“Well now, listen to the little lady from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. It’s plain to see that you know very little if anything about Harry Caplin, and even less about actually flying into Cuban airspace without getting blown out of the sky. Let me tell you something about dear old Harry, Agent Romerez. I do know what he’s capable of, and he really isn’t a very nice drug trafficker. As for the rest, well let’s just say that he’s extremely well practised in the art of lying.” He saw that the mechanic who was leant against the wing of one of the crop dusters was smiling.
“Ah, so you do speak English then?”
“A little Senor.”
“Fernandes is Cuban,” Dan Parker said.
Dillon looked up. “What do you think?”
Fernandes said, “I was in the air force for eight years. I know the airstrip that you will be flying to. It was abandoned by the military in the sixties during the Russian missile crisis. It’s only ever used as an emergency strip now, but the runway is sound enough though.”
“What about the flight?” Dillon asked Steve Rainer.
“It’s one hundred and forty miles of low altitude flying to the abandoned strip on the North East Coast of Cuba, very close to the infamous ‘Bay of Pigs’ Mr Dillon. But, if you’re just some weekend private pilot out here seeking revenge I’m afraid you won’t last more than forty miles.”
Dillon looked at the bearded man and speaking softly said. “Let’s just say, Mr Rainer that I’m not interested in taking revenge, that’s not my style, and I’m not that kind of pilot. So what can I expect along the way?”
“Water, lots of water, you’ve got the Atlantic on one side and the Gulf of Mexico on the other. There are a few small islands along the way but nothing much until you reach Cuba. By the way, the twenty four hour weather forecast stinks, I checked it myself earlier but that’s not your only problem, it’s the air force, they patrol the whole area regularly.”
“Russian built Mi-8 helis — right?”
“Right first time, Senor.” It was the Cuban who answered in Spanish. He slapped the wing of the Skyhawk with one hand. “This is a first rate aeroplane, but no match for the heliii — copters, they are very fast.” He looked Dillon in the eye. “But maybe you have a death wish, Senor?”
“That is enough Fernandes,” Parker said angrily.
“Oh it’s been said many times before, goes with the job, old son.” Dillon laughed as he picked up his holdall off the floor. “Now then Miss Romerez, why don’t you and I go and take a look at the charts.”
As they moved towards the office Parker said, “Our people did make it clear? If the Cubans catch you, my orders are to deny all knowledge of this operation. You’ll be on your own.”
“Understood,” Dillon said over his shoulder.
They went into the office where a number of charts were spread across a large makeshift table in the middle of the room. Dillon took two and started to study them in detail pushing the rest out of the way.
“When would we leave?” Romerez asked.
“Eighteen hundred hours,” Dillon told her. “Best time of all, we’ll arrive just before sunset. I really do hope that this rain keeps up though.”
Romerez, genuinely curious, said, “Why did you agree to do this? Why risk your life? It’s certainly not for the pay and you don’t seem the type to have to prove yourself.” She seemed suddenly embarrassed. “What I mean is. I know something of your past, but…”
“Is that so?” Dillon said. “Well as Parker said, this is one party that I wouldn’t miss. I owe dear old Harry a very long time in the State Penitentiary.”
“That doesn’t answer my question, why risk your life? Because that’s exactly what you’re doing, you know?”
“Oh, I’m forgetting.” Dillon looked up and gave her a lop sided smile, his face took on warmth and immense charm. “I should tell you Romerez, that I’m the last of a long line of great British adventurers. Now let’s see exactly where it is we’re going, and by the look of these charts, we have a lot to get through today. So we’d better make the most of the time we’ve got.” Leaning over the charts he began to study them, and her, more closely.
It was 17.45hrs, the rain was much heavier now, the clouds staying low and menacing as Dillon stood in the doorway of the wooden hut, and peered out across the field. Every now and then a fork of lightening would appear somewhere in the distance. Dan Parker and Steve Rainer came out of the hanger and walked toward him.
The tall-distinguished looking man in the suit said, “Romerez tells me that you’re going to fly, can you really expect to take off in this weather?”
“The problem is not taking off, it’s the landing, now that will be fun.” Dillon called over to Fernandes, “Is everything set?”
Fernandes sauntered as far as the hanger entrance wiping his hands on an oily rag, he looked out, standing just inside and keeping well out of the rain. He called over to where the three men stood under the canopy of the hut. “Yes Senor, both fuel tanks are full and everything is working perfectly.”
“And what about this?” Dillon asked Steve Rainer, pointing up to the dark sky.
Looking up towards the thick black clouds the bearded man said gloomily. “As of thirty minutes ago, the short range weather forecast for this region is the same as was earlier today. This is here to stay for at least the next twelve to twenty four hours and it’s going to get far worse before it gets better, have no doubts about that.”
“Excellent news, then let’s get this show on the road shall we?” Dillon said cheerfully and walked over to the hanger entrance, Fernandes gave him a sullen look of contempt as he passed by towards the Skyhawk.
He climbed into the interior and started to go through a series of pre-flight checks. Looking around the cabin everything appeared to be in order. Stepping out of the small aircraft, Dillon checked that both fuel tanks were full, and did the same with the engine oil. Walking once around the Skyhawk he inspected the condition of the airframe, wings, rudder, and ailerons. This done he climbed back into the cabin to find Romerez already sat in the co-pilot’s seat running through the instrument checklist.
Dan Parker came over as Dillon settled into the pilot’s seat. “Good luck Agent Romerez and may God go with you, Mr Dillon.”
“I very much doubt that Agent Parker, but I suppose that there’s always a slim chance that he may.” And he closed the door and clamped it in place.
He turned the starter switch, and the engine coughed, roaring into life. Romerez set the GPS navigation system, while Dillon checked that the oil pressure was correct, and that both magnetos were ok, with a quick pull back on the controls to make sure they were full and free moving. Dillon then set the channel frequency to the one Dan Parker had given him to monitor the Cuban Air Force, and then switched the radio off. He checked the brakes and then throttled up gently, easing the small aircraft forward.
Outside the hanger he paused to strap himself in. Rain streamed off his windscreen, as he did one last instrument check, and then taxied to the other end of the runway to turn the aircraft’s nose into the wind. He glanced across at Romerez, and then pushed the throttle lever fully forward. The single engine roar deepening as he boosted the power. Thundering down the bumpy grass strip, he checked his speed, sixty and seventy, eighty knots. Rotate, he said to himself, and then gently pulled back the stick, within seconds the Cessna had disappeared in a southerly direction into the stormy Florida sky, the sound of the engine already fading.