Cat crouched and fired five more rounds.
Hedger peered through binoculars. “Better. That’s a fair grouping, but they’re all in the upper right-hand corner of the target. Squeeze, don’t pull, remember?”
Cat fired five more rounds and began reloading the clip from a box of cartridges furnished by Hedger from a cupboard while Hedger pulled the target back.
“Much better,” Hedger said. “In the middle of the target. Now you have to get the grouping smaller.”
Cat shot for nearly an hour, becoming more and more comfortable with the pistol, accepting Hedger’s pointers.
Finally, Hedger seemed satisfied. He took a leather and canvas grip from the ammunition cupboard. “Here’s something that will be of use,” he said, opening the grip. Pressing at the sides of the bottom panel, he lifted the panel out and exposed a shallow compartment. “There’s room here for your weapon and ammo. Don’t carry it through airport security, though.”
“Thanks,” Cat said. “I’ll try and remember that.”
Hedger walked over to a counter and found some cleaning equipment behind it. As Cat watched he effortlessly fieldstripped the weapon and began carefully cleaning it.
“You know,” Hedger said, looking only at the pistol, “I hated your guts for a long time.”
Cat said nothing.
“You whipped my ass more ways than one at Quantico, and I didn’t like it.”
“I’m afraid I liked it more than I should have,” Cat said, apologetically. “I’m sorry.”
“No need to be,” Hedger said. “It made me tougher, later, when I needed to be tougher.” He went on cleaning the weapon in silence, then reassembled it and handed it to Cat. “I admire what you’re doing down here, what you’re about to do. I’d like to think if I were in your place, I’d do the same. I wish you luck, Cat.”
It was the first time Hedger had ever called him by his first name, Cat reflected. He took the offered hand and shook it.
26
Cat opened the aluminum camera case and counted out ninety stacks of a hundred one-hundred-dollar bills — nine hundred thousand dollars. He set Barry Hedger’s canvas-and-leather grip on the desk and opened it, then removed the false bottom. He loaded one of the three clips into the H&K automatic pistol, arranged it in the compartment with the other clips, the shoulder holster, and the silencer, then loaded Bluey’s .357 Magnum and tried it for size. There was barely enough room in the compartment for the second pistol and no room for the box of cartridges. Cat found a roll of cellophane tape and managed to fit another dozen cartridges into odd spaces. He replaced the false bottom and stacked the money in the case. It was still only about half full, so he put some shirts on top of the money, and Barry Hedger’s high-tech portable radio on top of those.
He still had another million dollars in the camera case, and he was beginning to feel a little foolish about it. It was fortunate that he had misunderstood Bluey about how much money to bring; at least he had had the “franchise fee” when he needed it. Still, the other million dollars was something of a burden. He had thought of it, so far, as only a lot of paper, but now he remembered that the extra million represented everything he owned, except the house and the company stock. He dismissed the thought from his mind. If it took that to get Jinx back, so be it. He was going to have enough to occupy him without worrying about the money. He thought of leaving it in the hotel safe and coming back for it, but there was always the chance, he reckoned, that it might come in handy. He closed the camera case and spun the combination lock. His wristwatch said seven o’clock.
Cat checked out of the hotel and got a taxi to the airfield. The flying school was deserted, and Meg was nowhere in sight. It was just as well, he decided. He wanted her with him, but now he was heading into a situation where he might be better off alone, without having to worry about her safety.
At the airfield, he threw his bags into the back seat of the airplane, then got out the little stepladder and checked the wing tanks. They were full, and so was the auxiliary tank in the luggage compartment. He gave the airplane a thorough preflight inspection and added a quart of oil. Then he got into the airplane, pulled out his charts and flight plan, and rechecked all his figures — courses, distance, and fuel. Everything tallied with the flight planning he had done the night before. He had a weather forecast from Eldorado Flight Services, and with the help of an English-speaking staffer, he had filed an instrument flight plan, something he had never done before. What the hell, he thought, his bogus Ellis license said he was instrument-rated.
It was a little after eight o’clock now, and there was nothing else to do but leave. Suddenly, he felt terribly alone. There were eight hundred miles of mountains and jungle to cross, and nowhere to put the airplane down in an emergency. Up until now he had had the help of, first, Bluey, then Meg, then Hedger, Gomez, and Bergman, but now he was on his own. For a small moment, he wanted to run — abandon the airplane, leave Hedger, Bergman, and Prince to their own devices. But he couldn’t forget Jinx. He had no way of being sure that she was where he was going, but if there was even a chance she was there, then he would be there, too. He took a couple of deep breaths. Meg was nowhere to be seen, and he had to take off on time or have his flight plan canceled.
Feeling hollow inside in spite of a good breakfast, he picked up his checklist and started to work through it: seat belt and shoulder harness fastened; doors closed; radios and navigation aids set to correct frequencies; cowl flaps open; avionics power switch off; circuit breakers in; mixture rich; propeller control in; carburetor heat off; prime engine; master switch on; area clear — he made a sweep of the area to make sure nobody was standing near the prop. As he turned to his right, he jumped: Meg’s face was framed in the window. She rapped on the glass.
He opened the door; she tossed her bags into the back seat, climbed in, and kissed him on the neck. “Sorry I’m late; you weren’t going to leave without me, were you?”
“I was,” he said, “and I still think I should.”
She looked hurt. “You don’t want me along?”
He shook his head. “It isn’t that. It’s because of you I’ve gotten this far. I don’t have time to explain the whole thing right now — I’ve got to make a time window or they’ll cancel my flight plan. All I can tell you is that if you come with me, there’s an awfully good chance that neither of us will get out of it alive, and I don’t think I should ask you to take that risk. I hope you’ll believe that I’m not exaggerating.”
She cocked her head to one side. “Listen, sport,” she said, “I expect I’ve been in more tight spots than you the past few years, and I’m still in one piece. I’ll stay that way — don’t worry about me.”
“I’ll explain on the way,” he said. “We can always part company in Leticia.” He looked around the airplane again, opened his window, and shouted, “CLEAR!” He turned the key, and the engine coughed, then came to life. They both slipped on their headsets, and he continued with his checklist. There was no control tower to call, so he taxied to the end of the runway and stopped. He throttled up to 1,700 rpms and did his run-up checks. Finally, all was ready. He craned his neck to see the skies around him — no incoming traffic — then taxied onto the runway. It was shorter than what he was accustomed to, but plenty long enough — 1,000 meters. Mixture — full rich. He announced his takeoff to any possible traffic in the area, then shoved in the throttle. The airplane began to roll. Cat watched the airspeed, waiting for sixty knots, when the airplane could be flown off. The needle rose to forty, then forty-five knots, but it seemed to be moving upward very slowly. The airplane had used up three-quarters of the runway when Cat realized they were not going to make it.