Gavin Lyall - Shooting Script

But we had a sort of other idea, too. We kind of thought you might take it over. How d'you feel?'

What I felt was that the world was coming loose at the hinges if I was really sitting here with a drink in either hand being asked if I just happened to feel like going on a mission to bomb the bejazus out of somebody's air force.

And what's so odd about that? Less than two weeks back you were offered a job at$750a week to fly jets against somebody else's rebels in somebody else's hills. You didn't think that was so odd. All right, now the other side's made you an offer.

Well, maybe so – but these people aren't rebels; they're two Hollywood stars and a top American lawyer. The thing's crazy. It's like a Walt Whitmore film.

So? Maybe that's exactly what he wants. He's spent the last thirty years playing this part in the movies – maybe he wants to have a crack at it in real life. Maybe he thinks it's just that simple. Haven't you ever heard an actor talking politics before, Carr?

'You're a pro,' Whitmore said.

'No. That was a long time ago.'

Luiz said: 'Such as last Saturday, over Santo Bartolomeo?'

I gave him a look, then said carefully: 'Look – Diego's been murdered already. That means-'

'Yeah.' He nodded decisively. 'I'd kind of hate to drop it now the kid got dead.'

'The Diego Jiminez Ingles Memorial Bombing Mission,' I said grimly. 'But that means they know something's up. They've already got me on the list – probably they know about the Mitchell, by now.'

Luiz moved his shoulders delicately. 'It will, indeed, be most difficult. For myself, I do not think one old bomber, one pilot – and afighter pilot, too – could do this thing.'

'Hell, I coulddo it,' I said. 'I've practised ground-attack work, and if they're lined up like we saw them-' Then I looked at him and said slowly: 'You bastard. You tricky bastard.'

He smiled softly.

Whitmore said impatiently: 'You fly this mission and you'll get your plane back.'

After a moment, I said: 'How the hell can you promise that?'

'We can get you a written guarantee from Jiminez: when he takes over, first thing he'll do is let you take your plane out. Okay?'

J.B. suddenly shook her head. 'Let's level with him, Boss. We'vegot a written guarantee from Jiminez. Got it that afternoon in Santo Bartolomeo. That was the real point of the trip: we'd arranged to meet Jiminez just out of town. By then you'd lost your plane, so we asked him for the guarantee. Just in case.'

'Just in case,' I said thoughtfully.

'You're a free man, Carr,' she snapped. But she didn't look at me. 'You haven't signed any contract for this. And the film job holds, whatever you do.'

But how free was I – without that Dove? I still owed money on her, and as soon as the film work was finished, I'd start missing payments on her. And London would start firing off sixteen-inch lawyers at me. I'd live through it – but I'd never own a plane again. It still wasn't a very good reason for getting mixed up in someone else's war.

I said: 'That guarantee may not be worth anything, of course…'

'I personally will back Jiminez's word,' Luiz said sharply.

'Yes? But you can't guarantee he'll win his revolution, whatever I do. He may never get near die Dove.'

Luiz glanced at Whitmore. After a while, Whitmore said: 'So put it this way: you fly the mission and you getsome plane. If Jiminez don't get in or don't pay out, you keep the B-25. Fly it, sell it, do what you like. It must be worth something. Maybe even the twelve grand I paid for it. All yours, fella.'

I smiled. 'And if I get pinched in the process, the aero-plane'll turn out to be mine, not yours – right?'

He shrugged; a huge slow movement. 'You get yourself caught, fella, and I guess the generals won't worry too much about whose plane it was.'

He had a point there, of course.

'He hasn't said he'll do it, yet,' J.B. said.

'Haven't I?' I said. 'Oh, I'll do it, all right.'

This time she looked at me, quietly, carefully. And maybe even a little disappointed. Then she took a deep breath. 'Okay – so the next problem: we're going to have newspapermen down from Miami by noon. If they see that bomber, they might start getting some right ideas. Where can we hide it?'

'Hideit?' My mouth stayed open. But I saw her point. Now I knew why we'd got that Mitchell, it seemed horribly obvious. A tommy-gun under the pillow, Inspector? Oh, yes -that's in case a spider comes up the plughole.

'Would it help if we brought it up here, to the Ocho Ríosstrip?' she asked.

'Christ, the hydraulic pump's off one engine-' Then I thought about it. 'I can fly it like that, probably. But not to here. Your newsmen'll want to interview Whitmore: they might take the local flight into Ocho Ríos. No- I'll run it up to the Port Antonio strip. No reason why they should go there.'

'Get it there before lunch.'

I nodded meekly.

'And when they get on to you, don't try and dodge them: that'll just make them suspicious. Just tell 'em the story. But maybe play down the ride into Santo Bartolomeo a bit.'

I nodded again, looked at the drinks in my hands, then remembered I was going to be flying before lunch and put them down. J.B. saw the move and stood up. 'You can get a room at the Shaw Park, Carr. I'll come down with you.'

Whitmore stood up slowly and stretched himself, an enormous movement that made the broad patio seem like a bathing hut. 'See you ina coupladays, fella. We'll figure the details then.'

Luiz nodded politely as we went out.

Out in the dim quiet parking bay, with thechauffeurasleep behind the wheel, J.B. paused before opening the car door and said quietly: 'Well, seems you've got a new job, Carr.'

I nodded slowly. 'It does seem that way, doesn't it?'

'Just as a matter of interest – why did you take it?'

'You talked me into it.'

'You're still a free man, Carr,' she snapped.

'Am I? Well – I'm getting the Dove back. And maybe something to do with Diego getting killed.'

She was quiet for a while, then asked gently: 'Do you miss the war flying much?'

"The RAF didn't exactly fire me, you know: not after Korea. I'd have a squadron by now, maybe a wing.'

'So why'd you quit?'

I shrugged. 'No matter how many rings you've got on your sleeve, there's always somebody with more. Now, at least I can tell anybody to take a running bite at his own backside.'

'Like you did the Boss Man.'

I looked at her curiously. 'I thought you were helping plan this attack?'

'I was. When it was just young Diego's stunt, it seemed… ah, hell.' She sounded angry, but uncertain about what. 'Just the way when the Boss Man calls for a posse to trail the bad men, everybody jumps on a horse.'

'He's buying the horses. Now wake up the driver and tell him he's picked to lead a battalion of tanks into Santo Bar-tolomeo on Tuesday.'

She gave one fast, hard look and jerked the car door viciously.

I got the Mitchell off the ground just before the first airliner from Miami got in, and had an interesting flight to Port Antonio – nearly fifty miles east along the coast from Ochoríos- with the loose hydraulic pipes sealed off with corks and the wheels hanging down all the way. But at least J.B. had been right about the newspapermen: they were filling the Myrtle Bank like thirsty locusts when I got back in the afternoon, queueing up on the bar stools to borrow the phone and ring home to say it was a great story and send more money.

They were right, too, although the best of it was in the diplomatic rumpus, which mostly by-passed Jamaica. Venezuela kicked off by sounding worried about the safety of its citizens, but a little embarrassed about them turning out to be Repúblicarevolutionaries. The Ingles/Jiminez family was less inhibited, and came in calling the Repúblicarégimeseveral things – all of which were probably true, but hardly rare in that part of the world. And dead on cue, the Repúblicaboosted its own tough image by carefully muddling who'd insulted them and inviting Venezuela to step outside and say that again – remembering, of course, that 'outside' was a safe 500 miles of sea.