the package, climbed into the cockpit, leaned out and said, “Pull those stones out from under my wheels and then get out of the way fast and you better get your ass out of here quick. I see lights of cars coming.”
The chocks removed, the pilot held his plane for a moment with his brake to give the courier time to duck out of the way, leap on to his cycle and drive off.
Even over the steady hum of his propeller, for he had warmed up earlier, the pilot could now hear the rolling grind of fast motor-cars approaching and saw the glare of their headlights around a bend. He gave his ship full throttle.
The field was uneven and bumpy and he needed every bit of power, but he saw clearly enough to avoid rocks and furrows as the clouds parted for a moment. The little ship bounced and swayed. A stone fence at the end of the field rushed at him but by then he was able to risk yanking her up off the ground. He flew level for a moment or two to pick up power just as three cars roared up to the side of the field and disgorged angry men. The pilot stayed even with the trees at one side of the field, using them for cover to gain still more flying speed. Then he pulled her up, banked sharply and as the clouds again cut down illumination, vanished into the night sky.
On the ground, Colonel Sisson watched in helpless frustration and one of the FBI men released a burst of absolutely useless machine-gun fire into the nowhere which echoed mockingly from a derelict farm a short distance away until Sisson said in disgust, “Oh, for chrissakes, cut it out, he’s gone.”
The young lieutenant, who saw himself wearing a single bar for the rest of his life, said, “My God, Colonel, I’m sorry I took you to the wrong field first but there wasn’t anything too definite.”
Sisson felt sorry for him. This was obviously going to be the pattern, lousy intelligence, bad luck, rotten timing, always too late. He said, “Never mind. Not your fault. We’ve got to get in touch with the air force.”
In the morning Marge was already out of bed and dressed when Bill awoke and sheepishly climbed into his clothing. Julian was in the bathroom from which the sound of running shower and tremendous splashing was heard. Bill, searching for his shoes, was distracted by the sounds, fell over Julian’s suitcase and kicked it hard with his bare foot. The suitcase took no injury except to be lofted a few feet but Bill was now hopping around hanging on to his big toe and yelling in pain. “Goddamn little bastard!”
He caught sight of Marge, who appeared to be in the grip of something extraordinary; she looked as though she might be going to be sick or something. But it was only the deep-down laugh that had begun the night before which now could no longer be controlled. Furiously Bill became aware that Marge was beginning to break up and at her first peal of almost hysterical laughter his own rage evaporated and he began to giggle himself and in a moment they fell into one another’s arms laughing until they were weak.
When at last they had exhausted themselves and parted, Marge regarded Bill with an expression of wry maturity. She said, “Bill, do you mind? I want to go home.”
Bill, too, had grown up. He said, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. We could get a bus back. Do you think they’ll give us breakfast too?”
The bathroom door opened with dramatic suddenness and Julian made a magnificent appearance framed in it, all fresh and bright and washed. He shouted, “Hi, I’m ready!”
There was breakfast and when the passengers had finished and emerged from the motel they saw the sheriff’s men removing the ROAD CLOSED signs and the barriers, and a state trooper on a motor-cycle appeared from the direction of the pass followed by an Inter-State bus displaying its destination sign, SAN DIEGO . It pulled up alongside Bus 396, the two drivers exchanged a few words about the condition of the road and the passengers streamed back on board. Marge, Bill and
The chocks removed, the pilot held his plane for a moment with his brake to give the courier time to duck out of the way, leap on to his cycle and drive off.
Even over the steady hum of his propeller, for he had warmed up earlier, the pilot could now hear the rolling grind of fast motor-cars approaching and saw the glare of their headlights around a bend. He gave his ship full throttle.
The field was uneven and bumpy and he needed every bit of power, but he saw clearly enough to avoid rocks and furrows as the clouds parted for a moment. The little ship bounced and swayed. A stone fence at the end of the field rushed at him but by then he was able to risk yanking her up off the ground. He flew level for a moment or two to pick up power just as three cars roared up to the side of the field and disgorged angry men. The pilot stayed even with the trees at one side of the field, using them for cover to gain still more flying speed. Then he pulled her up, banked sharply and as the clouds again cut down illumination, vanished into the night sky.
On the ground, Colonel Sisson watched in helpless frustration and one of the FBI men released a burst of absolutely useless machine-gun fire into the nowhere which echoed mockingly from a derelict farm a short distance away until Sisson said in disgust, “Oh, for chrissakes, cut it out, he’s gone.”
The young lieutenant, who saw himself wearing a single bar for the rest of his life, said, “My God, Colonel, I’m sorry I took you to the wrong field first but there wasn’t anything too definite.”
Sisson felt sorry for him. This was obviously going to be the pattern, lousy intelligence, bad luck, rotten timing, always too late. He said, “Never mind. Not your fault. We’ve got to get in touch with the air force.”
In the morning Marge was already out of bed and dressed when Bill awoke and sheepishly climbed into his clothing. Julian was in the bathroom from which the sound of running shower and tremendous splashing was heard. Bill, searching for his shoes, was distracted by the sounds, fell over Julian’s suitcase and kicked it hard with his bare foot. The suitcase took no injury except to be lofted a few feet but Bill was now hopping around hanging on to his big toe and yelling in pain. “Goddamn little bastard!”
He caught sight of Marge, who appeared to be in the grip of something extraordinary; she looked as though she might be going to be sick or something. But it was only the deep-down laugh that had begun the night before which now could no longer be controlled. Furiously Bill became aware that Marge was beginning to break up and at her first peal of almost hysterical laughter his own rage evaporated and he began to giggle himself and in a moment they fell into one another’s arms laughing until they were weak.
When at last they had exhausted themselves and parted, Marge regarded Bill with an expression of wry maturity. She said, “Bill, do you mind? I want to go home.”
Bill, too, had grown up. He said, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. We could get a bus back. Do you think they’ll give us breakfast too?”
The bathroom door opened with dramatic suddenness and Julian made a magnificent appearance framed in it, all fresh and bright and washed. He shouted, “Hi, I’m ready!”
There was breakfast and when the passengers had finished and emerged from the motel they saw the sheriff’s men removing the ROAD CLOSED signs and the barriers, and a state trooper on a motor-cycle appeared from the direction of the pass followed by an Inter-State bus displaying its destination sign, SAN DIEGO . It pulled up alongside Bus 396, the two drivers exchanged a few words about the condition of the road and the passengers streamed back on board. Marge, Bill and
Similar Books
![The High Queen's Vow [The Mystic Women of The Realm Series Book IV]](/res/aob/book1.jpg)
