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  “Fly you down?” Harry said. “Why sure, I'd be glad to. But where's the kite? Who owns it?”

  “Oh, I do,” Joan said. “It's on the runway now. My pilot is ill. I had some business here and I flew up yesterday. Now he can't take me back and I've just got to be home some time tonight.”

  “How about clearance and briefing instructions?”

  “That's all fixed. I've got the Met. report. We can get off right away. They're waiting for me to clear now.”

  Harry looked at Glorie, suddenly remembering that somewhere out in the darkness Borg was waiting. The sight of the girl had driven Borg out of his mind and that startled him.

  “Just exactly where is the kite?” he asked.

  “Over at the hangars. I have a car waiting. We can drive over. Will you really fly me?”

  “Sure. We'll be glad of the trip.”

  “I can't thank you enough.” Her smile was the most exciting thing Harry had ever seen. “May we meet at the south exit in the reception hall? I've just got to call my pilot and tell him what I'm doing.”

  “Sure, we'll meet you there.”

  She smiled again and walked away.

  Glorie watched Harry stare after the blonde girl. Harry was watching the swing of Joan's hips, her square shoulders and her silky hair. He felt a tightness in his chest as he looked after her.

  What a pippin of a girl! he thought again.

  “Harry . . .”

  He started, turned and looked at Glorie. He had completely forgotten her, and now for the first time he became sharply aware how white and drawn and unglamorous she looked and he frowned at her.

  “That was a bit of luck,” he said, forcing himself to smile.

  “But how do we get to the kite? Borg may be waiting right outside.”

  “She said she has a car…”

  “Yeah, and as I climb in, I’ll get shot in the back.”

  Harry took out his handkerchief and wiped his face. All his old fears came surging back. “Look, Glorie, he won't touch you. Will you cover me? I’ll go first, behind her, and you keep close behind me. Will you do that?”

  Even at that her love for him didn’t falter.

  “Yes, of course, Harry.”

  “It's not as if he'd do anything to you,” Harry said, feeling blood rise into his face at her quiet acquiescence. He knew he was acting like a heel and he wished she had the guts to round on him. “You're not scared, are you? He won't shoot if you’re in the way.”

  “I'm not scared.”

  “Well, okay, then let's go.”

  He slid his hand inside his coat pocket and his fingers closed over the butt of his gun.

  He walked first, Glorie followed him. They had to wait a few minutes in the reception hall before Joan appeared.

  “All ready,” she said. “We can get off.”

  “Go on ahead,” Harry said, opening the door. He looked out into the dark night. His eyes searched the shadows, his flesh creeping.

  Near the entrance was a big Lincoln, a chauffeur at the wheel.

  Joan ran across the black top and got in the back of the car.

  Harry was right on her heels and Glorie followed him.

  Not forty yards away in the dark shadows, Borg watched the Lincoln drive away to the distant hangers. He had seen Harry arrive, had watched him and Glorie go into the reception hall, but he had made no attempt on Harry's life. He could have picked him off easily enough, but he wasn't sure this was the man he was after. It was hard to believe this young, good-looking guy could have been the fat, heavy Harry Green. Borg had been certain he would have recognized some mannerism, the walk, the way he held himself or something that would have given him the clue that this man was Harry Green. But he hadn’t spotted the clue and reluctantly he had held his fire.

  He watched the three leave the car at the far end of one of the runways and climb aboard the aircraft that stood outside a hangar. He listened to the engine roar into life and saw the aircraft taxi out on to the runway.

  One of the airport staff passed by and Borg reached out a fat hand and stopped him.

  “Who was the blonde who has just taken off in that aircraft?” he asked.

  The man looked in the direction Borg was pointing.

  “I guess that'd be Miss Graynor.”

  “Where's she going?”

  “Home, I guess. She lives in Miami.”

  Borg grunted and walked to the reception desk. Even if this guy wasn't Harry Green, he didn't intend to lose sight of Glorie.

  Maybe there were three of them: Green, Glorie and this guy, Griffin. Maybe Green would show up later on.

  He went into the ticket office. The clerk told him the next plane to Miami left in twenty minutes time.

  Borg took out his well-filled wallet.

  “Gimme a ticket,” he said.

  III

  Harry opened his eyes and stared around the small, but luxuriously furnished bedroom. For a few seconds he didn't know where he was, then he recalled the happenings of the previous night and relaxed back on his pillow. In the twin bed near his, Glorie still slept. He looked across at her, frowning. He could see how nervy she was even in sleep; her body twitched and her hands were restless. Her drawn, tired face and her twitching displeased him, and he looked away, reaching for a cigarette.

  He glanced at his wristwatch. The time was just after seven o'clock. Now wide awake, he switched on the automatic coffee maker that stood on the bedside table. Again he looked around the room. This was pretty good, he thought. It was costly, but it was the most luxurious motel he had ever stayed at. To have a room as good as this, you had to expect to pay top prices.

  Joan had found them the accommodation. She had driven them to the motel in a grey-and-blue six-cylinder Bentley which had been waiting at the airport when they had touched down. During the flight, she had sat in the co-pilot's seat next to Harry and they had talked. Glorie had sat behind them. She had been silent, and, he had felt, disapproving.

  He had told Joan that he was looking for an opening in an air-taxi company as he wanted to continue his flying. He had asked her if she thought Miami would offer any opportunities.

  “Of course,” she had said. “There's a constant demand for air-taxis in Miami, but it's no good doing it in a small way. You'd want to form your own company. I know where you can get the land to build an airfield.”

  “I wasn't planning to go in for it that big,” he had said. “I thought a couple of kites to start with. I could rent space on one of the commercial airfields.”

  “Oh, you can't do that,” Joan had said emphatically. “You want at least a dozen aircraft—twenty-five would be better and you must have your own airfield. There are too many lone operators on the job now. To do any good, you'd have to squeeze them out and get a monopoly here.” Her enthusiasm excited him. “You must form a company. It won't be difficult. I think my father might be persuaded to put up some money.”

  He had learned then with a sense of shock that her father was Howard Graynor, the steel and oil magnate: one of the richest men in the country.

  “I think it's a wonderful idea,” she had gone on. “I've always been crazy about flying although Daddy won't let me take my pilot's certificate. He thinks I'll kill myself. If you really intend to form a company I will talk to him about it.”

  They had argued and discussed the pros and cons, completely forgetting Glorie who sat silently listening. This was something she didn't understand, and it frightened her to see how animated Harry was. She had never seen him like this before.

  When they had arrived at the motel, Joan had said they must meet the next day and continue the discussion.

  “I'd love to run an air-taxi business,” she had said. “I’ve a mind to open up in competition with you.”

  Harry had grinned.

  “Why not be my partner?” he had said jokingly. 'That way we wouldn't cut each other's throats.”

  “I might at that,” she had returned. “Anyway, you must see the land I w
as telling you about. I'll pick you up around noon. How's that?”

  Harry said he would be waiting. She had nodded to Glorie and had driven away fast, leaving Harry staring after her, entranced not only by her, but by her ideas.

  He hadn't noticed Glorie's silence when they had undressed and had got into bed, and when Glorie had said suddenly, “I thought we were going to Europe, Harry,” he had stared at her as if aware of her for the first time.

  “Let's go to sleep,” he said curtly and switched off the light.

  “I'm about all in even if you're not.”

  The bell on the coffee maker rang to tell him the coffee was ready. As he filled his cup, Glorie sat up, ran her fingers through her dark hair and looked around the room.

  “You know, Harry, this is going to cost an awful lot.”

  “Oh, don't crab!” he said. He wasn't in the mood to talk. He had a lot on his mind, and he wished that he could be alone for the next hour. He wanted to drink his coffee, He in this comfortable bed and think. The last thing he wanted was to have to listen to a lot of chatter from Glorie. “Help yourself to coffee if you want it. If s all ready.”

  Glorie was aware of a cold feeling around her heart. This was the beginning, she told herself. She recognized the signs. All the men she had known had behaved like this before the brush off came. The frowning, bored look in their eyes. The help-yourself-if-you-want-it attitude that was the same way of saying I-can't-be-bothered-to-do-it-for-you. What a fool she had been to have asked that blonde to help them. She was sure Harry was thinking of her at this moment and Harry was. He was wondering what he would do if she did offer to put some money up for the taxi service. He would have to be careful to keep his independence.

  He didn't intend to have a board of directors telling him what to do. She had been right, of course. A two-kite setup would be all hard work and little profit. It would be fun to work alongside a girl like her. Talk about a ball of fire! But had she been serious?

  She seemed to know what she was talking about. Suppose she did get her old man interested? He had millions....

  “Harry . . .”

  He started. Glorie's voice was like the flick of a whip.

  “What is it?”

  “We must talk about what we are going to do,” she said. “We can't stay here.”

  He half raised himself to stare at her.

  “Why not? Of course we can. What are you talking about?”

  “It’s not safe. Borg will find us.”

  Harry had completely forgotten Borg. He felt a vicious spurt of fury run through him.

  “He can't search the whole country for us. We're as safe here as anywhere. We've shaken him off, haven't we? He didn't see us. How can he even guess we're here?”

  “We may not have seen him, but I'm sure he saw us. I know him, Harry. He wouldn't have gone to Oklahoma City unless he was after us. He knew I was meeting you at the airport. I'm sure he saw us leave in Miss Graynor's aircraft.”

  “What if he did? That doesn't mean anything. He's lost us now.”

  “But, Harry, she's a well-known personality. Anyone on the airfield could tell him who she is. He'll know we are here. That's why we must move today.”

  “Move today?” Harry said, his voice shooting up. Are you crazy? Didn't you hear what Joan said? We're meeting this morning. Don't you realize what this could mean to me if she got her old man to put up some money to finance me? He's worth millions. Think of it! Twenty-five aircraft! Ifs just the kind of setup I've always hoped for.”

  “But, Harry, please be sensible. She's not likely to persuade her father. Why, he wouldn't take her seriously. She's only a kid.”

  “That's where you are wrong. She may look a kid, but she's smart. She's got a heap of brains. I wouldn't be surprised if her old man didn't put up some money. I have an idea once she gets started she could persuade a bronze statue to part with money.”

  His infatuated expression sparked Glorie's anger into life.

  “Is it likely he would finance you?” she said tartly. “He's bound to make enquiries about you. How do you think he'll react when he finds out Why you lost your job?”

  The moment she said it she was sorry.

  Harry's face tightened. He looked at her, and she saw the angry dislike naked in his eyes.

  “You're a goddamn wet blanket, aren't you?” he said. If you can't be a bit more constructive, for the love of mike, shut up!”

  Glorie was instantly terrified. Suppose he walked out on her?

  He might do it if she provoked him too much. She had no money; Borg was after her, and she would be alone. The prospect chilled her.

  “I'm sorry, darling, but we must be sensible, she said, loosing anxiously at him. “ I'm only trying to be helpful. He's bound to make enquiries about you if he is interested in such a proposition. You have to be very careful what you tell him.”

  Harry frowned. His angry expression changed to uneasiness.

  “I guess you're right. Yeah, a guy like Graynor would put me under a microscope before he'd let me handle any of his dough.”

  “Don't you think it would be safer for us to do what we originally planned? Don't you think we should go to London, away from Borg? He wouldn't follow us to London.”

  “To hell with Borg!” Harry said, and got out of bed. “He won't come here, so stop yapping about him. We're not going to London. I've better things to do with my money. Right now I'm going for a walk. I've things to think about. And look, Glorie, I'd better see Joan on my own this morning. This is business. You'd only be in the way. Why don't you get some more sleep? You look washed out. I’ll be back for lunch.”

  He snatched up his clothes and went out of the room, slamming the door behind him. A few seconds later, she heard him singing under the shower.

  You'd only be in the way. You look washed out. Why didn't he say what he meant? I'm bored with you. I've found someone who doesn't look old, worn out and second hand.

  Why didn't he say it? That's what he meant and that's how she felt.

  It was only when she tasted salt in her mouth that she realized she was crying.

  IV

  A few minutes after twelve noon, Harry saw the big blue-and-grey Bentley coming along the beach road. He got up from the shade of a palm tree under which he had been sitting and waved.

  When he had left the motel, he had taken the bus into town and had had a walk around. He had had an expensive breakfast at one of the smart eating joints on the sea front, then he had bought himself a pair of swimming trunks and had spent an hour in the sea. Later, after an hour or so sun bathing, he had visited two or three of the smart bars in town to kill further time, then at half-past eleven he telephoned Glorie.

  “I may be hung up,” he said. “Don't wait lunch for me. You'll be all right, won't you?”

  She said she would be all right in a quiet, flat voice that irritated him and he said good-bye and hung up.

  He took the bus to the top of the beach road and sat down under a palm where he could watch for the Bentley.

  He had thought a lot since he had left the motel. Glorie had been right. If Joan really meant business, he would have to be careful what he told her of his background: in fact the less he could tell her, the better. Her father would certainly make enquiries about him, and if Graynor found out why he had been sacked from the C.A.T.C. he would be sunk.

  Then there was the problem of Glorie. Joan was calling her Mrs. Griffin, and that meant the dim-brain had told Joan she was married to him. Or was she being all that stupid? Glorie was smart. There was no doubt about that. Probably she took one look at Joan's beauty and had decided the competition wasn't a fair one and had come out with the Mrs. Griffin line as a form of defence—He's mine, hands off! Well, that wouldn't get her anywhere. He wasn't too bothered about Glorie. He could handle her. He had decided, not without a little qualm, that they must part. He refused to admit that Joan had anything to do with the decision. For all he knew, he told himself, Joan wouldn't show up. He m
ight never see her again. It would be better for Glorie and him to part mainly because if Borg was after them it would be safer for both of them to split up. Anyway, she couldn't expect their association to go on forever. After all, she was five or six years older than he was. He told himself she couldn't object. He would put his cards on the table and tell her the truth. They had had fun, but now it would be safer and better for them to part. She must see that. He'd give her some dough to carry her over until she found something to do: five thousand should hold her. Five thousand? He frowned. Perhaps that was being a bit too generous. Five thousand would make a hole in his capital and if Joan did mean business he would need every nickel to put in the partnership. Perhaps two thousand would hold her.

  Anyway, he would talk to her and explain the position. She would understand. She always had understood. That was the big thing about Glorie: you could talk to her. He felt she was the least of his difficulties. The C.A.T.C. was the biggest snag, and then there was Borg.

  He didn't know quite what to do about Borg. He could only hope the fat thug had lost him. If he picked up his trail and came after him, he might have to stop running and fight.

  The thought made Harry grimace. It was all very well to think like that now when Borg was a thousand miles away, but it wouldn't be quite so simple when Borg was within gun shot.

  Harry remembered his fear when he thought Borg was hiding somewhere on the airfield. Borg was a professional killer. Harry didn't fancy his chances against him. But something had to be done about him. He wasn't going to stop Harry's plans. Maybe once he got his hands on some big money he would be able to afford a bodyguard who would take care of Borg. Harry brightened at the thought. That was an idea! Some tough, quick-shooting thug who'd handle Borg.

  Then he saw the Bentley coming and he jumped to his feet.

  So she had come! Did that mean she meant business? He approached the car, giving her his best and widest smile.