The Paper Pistol Contract by Philip Atlee

Author:Philip Atlee
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
Published: 2020-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Dawn the next morning found Warlock coasting back toward Tahiti, plowing through a glassy swell under reduced power. We had moved out at flank speed during the night, southeast, and had doubled back when we were below the Tuamotu Archipelago. Our course back was plotted to put me ashore at Boudeuse Pass between ten and eleven in the morning; and when first light came, I was up on the ship’s prow. Salt spray plumed up and misted around me as I looked at the white thunderhead cloud that stayed over Tahiti for months at a time.

Engineer Etienne Gerard, our distinguished but unwilling guest, was doing nicely down below in Blanchard’s cabin. He seemed to have suffered no ill effects from his alfresco kidnapping, and after one blistering Gallic tirade, he had relapsed into a dignified silence. And although we had monitored several broadcast bands, there had been no report of his abduction. But that was temporary; we were only in the eye of the approaching political storm. Soon it would blow Beaufort Scale: 12 because the Quai d’Orsai certainly had news of the snatch by now.

My score on the assignment was one down, and three to go. But the next three were going to be harder. As I stood alone on the plunging bow of Warlock, I stared ahead at the trade-wind cloud. Its white mass turned to snowy, pluming peaks on the Himalayas … The years fell away, and I was back in a forgotten war, remembering the first time I had ever seen Georgie Huang. As operations manager of the mountain division, China National Airlines, I had flown into Kunming on an inspection trip. Landing just in time to see a P47 crash at the end of the runway after a power failure at critical engine speed.

The meat wagon and the firetruck went sirening out, and I jumped aboard a passing command car. As we approached, the wrecked fighter plane burst into flames and we could hear the pilot screaming in his alclad and plexi-glass prison. The Fourteenth Air Force emergency boys were trying to free him, but even with their bulky asbestos suits it was obvious they would not be in time. When aluminum ignites, it burns hot.

A lot of rank was standing around, shielding their eyes from the blistering heat and shouting nonsense, and the imprisoned pilot’s head was thrown far back in agony. He was howling like an animal. While the generals and colonels argued, a tall Chinese boy wearing a dark shako walked up to within ten feet of the burning plane and emptied the clip of his .45 automatic into the dying pilot’s head.

After that, there was no problem. All you had was a burning plane, and we had lots of those. The tall Chinese, Georgie Huang, put his pistol back in the belt holster and walked away. As he passed me, I could see that the skin on his face was already beginning to peel from the intense heat. A general stepped in front of Huang, said something, and George said, “Get out of my way.

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