Giuseppe Petacchi, the late Giuseppe Petacchi, had been well chosen. At the age of eighteen he had been co-pilot of a Fockewulf 200 from the Adriatic anti-submarine patrol, one of the few hand-picked Italian airmen who had been allowed to handle these German planes. The group was issued with the latest German pressure mines charged with the new Hexogen explosive just when the tide had turned in the Allied2 battle up the spine3 of Italy. Petacchi had known where his destiny lay and had gone into business for himself. On a routine patrol, he had shot the pilot and the navigator, very carefully, with one .38 bullet in the back of the head for each of them, and had brought the big plane skimming in, just above the waves to avoid the antiaircraft fire, to the harbor of Bari. Then he had hung his shirt out of the cockpit as a token of surrender and had waited for the R.A.F. launch. He had been decorated by the English and the Americans for this exploit and had been awarded ￡10,000 from special funds for his presentation to the Allies of the pressure mine. He had told a highly colored story to the Intelligence people of having been a one-man resistance ever since he had been old enough to join the Italian Air Force, and he emerged at the end of the war as one of Italy's most gallant4 resistance heroes. From then on life had been easy-pilot and later captain in Alitalia when it got going again, and then back into the new Italian Air Force as colonel. His secondment to NATO followed and then his appointment as one of the six Italians chosen for the Advance Striking Force. But he was now thirty-four, and it occurred to him that he had had just about enough of flying. He especially did not care for the idea of being part of the spearhead of NATO defenses. It was time for younger men to provide the heroics. And all his life he had had a passion for owning things-flashy, exciting, expensive things. He had most of what he desired-a couple of gold cigarette cases, a solid gold Rolex Oyster6 Perpetual Chronometer7 on a flexible gold bracelet8, a white convertible9 Lancia Gran Turismo, plenty of sharp clothes, and all the girls he wanted (he had once been briefly10 married but it had not been a success). Now he desired, and what he desired he often got, a particular Ghia-bodied 3500 G.T. Maserati he had seen at the Milan motor show. He also wanted Out-out of the pale green corridors of NATO, out of the Air Force, and, therefore, off to new worlds with a new name. Rio de Janeiro sounded just right. But all this meant a new passport, plenty of money, and ?organismo?-the vital ?organismo.?
The organismo turned up, and turned up bearing just those gifts that Petacchi lusted11 for. It came in the shape of an Italian named Fonda who was at that time No. 4 in SPECTRE and who had been casing the personnel of NATO, via Versailles and Paris night clubs and restaurants, for just such a man. It had taken one whole very careful month to prepare the bait and inch it forward toward the fish and, when it was finally presented, No. 4 had been almost put off by the greed with which it had been gobbled. There was delay while the possibility of a double-cross was probed by SPECTRE, but finally all the lights were green and the full proposition was laid out for inspection12. Petacchi was to get on the Vindicator13 training course and highjack the plane. (There was no mention of atomic weapons. This was a Cuban revolutionary group who wanted to call attention to its existence and aims by a dramatic piece of self-advertisement. Petacchi closed his ears to this specious14 tale. He didn't mind in the least who wanted the plane so long as he was paid.) In exchange, Petacchi would receive $1,000,000, a new passport in any name and nationality he chose, and immediate15 onward16 passage from the point of delivery to Rio de Janeiro. Many details were discussed and perfected, and when, at eight o'clock in the evening of that June 2nd, the Vindicator screamed off down the runway and out over St. Alban's Head, Petacchi was tense but confident.
For the training flights, a couple of ordinary civil aircraft seats had been fixed17 inside the roomy fuselage just back of the large cockpit, and Petacchi sat quietly for a whole hour and watched the five men at work at the crowded dials and instruments. When it came to his turn to fly the plane he was quite satisfied that he could dispense18 with all five of them. Once he had set George, there would be nothing to do but stay awake and make certain from time to time that he was keeping exactly at 32,000 feet, just above the transatlantic air channel. There would be a tricky19 moment when he turned off the east-west channel on to the North-South for the Bahamas, but this had all been worked out for him and every move he would have to make was written down in the notebook in his breast pocket. The landing was going to need very steady nerves, but for $1,000,000 the steady nerves would be summoned.
For the tenth time Petacchi consulted the Rolex. Now! He verified and tested the oxygen mask in the bulkhead beside him and laid it down ready. Next he took the little red-ringed cylinder20 out of his pocket and remembered exactly how many turns to give the release valve. Then he put it back in his pocket and went through into the cockpit.
?Hullo, Seppy. Enjoying the flight?? The pilot liked the Italian. They had gone out together on one or two majestic21 thrashes in Bournemouth.
?Sure, sure.? Petacchi asked some questions, verified the course set on George, checked the air speed and altitude. Now everyone in the cockpit was relaxed, almost drowsy22. Five more hours to go. Rather a bind23 missing North by Northwest at the Odeon. But one would catch up with it at Southampton. Petacchi stood with his back to the metal map rack that held the log and the charts. His right hand went to his pocket, felt for the release valve, and gave it three complete turns. He eased the cylinder out of his pocket and slipped it behind him and down behind the books.
Petacchi stretched and yawned. ?Is time for a zizz,? he said amiably24. He had got the slang phrase pat. It rolled easily off the tongue.
The navigator laughed. ?What do they call it in Italian-Zizzo??
Petacchi grinned cheerfully. He went through the open hatch, got back to his chair, clamped on his oxygen mask, and turned the control regulator to 100 per cent oxygen to cut out the air bleed. Then he made himself comfortable and watched.
They had said it would take under five minutes. Sure enough, in about two minutes, the man nearest to the map rack, the navigator, suddenly clutched his throat and fell forward, gargling horribly. The radio operator dropped his earphones and started forward, but with his second step he was down on his knees. He lurched sideways and collapsed25. Now the three other men began to fight for air, briefly, terribly. The co-pilot and the flight engineer writhed26 off their stools together. They clawed vaguely27 at each other and then fell back, spread-eagled. The pilot groped up toward the microphone above his head, said something indistinctly, got half to his feet, turned slowly so that his bulging28 eyes, already dead, seemed to stare through the hatchway into Petacchi's, and then thudded down on top of the body of his co-pilot.
Petacchi glanced at his watch. Four minutes flat. Give them one more minute. When the minute was up, he took rubber gloves out of his pocket, put them on, and, pressing the oxygen mask tight against his face and trailing the flexible tube behind him, went forward, reached down into the map rack, and closed the valve on the cylinder of cyanide. He verified George and adjusted the cabin pressurization to help clear the poison gas. He then went back to his seat to wait for fifteen minutes.
They had said fifteen would be enough, but at the last moment he gave it another ten and then, still with his oxygen mask on, he went forward again and began slowly, for the oxygen made him rather breathless, to pull the bodies back into the fuselage. When the cockpit was clear, he took a small phial of crystals out of his trousers pocket, took out the cork29, and sprinkled the cabin floor with them. He went down on his knees and watched the crystals. They kept their white color. He eased his oxygen mask away and took a small cautious sniff30. There was no smell. But still, when he took over the controls and began easing the plane down to 32,000 and then slightly northwest-by-west to get into the traffic lane, he kept the mask on.
The giant plane whispered on into the night. The cockpit, bright with the yellow eyes of the dials, was quiet and warm. In the deafening31 silence in the cockpit of a big jet in flight there was only the faint buzz of an invector. As he verified the dials, the click of each switch seemed as loud as a small-caliber pistol shot.
Petacchi again checked George with the gyro and verified each fuel tank to see that they were all feeding evenly. One tank pump needed adjustment. The jet-pipe temperatures were not overheating.
Satisfied, Petacchi settled himself comfortably in the pilot's seat and swallowed a benezedrine tablet and thought about the future. One of the headphones scattered32 on the floor of the cockpit began to chirrup loudly. Petacchi glanced at his watch. Of course! Boscombe Air Traffic Control was trying to raise the Vindicator. He had missed the third of the half-hourly calls. How long would Air Control wait before alerting Air Sea Rescue, Bomber33 Command, and the Air Ministry34? There Would first be checks and double-checks with the Southern Rescue Center. They would probably take another half hour, and by that time he would be well out over the Atlantic.
The chirrup of the headphones went quiet. Petacchi got up from his seat and took a look at the radar35 screen. He watched it for some time, noting the occasional ?blip? of planes being overhauled36 below him. Would his own swift passage above the air corridor be noted37 by the planes as he passed above them? Unlikely. The radar on commercial planes has a limited field of vision in a forward cone38. He would almost certainly not be spotted39 until he crossed the Defense5 Early Warning line, and DEW would probably put him down as a commercial jet that had strayed above its normal channel.
Petacchi went back to the pilot's seat and again minutely checked the dials. He weaved the plane gently to get the feel of the controls. Behind him, the bodies on the floor of the fuselage stirred uneasily. The plane answered perfectly40. It was like driving a beautiful quiet motor car. Petacchi dreamed briefly of the Maserati. What color? Better not his usual white, or anything spectacular. Dark blue with a thin red line along the coachwork. Something quiet and respectable that would fit in with his new, quiet identity. It would be fun to run her in some of the trials and road races-even the Mexican ?2000.? But that would be too dangerous. Supposing he won and his picture got into the papers! No. He would have to cut out anything like that. He would only drive the car really fast when he wanted to get a girl. They melted in a fast car. Why was that? The sense of surrender to the machine, to the man whose strong, sunburned hands were on the wheel? But it was always so. You turned the car into a wood after ten minutes at 150 and you would almost have to lift the girl out and lay her down on the moss41, her limbs would be so trembling and soft.
Petacchi pulled himself out of the daydream42. He glanced at his watch. The Vindicator was already four hours out. At 600 m.p.h. one certainly covered the miles. The coastline of America should be on the screen by now. He got up and had a look. Yes, there, 500 miles away, was the coastline map already in high definition, the bulge43 that was Boston, and the silvery creek44 of the Hudson River. No need to check his position with weather ships Delta45 or Echo that would be somewhere below him. He was dead on course and it would soon be time to turn off the East-West channel.
Petacchi went back to his seat, munched46 another benezedrine tablet, and consulted his chart. He got his hands to the controls and watched the eerie47 glow of the gyro compass. Now! He eased the controls gently round in a fairly tight curve, then he flattened48 out again, edged the plane exactly on to its new course, and reset49 George. Now he was flying due south, now he was on the last lap, a bare three hours to go. It was time to start worrying about the landing.
Petacchi took out his little notebook. ?Watch for the lights of Grand Bahama to port, and Palm Beach to starboard. Be ready to pick up the navigational aids from No. 1's yacht-dot-dot-dash; dot-dot-dash, jettison50 fuel, lose height to around 1000 feet for the last quarter of an hour, kill speed with the air brakes, and lose more height. Watch out for the flashing red beacon51 and prepare for the final approach. Flaps down only at the check altitude with about 140 knots indicated. Depth of water will be 40 feet. You will have plenty of time to get out of the escape hatch. You will be taken on board No. 1's yacht. There is a Bahamas Airways52 flight to Miami at 8:30 on the next morning and then Braniff or Real Airlines for the rest of the way. No. 1 will give you the money in 1000-dollar bills or in Travellers Cheques. He will have both available, also the passport in the name of Enrico Valli, Company Director.?
Petacchi checked his position, course, and speed. Only one more hour to go. It was three a.m. G.M.T., nine p.m. Nassau time. A full moon was coming up and the carpet of clouds 10,000 feet below was a snow-field. Petacchi dowsed the collision lights on his wingtips and fuselage. He checked the fuel: 2000 gallons including the reserve tanks. He would need 500 for the last four hundred miles. He pulled the release valve on the reserve tanks and lost 1000 gallons. With the loss of weight the plane began to climb slowly and he corrected back to 32,000. Now there was twenty minutes to go-time to begin the long descent. . . .
***
Down through the cloud base, the moments of blindness and then, far below, the sparse53 lights of North and South Bimini winked54 palely against the silver sheen of the moon on the quiet sea. There were no whitecaps. The met. report he had picked up from Vero Beach on the American mainland had been right: ?Dead calm, light airs from the northeast, visibility good, no immediate likelihood of change,? and a check on the fainter Nassau Radio had confirmed. The sea looked as smooth and as solid as steel. This was going to be all right. Petacchi dialed Channel 67 on the pilot's command set to pick up No. 1's navigational aid. He had a moment's panic when he didn't hit it at once, but then he got it, faint but clear-dot-dot-dash, dot-dot-dash. It was time to get right down. Petacchi began to kill his speed with the air brakes and cut down the four jets. The great plane began a shallow dive. The radio altimeter became vocal55, threatening. Petacchi watched it and the sea of quicksilver below him. He had a moment when the horizon was lost. There was so much reflection off the moonlit water. Then he was on and over a small dark island. It gave him confidence in the 2000 feet indicated on the altimeter. He pulled out of the shallow dive and held the plane steady.
Now No. 1's beacon was coming in loud and clear. Soon he would see the red flashing light. And there it was, perhaps five miles dead ahead. Petacchi inched the great nose of the plane down. Any moment now! It was going to be easy! His fingers played with the controls as delicately as if they were the erotic trigger points on a woman. Five hundred feet, four hundred, three, two . . . There was the pale shape of the yacht, lights dowsed. He was dead on line with the red flash of the beacon. Would he hit it? Never mind. Inch her down, down, down. Be ready to switch off at once. The belly56 of the plane gave a jolt57. Up with the nose! Crash! A leap in the air and then . . . crash again! Petacchi unhinged his cramped58 fingers from the controls, and gazed numbly59 out of the window at the foam60 and small waves. By God he had done it! He, Giuseppe Petacchi, had done it! Now for the applause! Now for the rewards! The plane was settling slowly and there was a hiss61 of steam from the submerging jets. From behind him came the rip and crack of tearing metal as the tail section gaped62 open where the back of the plane had broken. Petacchi went through into the fuselage. The water swirled63 around his feet. The filtering moonlight glittered white on the upturned face of one of the corpses64 now soggily awash at the rear of the plane. Petacchi broke the perspex cover to the handle of the port side emergency exit and jerked the handle down. The door fell outward and Petacchi stepped through and walked out along the wing.
The big jolly-boat was almost up with the plane. There were six men in it. Petacchi waved and shouted delightedly. One man raised a hand in reply. The faces of the men, milk-white under the moon, looked up at him quietly, curiously65. Petacchi thought: These men are very serious, very businesslike. It is right so. He swallowed his triumph and also looked grave.
The boat came alongside the wing, now almost awash, and one man climbed up on to the wing and walked toward him. He was a short, thick man with a very direct gaze. He walked carefully, his feet well apart and his knees flexed66 to keep his balance. His left hand was hooked in his belt.
Petacchi said happily, ?Good evening. Good evening. I am delivering one plane in good condition.? (He had thought the joke out long before.) ?Please sign here.? He held out his hand.
The man from the jolly-boat took the hand in a strong grasp, braced67 himself, and pulled sharply. Petacchi's head was flung back by the quick jerk and he was looking full into the eyes of the moon as the stiletto flashed up and under the offered chin, through the roof of the mouth, into the brain. He knew nothing but a moment's surprise, a sear of pain, and an explosion of brilliant light.
The killer68 held in the knife for a moment, the back of hand feeling the stubble on Petacchi's chin, then lowered the body onto the wing and withdrew the knife. He carefully rinsed69 the knife in the sea water and wiped the blade on Petacchi's back and put the knife away. Then he hauled the body along the wing and thrust it under water beside the escape hatch.
The killer waded70 back along the wing to the waiting jolly-boat and laconically71 raised a thumb. By now four of the men had pulled on their aqualungs. One by one, with a last adjustment of their mouthpieces, they clumsily heaved themselves over the side of the rocking boat and sank in a foam of small bubbles. When the last man had gone, the mechanic at the engine carefully lowered a huge underwater searchlight over the side and paid out the cable. At a given moment he switched the light on and the sea and the great sinking hulk of the plane were lit up with a mist of luminescence. The mechanic slipped the idling motor into gear and backed away, paying out cable as he went. At twenty yards, out of range of the suction of the sinking plane, he stopped and switched off his engine. He reached into his overalls72 and took out a packet of Camels. He offered one to the killer, who took it, broke it carefully in half, put one half behind his ear, and lit the other half. The killer was a man who rigidly73 controlled his weaknesses.
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1
hitch
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| v.免费搭(车旅行)；系住；急提；n.故障；急拉 | |
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allied
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| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
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spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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6
oyster
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| n.牡蛎；沉默寡言的人 | |
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7
chronometer
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| n.精密的计时器 | |
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8
bracelet
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| n.手镯，臂镯 | |
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convertible
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| adj.可改变的，可交换，同意义的；n.有活动摺篷的汽车 | |
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10
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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11
lusted
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| 贪求（lust的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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vindicator
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| n.维护者，辩护者，辩明者 | |
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14
specious
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| adj.似是而非的；adv.似是而非地 | |
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15
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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16
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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17
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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18
dispense
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| vt.分配，分发；配(药)，发(药)；实施 | |
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19
tricky
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| adj.狡猾的，奸诈的；(工作等)棘手的，微妙的 | |
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cylinder
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| n.圆筒，柱(面)，汽缸 | |
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21
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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23
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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24
amiably
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| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
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25
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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bulging
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| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
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cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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30
sniff
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| vi.嗅…味道；抽鼻涕；对嗤之以鼻，蔑视 | |
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31
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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32
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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33
bomber
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| n.轰炸机，投弹手，投掷炸弹者 | |
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ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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35
radar
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| n.雷达，无线电探测器 | |
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36
overhauled
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| v.彻底检查( overhaul的过去式和过去分词 )；大修；赶上；超越 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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cone
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| n.圆锥体，圆锥形东西，球果 | |
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spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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41
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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42
daydream
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| v.做白日梦，幻想 | |
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43
bulge
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| n.突出，膨胀，激增；vt.突出，膨胀 | |
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44
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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45
delta
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| n.（流的）角洲 | |
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46
munched
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47
eerie
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| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
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48
flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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49
reset
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| v.重新安排，复位；n.重新放置；重放之物 | |
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50
jettison
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| n.投弃，投弃货物 | |
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51
beacon
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| n.烽火，（警告用的）闪火灯，灯塔 | |
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52
AIRWAYS
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| 航空公司 | |
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53
sparse
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| adj.稀疏的，稀稀落落的，薄的 | |
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54
winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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55
vocal
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| adj.直言不讳的；嗓音的；n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
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56
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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57
jolt
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| v.（使）摇动，（使）震动，（使）颠簸 | |
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cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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59
numbly
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| adv.失去知觉，麻木 | |
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60
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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61
hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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62
gaped
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| v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的过去式和过去分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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63
swirled
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64
corpses
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| n.死尸，尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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flexed
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| adj.[医]曲折的，屈曲v.屈曲( flex的过去式和过去分词 )；弯曲；（为准备大干而）显示实力；摩拳擦掌 | |
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67
braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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68
killer
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| n.杀人者，杀人犯，杀手，屠杀者 | |
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69
rinsed
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| v.漂洗( rinse的过去式和过去分词 )；冲洗；用清水漂洗掉（肥皂泡等）；（用清水）冲掉 | |
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waded
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71
laconically
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| adv.简短地，简洁地 | |
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72
overalls
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| n.（复）工装裤；长罩衣 | |
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73
rigidly
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| adv.刻板地，僵化地 | |
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