, so at least we were still flying upright.
I did not know that baby lawyers could fight with their hands. Nor that Corbin was going to start the minute we lifted off. But once he was launched, I tried to help with a few gyrations that would keep the two terrorists off balance.
My big worry had been the crowd on the landing pad behind us. The bucking of the ship, while Corbin was flying around in the back seat, was going to be noticed on the ground. It would look exactly like the trouble it was. Those people had weapons—and would be firing them into our engine. What a bullet or two does to a high-revving turbine looks like an explosion in a knife factory. Therefore at the first lull in the fighting, while Corbin was trying to climb into the front seat, I cracked on the power and got us a stretch of sand and a big hunk of altitude.
After Corbin had wasted the man with the woman Zahedi’s burp gun, I just took a compass heading for Riyadh and held the ship at 5,000 feet and what sounded like eighty-five percent power.
“You about done?” I asked after a minute.
“Yeah …”
“What about the woman?”
“Her breathing is hitching pretty badly. I think I cracked her sternum.”
“She going to live?”
“For now.”
“What about you?”
“Bruises. Can you fly us out of here?”
“Well …” I gave the proposition serious thought. “Jabrin is one hundred and seventy-five miles northwest of us. Northeast, at about the same distance, is ’Arada. At least two hours’ flying either direction. We can land anywhere, once, if we have to. But after that, we will never get off again without instruments. Now, the engine sounds all right, but with a turbine you have to watch your gas temps and I got nothing to watch with. The flight manual says not to fly with two or more instruments showing faulty readings.” I pointed to what was left of the panel. “And my contract says I can refuse to fly this ship on the grounds of airworthiness. But, unless you want to circle back to the oasis and try to explain this …”
“No thanks.”
“Thought not. So … can we fly? We have to.”
“I wonder what kind of reception we’ll get from the Saudi Security Police?” Corbin mused.
“They will welcome us as heroes, of course.”
“Hmmm.”
”Why not? We foiled a kidnapping of American citizens, by agents of a foreign power operating inside the Kingdom. The Saudis are so paranoid they will shit their jellabas when they find out about it.”
“I think they already know,” Corbin said. When I kept quiet, thinking about that, he went on. “Well, work it out. The Ayatollah’s Boy Army is already entrenched in Kuwait and operating freely in the Neutral Zone. The Saudis don’t dare attack directly or the rolling wave comes right on into the Kingdom. Right across their oil fields ... The other option is to hit the Shi’ites economically. Sybil’s plan.”
“Kind of farfetched. … What does she say about it?”
There was a pause from the back seat. “I don’t think she can talk.”
“Well, then …”
“Faisal wasn’t one of them,” Corbin said suddenly. “He was a Wahabi and son of a sheikh. And he couldn’t fly worth a damn, as you said. And that’s the only thing Sybil wanted from him. So he must have been
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