Arthur Hailey: Evening News

It had been about ten minutes since they left Fernandez. Ken O'Hara was now up ahead, leading. Partridge had dropped back to his position in the rear, from where he occasionally glanced backward. So far there had been no sign of movement.

Above their heads, the trees appeared to be thinning, more daylight coming through their branches; also the trail had widened. It was a sign, Partridge hoped, that they were nearing the airstrip. At one point lie thought he heard the distant sound of an airplane, but could not be sure. Again he checked his watch: nearly 7:55.

At that moment, from somewhere behind, came a short, sharp crack—unmistakably the sound of a single shot. It had to be Fernandez, Partridge reasoned. And even in using the Browning, from which Partridge had deliberately removed the silencer, the zealous stringer-fixer provided a final service—a warning that pursuit was close. As if in confirmation, several other shots followed.

Perhaps the pursuers, having seen Fernandez—presumably dead—thought they saw others ahead and had fired at random. Then, for whatever reason, the firing ceased.

Partridge himself was near exhaustion. Through the past fifty hours, with scarcely any sleep, he had pushed himself to the limit. Now he was having trouble keeping his attention focused.

In one of those moments, mentally meandering, he decided that what he wanted most was relief from action . . . When this adventure ended he would resume the vacation he had barely started and simply disappear, be unavailable . . . And wherever he went, perhaps he should take Vivien—the only woman left to him whose loving was available . . . Jessica and Gemma had been the past; Vivien could be the future. Perhaps, until now, he had treated her unfairly, should consider marriage after all . . . It was not too late . . . He knew it was something Vivien would like . . .

With an effort, he snapped back to the present,

Suddenly they had emerged from the jungle. The airstrip was in view! Overhead an airplane was circling—it was a Cheyenne! Ken O'Hara—reliable to the end, Partridge thought was loading a green-banded cartridge into the flare gun he had carried all this way. Green for Land normally, everything is clear .

With equal suddenness, from behind, came the sound of two more shots, this time much closer.

”Send up a red flare, not a green!” Partridge yelled at O'Hara.”And do it fast!”

Red for Land as quickly as possible, we are in danger !

* * *

It was several minutes past eight o'clock. In the Cheyenne II above Sion airstrip, Zileri turned his head toward Rita and Sloane. He told them, "Nothing's happening here. We'll go to the other two points.”

The plane turned away. As it did, Crawford Sloane called out, "Hold it! I think I saw something!”

Zileri aborted the turn and swung the airplane back. He asked, "Where”

“Somewhere down there.” Sloane pointed.”I'm not sure of the exact spot. It was just for a moment . . . I thought His voice mirrored his own uncertainty.

Zileri flew the plane in a circle. Again they scrutinized as much of the ground as they could. When the circle was complete the pilot said, "I don't see a thing. I think we should go on.”

At that moment, a red flare curled upward from the ground.

* * *

O'Hara fired a second red flare.

”That'll do. They've seen us,” Partridge said. The airplane had already turned toward them. What he needed to know now was which way the plane would land. Then he would pick a position to fight off the pursuers and occupy it while the others boarded first.

The answer quickly became evident. The Cheyenne II was in a tight descending turn, losing height fast, and would come in over their heads. After that, it would land facing away from the jungle trail from where the shooting had been coming.

Looking back, Partridge could still see no one in sight, despite the shots. He could only guess the reason for shooting. Perhaps someone, while advancing, was firing blindly, hoping for a lucky hit.

He told O'Hara, "Get Jessica and Nicky down by the landing strip fast, and stay with them! When the plane gets to the far end, they'll swing around and taxi back. Go forward to meet the airplane, and all of you get aboard. Did you hear that, Minh?”

"I heard.” Minh, with an eye glued to his camera, was imperturbably taking pictures, as he had at various moments throughout the journey. Partridge decided not to worry anymore about Minh. He would take care of himself.

Jessica asked anxiously, "What about you, Harry?”

He told her, "I'm going to cover you by firing down the trail. As soon as you're aboard I'll join you. Now get going!”

O'Hara put an arm around Jessica, who was holding Nicky's good hand, and hurried them away.

Even as they moved, looking back toward the jungle Partridge saw several figures now in sight, advancing on the airstrip, guns pointed forward.

Partridge dropped behind a small hillock nearby. Lying on his belly, he rested the Kalashnikov in front of him, the sights of the automatic rifle directed at the moving figures. He squeezed the trigger, and amid a burst of fire saw one of the figures fall, the others dive for cover. At the same time he heard the Cheyenne II swoop in low above his head. Though he did not turn to watch, he knew it should be landing now.

* * *

"There they are!” Crawford Sloane shouted, near-hysterical with excitement.”I see them! It's Jessica and Nicky!” The airplane was still on its landing run, traveling fast on an uneven dirt surface.

The end of the short strip was looming nearer, Zileri braking hard. As the landing run ended, employing brakes and one engine, the pilot swung the airplane around to face the way they had come. Then, using both engines for acceleration, he taxied back down the airstrip, moving fast toward its opposite end.

The Cheyenne II stopped at the point where Jessica, Nicky and O'Hara were waiting. The copilot, Felipe, had already left his seat and moved aft. From inside the fuselage he released and lowered an air-stair door.

Nicky first, then Jessica and O'Hara climbed aboard, outstretched hands, including Sloane's, helping pull them in. Minh appeared and scrambled in behind the others.

As Sloane, Jessica and Nicky emotionally hugged each other, O'Hara called out breathlessly, "Harry's up ahead. We have to get him. He's holding off the terrorists.”

"I see him,” Zileri said.”Hold on!” He opened the throttles again and the airplane shot forward, taxiing fast.

At the runway's far end he turned the airplane around once more. It was now facing the way it landed, ready for takeoff but with the passenger door still open. Gunfire could be heard through the doorway.

"Your friend will have to make a run for it.” Zileri's voice was urgent.”I want to get the hell out of here.”

"He will,” Minh said.”He's seen us and he'll come.”

* * *

Partridge had both seen and heard the airplane. Glancing over his shoulder, he knew it was as close to him as it could come. There was about a hundred yards between him and the plane. He would make it at a fast run, keeping low. First though, he had to spray fire back into the jungle trail to deter any further advance by the Sendero force. In the past few minutes he had seen several more figures appear, had fired and seen another fall. The others were now hugging the shelter of the trees. A burst of fire would hold them there, out of sight, long enough for him to reach the plane.

He had just put a fresh magazine into the Kalashnikov. Squeezing the trigger, then holding it, he poured a deadly hail of bullets along both sides of the jungle path. Since the firing began he had felt his old visceral zest for battle stir . . . that sensuous thrill; it set adrenaline running, juices flowing . . . an illogical, crazy addiction to the sights and sounds of war . . .