The Blackbirder (25 page)

Blaike suggested, “You'd better stop that mourning. He wasn't worth a damn. You'll make yourself sick.”

She said only, “Death is so permanent.” She had loved him always, beyond need of forgiving.

Schein announced, “We are going now. You"— the gun pointed at Blaike—"you, Mr. R.A.F., will pilot the plane.”

“All of us?” Blaike asked carelessly.

“You, me. The girl?”

“She is very rich,” Popin whispered.

Schein decided. “She may be of some use.”

“Popin?” Blaike raised an eyebrow.

“We do not need him.”

The beard shook in terror. “I too am useful. See how useful I have been to Fran. See— I can help.” He quivered. “I don't want to be left behind. Heil Hitler! I will help you in many ways.”

Schein pointed the gun.

Popin screamed, “No!” He flung his arm up over his face.

Blaike said, “Might as well take him along. He can be useful when he isn't too scared.”

Schein scorned but he turned the gun away, back to Blaike. “Now,” he ordered.

Blaike leaned back against the couch. “And suppose I refuse to pilot you. You needn't jab that gun in my direction, you can't frighten me. And if you kill me you won't ever get away. The Manhattan police will get you on Maxl's death. The F.B.I. will get you as the Blackbirder's receiver in New York. And for that pro-Nazi beer garden you ran, yes, and impersonating an officer of the government— ”

Schein's face was fury. “You did not fool me, not once. I knew you were of the F.B.I.”

“But you couldn't find out from any of your spies because I wasn't on the books, eh? I'm not on them. I'll tell you that much. So it's better you believe I'm from the R.A.F. and that you can bully me into taking the plane up. And once we're in the air with your gun at my spine, I'll protect my own life by flying the course you order, yes? It won't work, Bertie. The F.B.I. will be here at any moment. Even if you leave them four corpses you'll still be caught. But I don't believe you are going to shoot. The minute you do you'll cut off any chance, however faint, of convincing me I should perform as your pilot.”

“The F.B.I. will not be here,” Schein smiled slowly. “They wait in Tesuque for a call from you. There will be no call. Because Papa Popin's telephone wires are not yet fixed.”

“That is so,” Popin spread his hands. “The company it has too little help and it is very hard to get the materials. The storm did great damage.”

“So you are here, Mr. Blaike,” Schein said, “and I have the gun. It kills well. If you are F.B.I. or if you are R.A.F. makes no difference. You will choose to help me.”

“I don't,” Blaike said.

Schein was patient. “You will now be patriotic, hein? It does not impress me.” There was cruelty deepening under his eyes. “For each man his price. I do not offer you death. I offer you the girl to go free— or that she die. You know Maxl was following her in New York. You know why? There are those in Paris who would have her delivered. Perhaps if I kill you I do not go free. But I will make certain before I am captive that she is in the hands of those who will return her to Paris. To death in Paris. Not pleasantly.” His smile was animal. “We know ways of death. Unpleasant ways.”

Blaike's words were choked back in his throat. He hesitated. She didn't. She lifted the candelabra and flung its burning flares into Schein's gross face. He howled, the gun falling as his hands went up to protect his eyes. It slid almost to her feet. She picked it up quickly, held it pointed at him. She kept it steady while Blaike stamped on the rug, Schein beat at his coat.

Only when she spoke did they look at her. “I'm tired of violence.” There was no feeling in her voice nor in her spirit. Not even the ache of remembrance remained. She was empty. “I'm tired of violence and threats and bullying. Stay where you are.” She fired as she spoke, not to kill, to stay the burly man. The sudden pain that nauseated his face meant nothing to her. His hand clawed at his elbow. “Sit down,” she said.

He swayed back into the chair. The first drops of blood were already dripping from under the sleeve, past his wrist, onto his lifeless palm.

She didn't care. She said, “I'm tired of all the hate and the viciousness and the brutality that you and your kind have generated. I'm tired of the godness you have assumed, the death you have dared impose. You will die too, Schein. Many others like you will die. Not pleasantly. Because what you have done deserves neither justice nor mercy, only retribution.”

Blaike broke in quietly: “The phone is actually out, Popin?”

“Yes, but— ”

“I know. I saw him. Will you call?”

Popin raised up in the chair.

Julie ordered, “Stay there. Is it Quincy?” At the nod her voice lifted his name. She waited until the Indian came to the door. The gun still covered the three men near her.

Blaike said, “Quincy, there are men in Tesuque who must come here at once. They are from the F.B.I. You understand F.B.I.?”

Quincy looked to Popin.

Julie said, “Do as this man says. Get there quickly.”

The Indian kept his eyes stolidly on Popin.

She urged, “It's all right. If you doubt, ask your cousin Porfiro of the girl who stayed at his father's house. Say that she tells you it is right. There is a car?”

Popin capitulated. “You may take the car, Quincy.” His eyes scuttled to Schein. He still didn't know who would win. “Hurry.”

He waited until the Indian went out. “Quincy is on my side, to protect me. Never is he to leave me when strangers are here, not unless I say.” His words tumbled., “I did not dare do other than what Fran said. He brought me to this country away from the Gestapo. I did not dare offend him or he would give me to the authorities. But always I have been on your side, the American side. I will show you. I have kept records of everyone who came here, the name, where they should go, what they should do. Fran did not know but these records I have kept.”

There was the sound of a car whirring away.

“I knew the time would come. He ordered Maxl's death. Because Maxl wanted money. He killed Jacques because, after Julie came, Jacques refused to help longer. Jacques did not understand she had to die because she would spoil the business. And there was the money. He would kill me next because it was I who introduced to him Maxl. I must be protected, so I have kept the records for the F.B.I.— ”

Julie interrupted quietly. “You can tell him all about it while you're waiting for his men. I'm leaving now. Sit back, Blaike. I'm not afraid to use this again. I'm going. I've done what you wanted. I don't want to be locked up. I've changed my mind about that. There are too many important things that I, I alone, must see to.”

“Running away again?” Blaike's mouth twisted.

“No. I'm going back. I'm going back to watch Paul pay.” Her mouth was bitter. “I'm going to tell him Fran is dead— and how he died.” And after that, she too would kill. She would kill Paul. She had known for a long time that it was what must be done. She had tried to run from the knowledge but she had known always that she must return, to kill, and be killed. It was her right.

“You won't get far.”

“One thing you don't know. Fran taught me as well as Jacques how to pilot his plane. You've cleared the Blackbirder over the border. Once I'm there I'll find a way back to Paris. It can't be more difficult than escape was. You have a gun? Don't reach for it. If Schein rallies you may need it. Put your hands now above your shoulders. You too, Popin. Keep them there until I have gone. Don't follow, please. I shoot straight. Fran taught me that too.” She caught her bag, gloves, and hat in her left hand. “There wouldn't be much point in our killing each other, Blaike. Schein and Popin are more important than I. You know that. There's no way I can help you now. And it couldn't help anyone much for me to be interned.”

She kept the gun trained on them as she backed to the door, continued backing through the dining-room and into the kitchen. She locked the kitchen door behind her, a slight delay if he were foolish enough to follow.

Once outside she ran, up the path into the woods, not attempting to avoid clumps of snow. In the clearing beyond, the plane glistened darkly under the moon. She climbed into the cockpit; there was an automatic starter.

She turned the engine to warm.

Fran's gloves, helmet and jacket lay on the seat. His papers were in the jacket pocket. She closed her eyes. She could not be weak now. She removed her coat, laid her things inside. She put on his. She stood outside the door, her gun trained on the blackness at the edge of the woods. There was no movement there. None of the three men back at the house would trust the other.

This waiting was endless. But it would take Quincy at least twenty minutes to go to Tesuque and return.

When the motors throbbed reassurance, she climbed inside, closed the door. She taxied the small cleared field. The stick was sure to her hand. The plane roared, rose skyward. She circled, set the automatic controls, headed south. Radio communication. She pulled off the helmet, put on the earphones.

She was passing over Albuquerque. Not more than fifteen minutes. Quincy and the F.B.I. assistants wouldn't be back at the house yet. But Blaike would still be in control. Popin had already turned his coat. Schein couldn't attack. One hour, two hours, the way seemed long.

There was hatred to feed her mind. Hatred of the evil which had been loosed by a beast in an iniquitous land. Hatred of war. Hatred of Paul who had bequeathed decadence to a small dark boy. Fran had been given no stars, nothing but things. And the little boy grew up empty, without knowledge, without spirit. For that alone, Paul deserved death. Fran would have killed her. He didn't want to; he'd tried to keep her away. But after she found him, she had to die. Because she was his wife, because it was the only way to be rid of her— and retain the Marlebone fortune.

Things. There was no hatred for him in her. Only grief. There hadn't yet been time for love to die; with the whole heart given, love couldn't die.
Whatsoever you are, my heart shall truly love you... .
Words could say truths beyond truth. Three hours. She should be approaching El Paso, over the border then, not landing at the Bly field marked on Fran's course, flying unchartered on to Mexico City.

The radio crackled in her ears. It was directing her to land. Army orders. Her hand tightened at the controls. She could run for it. But there were anti-aircraft guns below, there were planes ready to take off, these were war times. She must be above the Army field. They wouldn't hesitate to shoot down an unidentified craft. Surely they must know the black plane of Kent Bly.

Yet the orders continued. She must land. Blaike might have countermanded clearance but he couldn't be here. She'd brazened her way out of tighter places. She could convince. She looked at her watch, spoke automatically. “One one seven— one one seven— approaching field to tower— landing clearance, please.” She listened to directions, circled the field. Her landing was easy. No indication of tensity. If they refused clearance, she would find another way once she was hidden in the city. On a border there were always ways.

She sat quietly in the cockpit, waited until the men came to the door. They were two young soldiers. She opened, took her coat over her arm, her other belongings.

One of the soldiers was saying, “Jeeze, it's a woman.”

She smiled a little. “I don't understand. I took the pilot's place tonight at Mr. Bly's request. I understood I had clearance. The papers are here.”

The one private said, “I don't know about that, ma'am. All we had was orders to spot the black plane.”

“I'm sure there's a mistake. If you'll just speak to the commanding officer.”

The other one said, “You'll have to speak to him. At HQ.”

She didn't want to leave the plane. She must get away before Blaike followed. Despite the gun still in her pocket, there was nothing to do but accompany these boys. Quietly. The wind wasn't cold but it blew dark and wild as they crossed the field. There was an army truck waiting.

“Might as well sit up front with us. More comfortable.”

One offered her a cigarette. They weren't suspicious.

HQ was dim, only the light over the sentry at the door, at one window. She walked with the soldiers into the building, into the office.

A thin lieutenant was on duty. He asked, “Julie Guille?”

She began patiently, “I don't understand, Lieutenant. I had permission from the War Department to fly tonight.” Her mouth was dry. “Spike wasn't able to make it.”

“I don't know anything about this, Miss Guille. You're to see Major Cochrane. This way.” He led her through another room, snapping on lights as he went, out and across a dim corridor, into yet another room. “If you'll wait here.”

She smiled at him. He left and her smile thinned. There was a cot, a table with magazines, two chairs. She waited and then she tried the door. It was locked. She went quickly to the window, lifted the shade. A sentry, rifle on shoulder, paced below. She opened the window a little, redrew the shade. She walked to the center of room, slowly removed the jacket.

She was trapped again. The gun she transferred to pocket of her red coat. The lieutenant had taken no chance that she would not be here to see Major Cochrane. Blaike had reached a phone, had transmitted orders. It was childish for her to have considered that he might let her go scot free. Blindly she had hoped. What she had done was so small a wrong in proportion to the greater wrongs he smashed against.

She started to a knock at the door. It was opened. The lieutenant was followed by a private. “I thought you might care for something to eat while you're waiting.”

She said, “Thank you.” She could not ask the favor of escape. He was under higher orders. She heard the door close, not lock. Again she waited, tried it. It was fast. There were coffee, sandwiches, a candy bar, and cigarettes on the tray. She hadn't realized her hunger. Nor her weariness. When she had finished eating, she lay on the cot, the folded jacket as a pillow, her coat over her. She didn't try to think. There were times when it was better not.

Blaike said, “Sorry to keep you waiting.” She hadn't heard his entrance. She had been deep in sleep.