High Risk 11.1

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CHAPTER ELEVEN

"In this scene you're pretending to be the arrogant director, Helms," Straebo said, walking with Casey to where Mitch and the Tommy waited. "So try to suggest cockiness as you move down the field." The director's face was flushed, and he didn't look at Casey while speaking. Casey wondered if Straebo was hung over.

"You think the camera's going to be able to pick up cockiness when all it'll see is his head—and that wearing a helmet and goggles?" Ed Hogan shook his head. "Seems to me you're expecting a bit much."

"What I expect is none of your god-damned business," Straebo snapped. "Do your job, Mr. Hogan. Don't even think of trying to tell me how to do mine."

"Jesus H. Christ," Hogan said as the director stomped off. "What's the matter with him today?"

"Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, I guess," Casey said. "Or else he's been sampling the stuff he brings in from Mexico. Either way, I think I know how he feels." In spite of the day's warmth he felt cold and clammy. Trying to ignore his unease, he looked to where Desiree would be watching: about two-thirds of the way down the field Straebo had set up two cameras to record the crash. Hogan would operate the third, getting an airborne view from his DH-4.

"You ready?" Mitch asked when they reached the Tommy.

Casey put a hand on his chest and pressed gently. It didn't hurt much. "Yep," he said, though he wasn't sure he meant it. Hogan's camera plane roared to life, rumbled down the field, and lifted off, sun glinting from the doped white wings. Casey stepped up to the Tommy's fuselage.

He turned to Mitch. "You're sure this is prepped the way we discussed it."

"No question," Mitch said. "You just have to make sure that you put her down on the starboard wing, and don't climb too high before you drop her. Start your drop as soon as you pass the airship shed, and from below fifty feet, and she should come apart easy. You'll be fine."

"I wonder." Casey felt his face beginning to flush; this was a terrible time to be getting the wind up. He looked back to the hangar; Hal Telford stood in the doorway, watching. When he saw Casey looking at him, he made a rude gesture and disappeared into the darkness inside. I wonder if he found someone to take that flight for him, Casey thought.

"Come on, Casey," Mitch said. "Hogan's going to start buzzing us."

"Don't push me." Casey put a foot on the lower wing, then turned back to Mitch. "Sorry," he said. "Didn't mean to snap at you. This one's just got me a bit nervous."

Mitch nodded, but Casey was sure he'd bruised some feelings. He gripped the cockpit coaming and hauled himself up, shifting so that he straddled the fuselage just back of the cockpit.

The Tommy groaned, and Casey froze. When he looked at Mitch, the mechanic's eyes were wide. "What the hell was that?" they said, almost simultaneously.

Casey dropped back to the ground. "Undercart," he said. Mitch nodded, and dropped to one knee to look.

"Seems okay," he said, but his voice faltered, uncertain.

His head darted forward. "Nope. Here's your problem." Casey knelt beside Mitch, followed his pointing finger.

A small triangle of fabric had been cut to create a flap just above the point where the starboard rear undercart leg joined the frame of the fuselage. When Casey looked inside, he saw that the mounting bolt had been loosened to what looked like the final turn of its thread. The bouncing of a takeoff run would undoubtedly have torn the nut free. If even one other bolt had similarly been doctored, he'd have cracked up before he was ready. The very least that could have happened is that the shot would have been ruined; God only knew how long it would take to find another flight-worth Tommy to destroy. And the worst didn't bear thinking about.

"Why didn't I hear this when I moved her out from the hangar?" Mitch asked. He jiggled the fuselage; the leg grated and squeaked as the loose mounting wobbled.

"I don't know," Casey said, straightening up. "But we're not doing anything until this kite's been completely checked out again." He waved to catch Hogan's attention, then gestured the aerial director to land.

Something occurred to him. "Was anybody but you in the hangar between the time you checked her out and now?" he asked Mitch.

"Now, hold on a minute," Mitch began. Then he stopped. "Yeah," he said, his eyes narrowing. "Telford was in there, sleeping off another snootful, when I got in this morning." He snarled and clenched his fists. "I knew we should have made Straebo store that damned Jenny of his somewhere else."

"I think we need to talk to Telford," Casey said. He started walking toward the hangar.

"Why?" Mitch ran to catch up. "Shouldn't we be getting this crate ready to crash?"

"If Telford's got a beef with me," Casey said, "we'll get it out in the open. Sneaking around and sabotaging things is what cowards do."

"Well, Jesus Christ," Mitch said, "the son-of-a-bitch is a coward. Haven't you figured that out yet?"

Casey stopped. "No," he said eventually. "I hadn't figured that."

Hogan's camera plane rolled up with a clattering of pistons; the aerial director was out of his cockpit and sprinting towards Mitch and Casey before the DH-4 came to a full stop. "What the hell happened?" he asked when he reached them. His face was flushed dark red, though whether that was with anger or exertion Casey couldn't tell.

"Somebody was messing with the Tommy," Casey said. "If I'd tried to take off, like as not the undercart would have come off and I'd have piled in before I was ready."

"Son of a bitch!" Hogan yelled. Casey felt spittle dab his cheek. Hogan turned on Mitch. "You were supposed to check the damned thing, Mitch! What the hell were you doing?"

"I don't think it was Mitch's fault," Casey said. "I think Telford did it after Mitch had done the check." To Hogan's incredulous stare Casey responded, "Telford asked me yesterday if I'd fly to Tijuana for him this weekend. When I said no he got mad. Now it looks as if he got mad enough to do something about it."

"God-damned drunk," Hogan said. After a moment's angry pause he shrugged his shoulders. "Let's go back and check that Tommy thoroughly," he said. "We do the stunt. Then I inform Mr. Straebo that Mr. Loopy Telford is no longer welcome anywhere near me, my people, or my airplanes. That bastard thinks he has a hard life now? He doesn't know what suffering is."

Next     Prologue    Chapter One    Chapter Two    Chapter Three    Chapter Four    Chapter Five
Chapter Six    Chapter Seven    Chapter Eight    Chapter Nine     Chapter Ten