I'd expected Aride out to the air base or at least downtown to the Hall of Justice. Instead, we just pushed through a small crowd of tourists and hotel staff who'd come to see – from a distance – what the shot had been about, turned left in the hotel lobby and ended up in the casino room.
This was one thing they did better here than in San Juan. It was a tall, arched, elegant room decorated in the style of Louis the Fifteenth or Onassis the First or somebody. Anyway, long scarlet drapes, white paint, gold mouldings, and chandeliers like crystal clouds, glowing gently – only gently. At tropical high noon, the place had the soft, seductive atmosphere of midnight. You could feel the money in your pocket fighting to be out and into the action.
The room looked pretty full for lunchtime, until I remembered it was Saturday. A white dinner jacket hurried up to us, staring horrified at Ned – perhaps more at his old flying suit than the gun in his hand. Then he recognised him.
'General Bosco,' Nedsaid flatly.
The white jacket nodded a smooth dark head towards the craps tables. We filed across.
Either the General didn't like rolling dice with the mob, or the mob had more sense than to roll dice with a man who's fifty per cent of a dictator. Despite the crowd, he had a whole craps table to himself, an aide-de-camp in a gold-braided uniform, a croupier, and a couple of characters keeping the crowd at a distance with watchful plain-clothes expressions that were far more obvious than the bulges under their jackets.
The General had his back to us, rolling the dice across the table. But the aide caught my eye and smiled hungrily, and I knew him: Capitán Miranda.
Ned marched up and said: 'General – about that crash. I've got Carr, the pilot of the Dove.'
Boscoturned slowly and looked at him.
Perhaps he looked like half a dictator, but I really wouldn'tknow; my personal experience of dictators is slight, although not as slight as I'd like. To me he was a tallish, well-built character in his fifties, putting on a bit of a stomach, with a full but not too fleshy face, a hooked beak of a nose, neat greying hair and moustache, heavy eyebrows over slow dark eyes. He was wearing a snappy dark-blue uniform with five gold stars on the cuffs, gold wings, and three rows of medal ribbons – which was restrained of him since he'd probably awarded most of them to himself.
He said in careful, almost perfect, English: 'I must congratulate you, Coronel. But – perhaps this would be better dealt with at the Hall of Justice?'
Ned jerked his head. 'It's his passengers. They're witnesses.'
Boscoswung his eyes slowly across us. He sized and priced me in a glance. The second glance got him Whitmore – and he knew him. Luiz took a moment longer, but he got the general idea. J.B. he ignored.
After a moment, he nodded and said thoughtfully: 'Ah-h-h. Yes. Perhaps you did the best thing, Coronel. 'He took a long thin cigar from a breast pocket, and Miranda did a Billy-the-Kid draw with a silver lighter. Boscobreathed smoke, leaned his backside against the table, and said: 'Perhaps you would remind me of the full incident, Coronel.'
Ned said: 'It started with a radio call from Ramirez saying he'd spotted Carr's Dove and was going up closer to get a look at it. After that, nothing – until we got the word a few minutes later that a Vampire had crashed a couple of miles north of the field. I checked with Bartolomeo and found Carr had landed safely. I found him here. Him and Whitmore started a bit of a punch-up with the guards.'
Boscolooked at the gun in Ned's hand, then at Whitmore. Whitmore smiled his thin, confident smile. 'Two of your air cops tried to shove me around, General. I'm not complaining. They may be – when they get off the floor.'
The General smiled a little sadly. 'Nobody likes military policemen, Señor, not anywhere. But unfortunately they are necessary.' He looked back at Ned. 'And what were Ramirez' orders this morning?'
'Just a training flight. But we knew Carr's Dove was on its way, so he'd been asked to report it if he saw it.'
I asked: 'Any orders to bounce me?'
Ned took a deep breath. 'No. I'd told him to stay away from you.'
For all his eagerness to haul me into the scales of justice, Ned wasn't putting any gilding on the frame. In fact, it was hardly a frame at all.
So far.
The General turned to me. 'And you, Señor…?'
I shrugged. 'Your boy made a pass at me. When he came in again I went into a spiral – to keep from under his guns. He stalled out of his turn and went in.'
I could feel Ned's eyes on me. The General asked Whitmore: 'And do you confirm this, Señor?'
'It all happened pretty quick,' Whitmore drawled, 'but that's how I recall it. I was up front with Carr.'
General Boscosucked thoughtfully on his cigar, breamed smoke over our heads, and came to a decision. 'I think, Señores, we had all better have a drink.'
Still staring at me, Ned said slowly and clearly: 'You killed that boy, Carr. Deliberate.'
There were a few confused moments of a waiter asking What Drinks and J.B. asking What The Hell. When the smoke cleared the waiter had vanished and J.B. was smouldering silently with Luiz' hand clampedfirmly onher shoulder. The General was keeping Ned quiet with a steady dark stare.
Then he waved his cigar at the table. 'Perhaps, while we wait, Señor Whitmore would care to…?'
Whitmore frowned, then shrugged, stepped up, and took the dice from the croupier. 'We playing the house or just between ourselves?'
The cigar weaved a delicatechandelle.'The house so kindly permits me to play just as among friends, so…' And he smiled sadly.
The house would so kindly permit him to rip off the roof, shoot down the chandeliers, and borrow the manager's wife, too. The house couldn't stop him. He was General Bosco.
Whitmore tossed some money on the table. 'So fade me.'
The General nodded to Miranda, who said: 'General Boscocovers the bet.'
Boscoturned back to Ned. 'Now, Coronel, you were saying…?'
Ned said flatly: 'Carr killed Ramirez. He started out to kill him, and he did.'
I said: 'I didn't start it, Ned.'
Whitmore spat on his hand and sent the dice across the table with an experienced flip.
The croupier chanted:'Cinquo. A point of five to make.'
The General smiled again. 'No win, no loss – yet. Please continue, Coronel.'
Ned was speaking to me now. 'I grant you didn't start it, Keith. But oncehe started it, you killed him. You dragged him down and stalled him. I don't know how – maybe with that old flaps trick. But I know you did it, and you know yourself.'
J.B. said icily: 'In an unarmed plane full of passengers? He killed your brave jet pilot?'
Whitmore rolled again. The croupier chanted:'Ocho. Eight. Still the point of five to make.'
Ned glanced quickly at the table, then shook his head. 'Guns ain't all of it, sweetheart. For some they ain't always enough when they got 'em, and some others don't always need 'em. What really matters is if you're a killer. Keith is.'
I said: 'He was still flying a fighter, Ned.' I stretched my hand. 'Give me your gun and I'll point it at you and you can guess if I'm going to shoot. Then tell me how it feels.'
'He wasn't going to shoot! '
I felt the cold anger rising inside. 'Wasn't he, Ned? Then I must have missed your postcard: Dear Keith, you're going to get beaten up by a boy in a Vamp but don't worry because he'll be disobeying orders and he probably won't disobey them as far as to shoot. So sorry I missed it, Ned, and put you to all this trouble. So sorry.'
The dice bounced. The croupier chanted:'Seis. Six. The point of five still to make.'
The General murmured: 'And still no win, no loss.'
Ned ignored both the dice and the general. His mouthtwisted in disgust. 'Ah, don't bleed so easy, Keith.'
'I'mbleeding easy? I knock down one of your jets with an unarmed Dove and you start screaming murder?'
There was a long silence.
Then the dice galloped on the table.'Siete-seven. The shooter loses.'
The General said softly: 'So I win.'
J.B. was staring at me coldly: 'Are you admitting you deliberately made that jet crash?'
There was another silence, with just the rustle of Miranda picking up Whitmore's money.
I shrugged. 'Somehow, they never teach passive resistance in fighter squadrons. There's only one sure way to avoid getting shot down.'
Ned said: 'Shoot first.'
The General said, still softly: 'Or, of course, stay away. ' He drew on his cigar. 'I believe Coronel Rafter met you in San Juan earlier this week and warned you that you were not any more welcome in the República. Perhaps you should have taken notice of that warning.'
'If you're closing Repúblicaairspace you could announce it and get it in a Notam and make it official.'
'Ah yes,' the cigar did another neataerobatic.'But we are not closing our airspace. We welcome airlines – even charter pilots – who bring genuine business to our island. Provided they are politically – shall we say? – neutral.'
Tm not playing Repúblicapolitics.'
'Ah, but' – the cigar half-rolled off a loop – 'we have heard other reports.'
'So I gathered. Part of the reason I came today was to talk that out and get it killed.'
The dark eyes studied me carefully. Then he said softly: 'You made a bad start to such talks, Señor Carr.'
Miranda said: 'General, do you wish to shoot?'
Boscosmiled quickly at the word, then shrugged and held out his hand for the dice. The croupier whipped them across.
Miranda chanted: 'The General bets whatever anybody else wishes to bet.'
Whitmore tossed some more notes on the table and went back to looking at J.B. and me. After a moment Luiz put down two ten-peso notes.
J.B. seemed to wake up and said: 'If your pilot had shot Walt Whitmore down, it would have made headlines all over the States. All over the world.'
'Most certainly.' The General shook the dice with a'snap and threw them up the table. An 8. No win, no loss; 8 to make again. 'Most certainly – but what could my government have done then? We would have apologised, we would have tried and convicted the pilot himself. But what more could you have asked – as a democratic government yourself?'
I said: 'And reading between the headlines, the message would have got across: the República Air Force is a tough, shootin' air force.'
For once, his eyes moved quickly. I got a sharp dark glance. Then he took the dice from the croupier, shook them, and threw them with exactly the same movement.
Three – a crap-out on the first throw, but now meaningless Only an 8 or 7 counted now.
J.B. looked at me, then said carefully: 'General, if you were thinking of working up charges against Mr Carr, that could make a headline, too. The Boss Man is good copy even as a witness.'
Boscolifted his shoulders fractionally and threw 10.
Whitmore's mind found the wavelength with a click. 'Unarmed passenger plane forces down jet fighter. I'd say that was news.'
'Film star bites dog,' Luiz murmured.
Whitmore smiled at Ned. 'That's a great squadron you're running there, Coronel.'
Ned's face shut as tight as a bank vault.
The General threw a 6.
J.B. said flatly: 'If you push charges, you'll get your air force laughed out of the air anywhere anybody can read a newspaper.'
Boscosighed. 'It is possible that persons not familiar with aerial tactics might get the wrong impression.' He threw a 7, the croupier's face went stiff with horror. The General turnedaway, 'So – I lose.Coronel Rafter, I think we would be advised not to proceed against Señor Carr.You find sometimes that an act of mercy is better in the broad view than sticking to the letter of justice.'
It was gracefully done. It only missed out the other side of the coin: that the broad view in a dictatorship sometimes means chopping an innocent head as well.
Ned said tightly: 'You're the general, General.'
Boscosmiled his sad smile. 'I understand your feelings, Colonel. And I commend your zeal. But…' The cigar waved gracefully.
'A training crash,' Ned said.
Bosconodded. 'A training crash. One has also to remember that Ramirez was disobeying orders.'
Ned's face closed up again. Then he looked at me and said slowly: "That makes four. Three in Korea and one here. Another one and you'll be an ace. Don't try and makethat one here, killer.'
'I'm a Dove pilot, Ned.'
'That,' the General said, 'is something we have still to discuss.'
In the silence there was just the faint rumble of dice on the table and then Luiz saying: 'Is this game over or does anybody want some of my money?'
He was rolling the dice hand-to-hand across the table, with the croupier giving him a worried look. But everybody else was looking at Bosco.
Ned said: 'You can't offer him a job in the squadron again – not after he's-'
'Of course. ' The General held up his hand. 'That would hardly improve morale. Although -Señor Carrhas more than lived up to theréputationyou gave him, Coronel. So, it is a pity. But Señor'he looked at me 'your Dove is rather old, I think?'
'About twelve years,' I said slowly. I couldn't see where this was going.
'Ah. ' As if that explained something. 'The authorities at the airport inform me that it is in – a rather regrettable condition. But now I see it is not surprising.'
I knew what it explained now. I said grimly: 'Go on, General.'
The cigar fluttered. 'We have a duty – to others who use the airport, to those who live nearby. We should be failing this duty if we allowed an aeroplane to take off – totry to take off – which was not in proper condition.' He smiled – and not sadly. Not sadly at all. 'I am sure, Señor, that it will not take you long – or cost you much – to bring it up to the standards at which the airport authorities would permit you to take it off.'
'An eye for an eye,' I said grimly. 'A plane for a plane. So I lose the Dove.'
'But no. There is no question. Only it needs – what was the phrase? – ah, yes: a "check four", I think.'
'It isn't due a check four for another hundred hours.'
He smiled again. 'I fear one cannot stand too much on regulations and hours. One must use common sense in matters of air safety – as every newspaper would agree. The authorities believe a check four is needed, so…'
Whitmore said: 'I flew down in that plane, General. Now you're saying it ain't safe?'
'I am sure, Señor Whitmore, that you know much about aircraft engineering. But possibly not quite so much as our qualified engineers.'
J.B. said: 'You confiscate Carr's plane and your jet crash canstill make a headline.'
The General said blandly: 'What crash?'
He looked at Ned, then at Miranda. 'Was there a crash, Capitán?'
Miranda spread his teeth in the big, homely smile of a hungry shark. 'I seem to recall a training crash; mi General -some time last week. Ateniente… teniente…' he snapped his fingers, trying to remember '… Ramirez. I remember now.'
Luiz said suddenly: 'Film star bites dog. Itdoes seem difficult to believe – especially if you cannot produce the dog.'
J.B. started to say something. I put a hand on her shoulder. 'They say the husband's usually the last to know, honey. Not this time. I've lost her.' Just like that. Maybe it's like losing awife; I wouldn't know. I never had a wife. Only an aeroplane. Now, just the cold anger inside.
The General said to Whitmore: 'Naturally I must apologise for die inconvenience this causes you, Señor. But you understand it is also for your safety… Tickets for the Pan American flight to San Juan tonight will await you at the airport.'
'Tonight?' Whitmore said.
'Tonight, ' the General said firmly. He looked around. 'I much regret, Señorita, Señores, but…' he turned to go.
Miranda waited just long enough to say,'Rebelde!'
I said to Ned: 'Only one thing I'm sorry about – that it wasn't Capitán Miranda in the Vamp. Except diat he wouldn't have counted a whole kill, being only half a man.'
It wasn't the season's newest, snappiest insult. But for a man like Miranda it didn't have to be. He took a quick dancing step and led with his right.
I went in under the punch and hit him once just at the bottom of the ribs. Hard. Maybe not hard enough to pay for one confiscated aeroplane, but at least I was trying.
The two bodyguards moved quickly back, groping under their coats. The General snapped something, and they froze. He looked down at Miranda, sitting on the floor and trying to get his head up off his knees. The General said something else and the bodyguards moved warily to pick him up.
Whitmore drawled: 'I'll give you an eye-witness statement about that, too, General.'
'Tonight, 'Boscosaid quietly. 'For your own safety, Señor.'He led the way out.