World War II Thriller Collection (139 page)

Harald had only a minute or two.

He took the flashlight from his pocket, switched it on, and held it in his mouth. He turned the catches on the left side of the fuselage nose and opened the cowling. “Fuel on?” he called.

“Fuel on,” Karen called back.

Harald tugged on the pull-ring of the tickler and worked the lever of one of the two fuel pumps to flood the carburetor. He closed the cowling and secured the catches. Taking the flashlight from his mouth, he called, “Throttle set and mags on?”

“Throttle set, mags on.”

He stood in front of the aircraft and swung the propeller. Imitating what he had seen Karen do, he turned it a second time, then a third. Finally he gave it a vigorous heave and stepped smartly back.

Nothing happened.

He cursed. There was no time to deal with snags.

He repeated the procedure. Something was wrong, he thought even as he tried it. Before, when he turned the propeller, something had happened that was not happening now. He tried desperately to remember what it was.

Once again the engine failed to start.

In a flash of recollection he realized what was missing. There was no click when he turned the propeller. He recalled Karen telling him that the click was the impulse starter. Without that, there would be no spark.

He ran to her open window. “There's no click!” he said.

“Magneto jam,” she said calmly. “It often happens. Open the right cowling. You'll see the impulse starter between the magneto and the engine. Give it a sharp tap with a stone or something. That usually does the trick.”

He opened the right cowling and shone his flashlight on the engine. The impulse starter was a flat metal cylinder. He scanned the ground at his feet. There were no stones. “Give me something from the tool kit,” he said to Karen.

She found the kit and handed him a wrench. He tapped the impulse starter.

A voice behind him called, “Stop that right now.”

He turned to see Captain Kleiss, dressed in uniform trousers and a pajama jacket, striding across the courtyard toward him, with Leo close behind. Kleiss was not armed, but Leo had a rifle.

Harald stuffed the spanner into his pocket, closed the cowling, and moved to the nose.

“Stand away from that aircraft!” Kleiss shouted. “This is an order!”

Suddenly Karen's voice rang out. “Stop right where you are or I'll shoot you dead!”

Harald saw her arm sticking out of the window, pointing Hansen's pistol straight at Kleiss.

Kleiss stopped, and so did Leo.

Whether Karen knew how to fire the thing, Harald had no idea—but neither did Kleiss.

“Drop the rifle on the ground, Leo,” said Karen.

Leo dropped his weapon.

Harald reached for the propeller and swung it.

It turned with a loud, deeply satisfying click.

Peter Flemming drove to the castle ahead of Hermia, with Tilde Jespersen in the passenger seat beside him. “We'll park out of sight, and watch what she does when she gets here,” he said.

“Okay.”

“About what happened on Sande—”

“Please don't speak of it.”

He suppressed his anger. “What, never?”

“Never.”

He wanted to strangle her.

The car's headlights showed a small village with a church and a tavern. Just beyond the village they approached a grand entrance.

“I'm sorry, Peter,” Tilde said. “I made a mistake, but it's over. Let's just be friends and colleagues.”

He felt he did not care about anything anymore. “To hell with that,” he said, and turned in to the castle grounds.

On the right of the drive was a ruined monastery. “That's odd,” Tilde said. “The church doors are wide open.”

Peter hoped there would be some action to take his mind off Tilde's rejection. He stopped the Buick and turned off the engine. “Let's have a look.” He took a flashlight out of the glove compartment.

They got out of the car and went into the church. Peter heard a muffled grunt followed by a thud. It seemed to come from the Rolls-Royce car that was standing on blocks in the middle of the room. He opened the trunk and shone his flashlight on a policeman, bound and gagged.

“Is this your man Hansen?” he said.

Tilde said, “The airplane isn't here! It's gone!”

At that moment, they heard an aircraft engine start.

The Hornet Moth roared into life and seemed to lean forward as if eager to go.

Harald walked quickly to where Kleiss and Leo stood. He picked up the rifle and held it menacingly, putting on an air of confidence that he did not feel. He backed away from them slowly and walked around the spinning propeller to the left side door. He reached for the handle, flung open the door, and threw the rifle onto the luggage shelf behind the seats.

As he climbed in, a sudden movement made him glance past Karen out of the far window. He saw Captain Kleiss throw himself forward, toward the aircraft, and dive to the ground. There was a bang, deafening even over the noise of the engine, as Karen fired Hansen's pistol. But Harald could see that the window frame prevented her bringing her wrist low enough, and her shot missed the captain.

Kleiss rolled under the fuselage, came up the other side, and jumped on the wing.

Harald tried to slam the door, but Kleiss was in the way. The captain grabbed Harald by the lapels and tried to pull him out of his seat. Harald struggled, trying to dislodge Kleiss's grip. Karen was holding the pistol in her left hand and could not turn around, in the cramped cabin, to get a shot at Kleiss. Leo came running up but, because of the door and the wings, he was unable to get close enough to join in the fight.

Harald pulled the wrench from his pocket and lashed out with all his might. The sharp end of the tool hit Kleiss under the eye, drawing blood, but he held on.

Karen reached past Harald and thrust the throttle lever all the way forward. The engine roared louder and the aircraft moved forward. Kleiss lost his balance. He flung one arm out, but held on to Harald with the other.

The Hornet Moth moved faster, bumping over the grass. Harald hit Kleiss again, and this time he cried out, let go, and fell to the ground.

Harald slammed the door.

He reached for the control column in the center, but Karen said, “Leave the stick to me—I can do it left-handed.”

The aircraft was pointing down the drive but, as soon as it began to pick up speed, it veered off to the right. “Use the rudder pedals!” Karen shouted. “Keep it in a straight line!”

Harald pushed the left pedal to bring the aircraft back onto the drive.
Nothing happened, so he pressed it with all his might. After a moment, the aircraft swung all the way over to the left. It crossed the drive and plunged into the long grass on the other side.

She yelled, “There's a lag, you have to anticipate.”

He understood what she meant. It was like steering a boat, only worse. He pushed with his right foot to bring the aircraft back then, as soon as it began to turn, he corrected with his left foot. This time it did not swing so wildly. As it came back to the drive he managed to line it up.

“Now keep it like that,” Karen shouted.

The aircraft accelerated.

At the far end of the drive, a car's headlights came on.

Peter Flemming thrust the gearshift into first and floored the pedal. Just as Tilde was opening the passenger door to get in, the car jerked away. She let go of the door with a cry and fell back. Peter hoped she had broken her neck.

He steered along the drive, letting the passenger door flap. When his engine started to scream he changed up into second. The Buick gathered speed.

In his headlights he saw a small biplane rolling down the drive, coming straight at him. Harald Olufsen was in that plane, he felt sure. He was going to stop Harald, even if it killed them both.

He changed up into third.

Harald felt the Hornet Moth tilt as Karen pushed the stick forward, bringing the tail up. He shouted, “Do you see that car?”

“Yes—is he trying to ram us?”

“Yes.” Harald was staring along the drive, concentrating on keeping the aircraft on a straight course with the rudder pedals. “Can we take off in time to fly over him?”

“I'm not sure—”

“You have to make up your mind!”

“Get ready to turn if I say!”

“I'm ready!”

The car was dangerously close. Harald could see they were not going to lift over it. Karen yelled, “Turn!”

He pressed the left pedal. The aircraft, responding less sluggishly at higher speed, swung sharply off the drive—too sharply: he feared his undercarriage repair job might not stand the strain. He corrected quickly.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the car turn the same way, still aiming to ram the Hornet Moth. It was a Buick, he saw, just like the one in which Peter Flemming had driven him to Jansborg Skole. It turned sharply, trying to maintain a collision course with the aircraft.

But the aircraft had a rudder, whereas the car was steered by its wheels, and this made a difference on the wet grass. As soon as the Buick hit the grass it went into a skid. As it slid sideways, the moonlight momentarily caught the face of the man behind the wheel, fighting for control, and Harald recognized Peter Flemming.