OHara was mournful. Its just that I thought Id have an easy trip for a change. You know you always overload and its a hell of a job going through the passes. The old bitch wallows like a hippo.
Youre going at the best time, said Filson. Itll be worse later in the day when the sun has warmed things up. Now get the hell out of here and stop bothering me.
OHara left the office. The main hall was emptying, a stream of disgruntled Samair passengers leaving for the antiquated airport bus. A few people still stood about those would be the passengers for Santillana. OHara ignored them; passengers or freight, it was all one to him. He took them over the Andes and dumped them on the other side and there was no point in getting involved with them. A bus driver doesnt mix with his passengers, he thought; and thats all I am a bloody vertical bus driver.
He glanced at the manifest. Filson had done it again there were two crates and he was aghast at their weight. One of these days, he thought savagely, Ill get an I.A.T.A. inspector up here at the right time and Filson will go for a loop. He crushed the manifest in his fist and went to inspect the Dakota.
Grivas was by the plane, lounging gracefully against the undercarriage. He straightened when he saw OHara and flicked his cigarette across the tarmac but did not step forward to meet him. OHara crossed over and said, Is the cargo aboard?
Grivas smiled. Yes.
Did you check it? Is it secure?
Of course, Señor OHara. I saw to it myself.
OHara grunted. He did not like Grivas, neither as a man nor as a pilot. He distrusted his smoothness, the slick patina of pseudo good breeding that covered him like a sheen from his patent leather hair and trim toothbrush moustache to his highly polished shoes. Grivas was a slim wiry man, not very tall, who always wore a smile. OHara distrusted the smile most of all.
Whats the weather? he asked.
Grivas looked at the sky. It seems all right.
OHara let acid creep into his voice. A met. report would be a good thing, dont you think?
Grivas grinned. Ill get it, he said.
OHara watched him go, then turned to the Dakota and walked round to the cargo doors. The Dakota had been one of the most successful planes ever designed, the work-horse of the Allied forces during the war. Over ten thousand of them had fought a good war, flying countless millions of ton-miles of precious freight about the world. It was a good plane in its time, but that was long ago.
This Dakota was twenty-five years old, battered by too many air hours with too little servicing. OHara knew the exact amount of play in the rudder cables; he knew how to nurse the worn-out engines so as to get the best out of them and a poor best it was; he knew the delicate technique of landing so as not to put too much strain on the weakened undercarriage. And he knew that one day the whole sorry fabric would play a murderous trick on him high over the white spears of the Andes.
He climbed into the plane and looked about the cavernous interior. There were ten seats up front, not the luxurious reclining couches of Samair but uncomfortable hard leather chairs each fitted with the safety-belt that even Filson could not skip, although he had grumbled at the added cost. The rest of the fuselage was devoted to cargo space and was at present occupied by two large crates.
OHara went round them testing the anchoring straps with his hand. He had a horror that one day the cargo would slide forward if he made a bad landing or hit very bad turbulence. That would be the end of any passengers who had the ill-luck to be flying Andes Airlift. He cursed as he found a loose strap. Grivas and his slipshod ways would be the end of him one day.
Having seen the cargo was secured he went forward into the cockpit and did a routine check of the instruments. A mechanic was working on the port engine so OHara leaned out of the side window and asked in Spanish if it was all right. The mechanic spat, then drew his finger across his throat and made a bloodcurdling sound. De un momento a otro.
He finished the instrument check and went into the hangar to find Fernandez, the chief mechanic, who usually had a bottle or two stored away, strictly against Filsons orders. OHara liked Fernandez and he knew that Fernandez liked him; they got on well together and OHara made a point of keeping it that way to be at loggerheads with the chief mechanic would be a passport to eternity in this job.
He chatted for a while with Fernandez, then filled his flask and took a hasty gulp from the bottle before he passed it back. Dawn was breaking as he strode back to the Dakota, and Grivas was in the cockpit fussing with the disposal of his briefcase. Its a funny thing, thought OHara, that the briefcase is just as much a part of an airline pilot as it is of any city gent. His own was under his seat; all it contained was a packet of sandwiches which he had picked up at an all-night café.
Got the met. report? he asked Grivas.
Grivas passed over the sheet of paper and OHara said, You can taxi her down to the apron.
He studied the report. It wasnt too bad it wasnt bad at all. No storms, no anomalies, no trouble just good weather over the mountains. But OHara had known the meteorologists to be wrong before and there was no release of the tension within him. It was that tension, never relaxed in the air, that had kept him alive when a lot of better men had died.
As the Dakota came to a halt on the apron outside the main building, he saw Filson leading the small group of passengers. See they have their seat-belts properly fastened, he said to Grivas.
Im not a hostess, said Grivas sulkily.
When youre sitting on this side of the cockpit you can give orders, said OHara coldly. Right now you take them. And Id like you to do a better job of securing the passengers than you did of the cargo.
The smile left Grivass face, but he turned and went into the main cabin. Presently Filson came forward and thrust a form at OHara. Sign this.
It was the I.A.T.A. certificate of weights and fuel. OHara saw that Filson had cheated on the weights as usual, but made no comment and scribbled his signature. Filson said, As soon as you land give me a ring. There might be return cargo.
OHara nodded and Filson withdrew. There was the double slam as the door closed and OHara said, Take her to the end of the strip. He switched on the radio, warming it up.
Grivas was still sulky and would not talk. He made no answer as he revved the engines and the Dakota waddled away from the main building into the darkness, ungainly and heavy on the ground. At the end of the runway OHara thought for a moment. Filson had not given him a flight number. To hell with it, he thought; control ought to know whats going on. He clicked on the microphone and said, A.A. special flight, destination Santillana A.A. to San Croce control ready to take off.
A voice crackled tinnily in his ear. San Croce control to Andes Airlift special. Permission given time 2.33 G.M.T.
Roger and out. He put his hand to the throttles and waggled the stick. There was a stickiness about it. Without looking at Grivas he said, Take your hands off the controls. Then he pushed on the throttle levers and the engines roared. Four minutes later the Dakota was airborne after an excessively long run.
He stayed at the controls for an hour, personally supervising the long climb to the roof of the world. He liked to find out if the old bitch was going to spring a new surprise. Cautiously he carried out gentle, almost imperceptible evolutions, his senses attuned to the feel of the plane. Occasionally he glanced at Grivas who was sitting frozen-faced in the other seat, staring blankly through the windscreen.
At last he was satisfied and engaged the automatic pilot but spent another quarter-hour keeping a wary eye on it. It had behaved badly on the last flight but Fernandez had assured him that it was now all right. He trusted Fernandez, but not that much it was always better to do the final check personally.
Then he relaxed and looked ahead. It was much lighter in the high air and, although the dawn was behind, the sky ahead was curiously light. OHara knew why; it was the snow blink as the first light of the sun caught the high white peaks of the Andes. The mountains themselves were as yet invisible, lost in the early haze rising from the jungle below.
He began to think about his passengers and he wondered if they knew what they had got themselves into. This was no pressurized jet aircraft and they were going to fly pretty high it would be cold and the air would be thin and he hoped none of the passengers had heart trouble. Presumably Filson had warned them, although he wouldnt put it past that bastard to keep his mouth shut. He was even too stingy to provide decent oxygen masks there were only mouth tubes in the oxygen bottles to port and starboard.
He scratched his cheek thoughtfully. These werent the ordinary passengers he was used to carrying the American mining engineers flying to San Croce and the poorer type of local businessman proud to be flying even by Andes Airlift. These were the Samair type of passengers wealthy and not over fond of hardship. They were in a hurry, too, or they would have had more sense than to fly Andes Airlift. Perhaps he had better break his rule and go back to talk to them. When they found they werent going to fly over the Andes but through them they might get scared. It would be better to warn them first.
He pushed his uniform cap to the back of his head and said, Take over, Grivas. Im going to talk to the passengers.
Grivas lifted his eyebrows so surprised that he forgot to be sulky. He shrugged. Why? What is so important about the passengers? Is this Samair? He laughed noiselessly. But, yes, of course you have seen the girl; you want to see her again, eh?
What girl?
Just a girl, a woman; very beautiful. I think I will get to know her and take her out when we arrive in er Santillana, said Grivas thoughtfully. He looked at OHara out of the corner of his eye.
OHara grunted and took the passenger manifest from his breast pocket. As he suspected, the majority were American. He went through the list rapidly. Mr and Mrs Coughlin of Challis, Idaho tourists; Dr James Armstrong, London, England no profession stated; Raymond Forester of New York businessman; Señor and Señorita Montes Argentinian and no profession stated; Miss Jennifer Ponsky of South Bridge, Connecticut tourist; Dr Willis of California; Miguel Rohde no stated nationality, profession importer; Joseph Peabody of Chicago, Illinois businessman.
He flicked his finger on the manifest and grinned at Grivas. Jennifers a nice name but Ponsky? I cant see you going around with anyone called Ponsky.
Grivas looked startled, then laughed convulsively. Ah, my friend, you can have the fair Ponsky Ill stick to my girl.
OHara looked at the list again. Then it must be Señorita Montes unless its Mrs Coughlin.
Grivas chuckled, his good spirits recovered. You find out for yourself.
Ill do that, said OHara. Take over.
He went back into the main cabin and was confronted by ten uplifted heads. He smiled genially, modelling himself on the Samair pilots to whom public relations was as important as flying ability. Lifting his voice above the roar of the engines, he said, I suppose I ought to tell you that well be reaching the mountains in about an hour. It will get cold, so I suggest you wear your overcoats. Mr Filson will have told you that this aircraft isnt pressurized, but we dont fly at any great height for more than an hour, so youll be quite all right.
A burly man with a whisky complexion interjected, No one told me that.
OHara cursed Filson under his breath and broadened his smile. Well, not to worry, Mr er
Peabody Joe Peabody.
Mr Peabody. It will be quite all right. There is an oxygen mouthpiece next to every seat which I advise you to use if you feel breathing difficult. Now, it gets a bit wearying shouting like this above the engine noise, so Ill come round and talk to you individually. He smiled at Peabody, who glowered back at him.
He bent to the first pair of seats on the port side. Could I have your names, please?
The first man said, Im Forester. The other contributed, Willis.
Glad to have you aboard, Dr Willis, Mr Forester.
Forester said, I didnt bargain for this, you know. I didnt think kites like this were still flying.
OHara smiled deprecatingly. Well, this is an emergency flight and it was laid on in the devil of a hurry. Im sure it was an oversight that Mr Filson forgot to tell you that this isnt a pressurized plane. Privately he was not sure of anything of the kind.
Willis said with a smile. I came here to study high altitude conditions. Im certainly starting with a bang. How high do we fly, Captain?
Not more than seventeen thousand feet, said OHara. We fly through the passes we dont go over the top. Youll find the oxygen mouthpieces easy to use all you do is suck. He smiled and turned away and found himself held. Peabody was clutching his sleeve, leaning forward over the seat behind. Hey, Skipper
Ill be with you in a moment, Mr Peabody, said OHara, and held Peabody with his eye. Peabody blinked rapidly, released his grip and subsided into his seat, and OHara turned to starboard.
The man was elderly, with an aquiline nose and a short grey beard. With him was a young girl of startling beauty, judging by what OHara could see of her face, which was not much because she was huddled deep into a fur coat. He said, Señor Montes?
The man inclined his head. Dont worry, Captain, we know what to expect. He waved a gloved hand. You see we are well prepared. I know the Andes, señor, and I know these aircraft. I know the Andes well; I have been over them on foot and by mule in my youth I climbed some of the high peaks didnt I, Benedetta?
Si, tío, she said in a colourless voice. But that was long ago. I dont know if your heart
He patted her on the leg. I will be all right if I relax; is that not so, Captain?
Do you understand the use of this oxygen tube? asked OHara.
Montes nodded confidently, and OHara said, Your uncle will be quite all right, Señorita Montes. He waited for her to reply but she made no answer, so he passed on to the seats behind.
These couldnt be the Coughlins; they were too ill-assorted a pair to be American tourists, although the woman was undoubtedly American. OHara said inquiringly, Miss Ponsky?