Gavin Lyall - Shooting Script

I knew the cables would jam after a few feet – but all I needed was one end to stay free long enough to open enough net. And I'd have 500 pounds of bricks pulling on it for me.

It was crude and it wasn't going to empty each net in one sudden jerk – but I didn't want it to. I wanted to spill a steady stream of brkks over a whole line of Vampires, not four loads on just four of them.

'But how do you know, my friend,' Luiz asked, 'that diey will be neatly lined up for you?'

'We know they are normally, and if Ned doesn't know we're coming… Anyway, did you ever see a military airfield where the planes weren't lined up?'

'No-o. But I only saw training fields. There, they lined up even the potatoes at lunchtime.'

'Well, there's a good reason for lining up planes. You can run the refuelling bowsers and rearming trucks and servicing gang right down them, one-two-three-four. Commanders are always getting caught with their planes lined up because they like fast servicing better than dispersing the damn things all over the field.'

'Let us hope so,' he said solemnly, sucking a finger that had got stabbed on an end of cable.

We had a wash, several dabs of iodine, a couple of beers, and a light lunch at the Golden Head and were back with the Mitchell by two.

By then I had half the ringbolts in place and Luiz had got two cables cut to the right length and the ends spliced and bound into loops. But still no bricks. And no J.B.

We soldiered on. We h'ad the airstrip to ourselves and the afternoon sun. With its British traditions, Jamaica doesn't have an official siesta – just that everybody goes to sleep in the afternoons.

The inside of the bomb-bay was like a Turkish bath gone critical. I ducked out, lay down under the shadow of the wing, and said: 'Give me a cigarette, will you?'

He threw the pack across.

'Thanks.' I lit one, puffed smoke at die wing above, and asked: 'How much chance does Jiminez stand – if we get die Vamps, I mean?'

He considered. Then: 'Good, I would diink. Of course, he is taking a risk at this tune of year, widi the university on vacation.'

'He's what?'

'The university students, my friend, are always a strong force in any liberal revolution. To make the move when they are on holiday, scattered all over die country, is to forgo valuable support. But die hurricane gives him a great chance to take Santo Bartolomeo. If he can dodiät, dien…' He shrugged.

'Then what? He won't have the whole country. And die Army'll roll home sometime – widi tanks and artillery and-'

'A revolution is not a war, my friend. It is not even truly a military affair. After all – who is the enemy? Just a few leaders, diat is all. Do army officers wish to be at war wim the civil servants? The soldiers widi die peasants? Does die whole Army wish to fight a colonial war in its own country, among its own homes and wives and children?

'A revolution is an affair ofbelief. You have won whenenough people believe you have won. So if you hold the capital, if you name a new government, broadcast on the radio, reopen shops and businesses – and perhaps a foreign government recognises you – then people say "It is all over; it has happened." Then, truly ithas happened. If Jiminez can do all these things before the Army can get home – then it will not come home shooting. To do so would be to start a civil war.'

I nodded thoughtfully – and painfully, since I'd forgotten my head was resting on the tarmac. 'But if Jiminez can't hold Santo Bartolomeo that long?'

There was a silence. Then he said quietly: 'Then he has lost. Finished. That is the other side of the coin. People will never believe a man has won if he has once lost before. Until now, Jiminez has been fighting a guerrilla war: never trying to hold on to a position, dodging away into the hills – just keeping his cause alive. But now, he must hold Bartolomeo. Tonight he commits himself – for ever.'

'You really have been listening to Miss Jiminez.'

He looked at me, and his dark eyes suddenly seemed very old. Then he smiled sadly. 'My friend, I had no need. In the Repúblicaevery child learns reading, writing – and revolution.'

The load arrived soon after four. Two small lorries, each stacked with dirty yellowish bricks. The driver of the first asked me who I was, consulted a paper, then nodded to his two mates to start unloading.

To keep from helping, he offered me a cigarette and asked: 'What you building, man?'

I thought of saying something clever and cryptic like 'a new country', but settled for: 'Shed where I can lock up tools without them getting pinched.'

He believed that. 'Anything getting stolen in Jamaica, man.'. He told me about the number of times people had swiped his lorries, and spun it out until every brick was stacked beside the runway.

Luiz had faded quietly away into the Mitchell while this was going on. I suppose the sight of a film star getting hishands dirty might have been suspicious. When the lorries had gone, he came out.

I picked up a brick. Tm going to sneak this on to the luggage scales in the terminal hut to find out what they weigh. You can start threading up the first net.'

He just nodded, picked up a brick for himself, and bounced it thoughtfully in his hand. I left him to it.

A brick turned out to weigh five and a half pounds as near as dammit, which made 360 to a 2,000-pounds load, or ninety to a net. We got the first net strung – it had to be in place before loading – and started filling it up. It wasn't particularly hard work, just long. We alternated between the one who hauled the bricks and the one who stood bent in the bomb-bay, slipping them in over the edge of the net.

We had forty or fifty in when a long black Cadillac-a film company car – whooshed up the runway. Miss Jiminez climbed out; alone.

She smiled at Luiz, then handed me an envelope. I ripped it open.

Dear Keith,

Sorry, but I've got to go down to Kingston on business with Walt. Anyhow, it wouldn't look so good if we were all of us up there today. Suspicious.

Here's your final shooting script: There are just ten, not eleven, jets now. According to a message from Miss J's old man, they crashed another last week.

Sunrise in SB is at 5.22 tomorrow.

The weather there is supposed to be pretty cloudy. This is a good thing, isn't it? Means you have somewhere to hide. Anyway, for God's sake don't take any risks. You hear me?

And when you get back, if I'm not around DON'T TALK to anyone. Stay under cover until I can tell you what to say.

Look after yourself, Keith

J.B.

I grinned. It was somehow a very J.B. letter.

Then I shrugged, stuffed it in my pocket, and looked around. Luiz and Miss Jiminez were talking quietly by the bomb-bay.

'They aren't coming down,' I said.

Luiz nodded, as if he wasn't surprised, then said:'Juanitawould very much like to see if the nets work.'

'I'd like to see myself. Climb in and pull the plug.'

'Oh no, my friend.7 want to watch.'

We glared at each other.

He turned to Miss Jiminez.'Juanita- perhaps you would care to press the very button which will, tomorrow, strike out such a blow for your father's cause?'

Her eyes glittered. She'd justlove to.

'You speak like snake, with forked tongue,' I whispered, rememberinga Unefrom several Whitmore Westerns.

'My own hands,' he said grimly, 'they loaded that net. I want tosee.' He shunted her up through the forward hatch.

I shooed the company car away; this was a strictly private demonstration. Luiz dropped out of the hatch again. 'I think she understands the idea. I told her to-'

She understood it.

The net suddenly sagged below the bay, then poured bricks on to the tarmac in a clattering roar. Yellow dust exploded up around the plane.