Brett Halliday - Six Seconds to Kill

Moving back fast, he grabbed the submachine gun dropped by Ruiz when he fell. The plane’s pilot had decided to take a chance on getting off using only three quarters of the runway. The plane seemed to hesitate while he used his brakes to let the power build up, and then it leaped forward.

Shayne returned to his position between the trucks, threw the safety flap and waited for the plane to come back within range. There was a wild crackle of small arms as the fire reached the ammunition boxes in the burning plane.

At that moment two airport security guards in black uniforms ran in front of Shayne. One was unarmed, the other had a revolver. The plane came rapidly down the runway. Shayne yelled at the armed guard to get out of the line of fire, and the man whirled and snapped off a shot. The bullet hit the concrete to Shayne’s right and screamed away. Shayne dived beneath the truck. The guard ran to his right, back to his left, squatted and tried to shoot again.

Swearing, Shayne sent the submachine gun skidding into the open to make the guard think he was surrendering, then wriggled out beneath the truck on the warehouse side. The guard screamed at him to hold still and put his hands over his head. Shayne swore again, fiercely, but he stopped and did as he was told.

Teddy Sparrow, with two more guards, burst out of the next warehouse. Sparrow had been tied up, and a length of clothesline dangled from one wrist.

“They’re getting away!”

“Aren’t they,” Shayne said dryly. “Will you tell your man we’re both on the same side?”

Sparrow jumped down, shouting. He landed on a spare tire lying on the ground, and one leg crumpled beneath him. Shayne started to move, but the excited guard made a menacing gesture with his pistol and Shayne stopped again.

Sparrow came to his feet. Hobbling out to the submachine gun, he snatched it up and fired a burst at the departing plane as it lifted off the runway and made a climbing turn to the southwest.

He turned back toward Shayne, his face contorted. He was nearly crying.

“I blew it! I knew I would! I knew it would happen!”

Shayne knew he had very little time.

The main siren was still screaming. More emergency vehicles had gathered. Kneeling beside Ruiz, Shayne went through his pockets quickly.

“I see we got one of them, anyway,” Sparrow said miserably. “You can’t blame my people, Mike. They haven’t had military training. These guys were soldiers! They came in on us from all sides.”

“Round up your men and cordon off the area,” Shayne said. “Don’t let anybody in or out. You’ll have reinforcements inside of fifteen minutes.”

Sparrow straightened his shoulders and looked serious. “That’s right, maybe everybody didn’t get away. I certainly would like to capture a couple. It wouldn’t be such a total disaster.”

He climbed up on the platform. “Fellows!” he shouted. “Over here. We’re going to cordon off the area. Don’t let anybody in or out.”

Shayne checked the black official sedan at the loading dock. The key was still in the ignition. He swung in and started the motor.

“Mike, where are you going?” Sparrow called.

Ignoring him, Shayne wheeled around and entered the diagonal taxi-strip to the runway. He had seen movement near the wrecked mobile ramp. Crossing the runway, he saw Adele Galvez sitting on the grass, looking around. There was a smear of dirt across one cheek.

“Get in,” Shayne said, pulling up beside her.

She pushed back her hair with a dazed gesture. “Mike?” Shayne set the hand brake and got out. Understanding suddenly that she was about to be taken prisoner, she scrambled for a shotgun lying on the grass. Shayne kicked it away, pulled her to her feet and thrust her into the car.

“The fight’s over. You’re all by yourself, as far as I know.”

As he drove down the runway toward the terminal area, she looked back at the burning plane. Another box of ammunition let go. In the mirror, Shayne saw flaming bits of debris erupt across the runway.

“That was you in the helicopter, wasn’t it?” she said.

“That was me.”

“Did the others-”

“You took a few casualties, but everybody else got off, and maybe they’ll make it. I’m hoping the air force knows about them by now.”

“Luckily they don’t,” Adele said quietly. “Before we left the tower we smashed the radios. All the telephone cables have been cut.”

“That may not be quite enough.” He swung between the Delta maintenance building and Concourse 1, cutting beneath the wing of a parked 707. “But never mind about them, think about yourself for a minute.”

“I don’t care! It was splendid! We paralyzed a great American airport. We stole a shipment of arms intended for our enemies.”

“All of which,” Shayne said, “carries a heavy jolt in jail. But be a nice girl and maybe we can deal. Do you have a car?”

“Yes.” She looked at him sharply. “You mean you’re letting me go?”

“That depends on a number of things. How you behave, for one.”

He pulled up alongside his Buick and slid out. Unlocking his own car, he picked a Phillips screwdriver out of the tool kit beneath the glove compartment. He felt Adele’s restlessness behind him. Half turning, he saw that she had edged over in the front seat. She could start the car and lock the front door in the same quick flurry of motion, and with luck she could get away. But she was hesitating.

Shayne unscrewed the radio-telephone antenna attached to the front door-frame. He snapped the wire between the antenna and the phone and took out the entire unit. Then he went into the glove compartment for his flask. Adele hadn’t moved.

“You’re thinking,” Shayne said, getting in beside her. “You only have one chance of getting out of this unsinged, and that’s if I decide to give you a break.”

“But that’s what I don’t understand. Why should you?”

“Where’d you leave your car?”

“The main parking lot.”

They were on the wrong side of the barrier; to stay together, they would have to detour around on 20th Street and come back through the toll plaza. He told her to get her car and meet him at the interchange, and to flash her headlights so he would recognize her.

She was still puzzled. “I could take a taxi and-”

“Don’t be dumb. How long do you think it would take the cops to find out about you? Somebody in that crowd on the deck knew who you were. You’re going to need some help. Wipe the dirt off your face so you don’t look so much like a girl guerrilla, and get going!”

She gave him one more puzzled glance, got out of the car and walked off. Shayne drove to the interchange and waited, keeping his motor running, on the ramp leading south on 42nd Avenue.

As the minutes passed, he felt more and more conspicuous in the black Port Authority sedan. The siren finally stopped. One of the army helicopters clacked overhead, coming back from Miami Beach, and Shayne rattled the steering wheel. He couldn’t delay much longer. Too many people had seen him leaving the warehouse area in an official car.

An elderly Chevrolet with its lights on came down the ramp from the parking area. He signaled with his blinkers, and she followed him off the expressway. On 8th Street he turned east. A half dozen blocks later, he signaled again and passed through a pair of high gates into a cemetery. Adele hesitated, but in the end decided to follow him in. A curving roadway took them between orderly ranks of monuments and headstones, and they parked beside a mausoleum. There were no other cars.

He took the phone and antenna to the Chevrolet and got in.

“I ought to be going someplace very fast,” she said. “I shouldn’t be sitting here. We’re on opposite sides!”