“Looks like we could both use some help.”
“Sim, senhora. But unfortunately we must do for ourselves.”
“Do you have a gun?” she said abruptly.
“Of course,” he said, faintly amused at the hard-nosed question from this beautiful and cultured woman. “Would you like me to shoot them?”
“I didn’t mean—no, of course not,” she said glumly. “Do you have any ideas?”
“A gun is not just for shooting,” he said. “You can use it for intimidation, use its threat to make people do things they don’t want to do.”
“Like pointing us in the right direction?”
“I hope, senhora. I will go forward. I will ask them politely to land at the nearest airport, saying it is your wish. If they refuse I will show them my gun and say I would not like to use it.”
“You can’t use it,” Francesca said with alarm. “If you put a hole in the plane at this altitude, it would depressurize the cabin, and we’d all be dead within seconds.”
“A good point. It will increase their fear.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “I told your father I would watch out for you, senhora.”
She shook her head as if it would make the situation go away. “What if I’m wrong? That these are innocent pilots doing their job?”
“Simple,” he said with a shrug. “We call ahead on the radio, we land at the nearest airport, we b
ring in the police, we straighten things out, then we resume our trip.”
They cut their conversation short. The door to the cockpit had opened, and the captain stepped into the cabin. He ambled forward, having to bend his head because of the low overhead.
“That was some joke you just told us,” he said with his crooked grin. “Got any more?”
“Sorry, senhor,” Phillipo said.
“Waall, I got one for you,” the pilot replied. Riordan’s droopy, heavy-lidded eyes gave him a sleepy look. But there was nothing sluggish about the way he reached behind his back and produced the pistol he had tucked in his belt.
“Hand it over,” he said to Phillipo. “Real slow.”
Phillipo gingerly opened his jacket wide so the shoulder holster was in plain view, then extracted his gun by the tips of his fingers. The pilot stuck the gun in his belt.
“Grazyeass, amigo,” he said. “Always nice to deal with a professional.” He sat on an armrest and with his free hand lit a cigarette. “Me and my partner have been talking, and we think maybe you’re on to us. Figured you were checking us out when you came up a second time, so we decided to lay it all out so there won’t be any misunderstandings.”
“Captain Riordan, what is going on?” Francesca said. “Where are you taking us?”
“They said you were smart,” the pilot said with a chuckle. “My partner never should have started bragging about the plane.” He blew twin plumes of smoke from his nostrils. “You’re right. We’re not going to Miami, we’re on our way to Trinidad.”
“Trinidad?”
“I hear it’s a real nice place.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s like this, senyoreeta. There’s going to be a welcome party waiting for you at the airport. Don’t ask me who they are ’cause I don’t know. All’s I know is we’ve been hired to deliver you. Things were supposed to go nice and easy. We were going to tell you we had mechanical problems and needed to land.”
“What happened to the pilots?” Phillipo asked.
“They had an accident,” he said with a slight shrug. He ground the cigarette butt on the floor. “Here’s the situation, miss. You just stay put, and everything will be fine. As for you, cavaleiro, I’m sorry to get you in trouble with your bosses. Now I can tie you both up, but I don’t think you’d try anything foolish unless you can fly this plane yourselves. One more thing. Up, partner, and turn around.”
Thinking he was about to be frisked, Phillipo complied without protest. Francesca’s warning came too late. The pistol barrel arced down in a silvery blur and struck the bodyguard above the right ear. The sickening crunch was drowned out by the bodyguard’s cry of pain as he doubled over and crumpled onto the floor.
Francesca jumped up from her seat. “Why did you do that?” she said defiantly. “You have his gun. He couldn’t harm you.”