‘What for?’ demanded Haslam. He pointed to the sky. ‘If you think I’m going to take off with those bastards up there you’re crazy. What was the deal? There must be a deal.’

‘Sure!’ said Frank. ‘They want us to walk out with our hands up, and then maybe we’ll get our wrists slapped. Call that a deal?’

Haslam swung on me. ‘Kemp, is that true?’

‘True enough,’ I said. ‘You can’t make a deal with the police.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ said Frank. ‘That plane load of people over there are our bargaining chips.’

‘That might wash with a political hijacking,’ I said. ‘But no one’s going to make a deal with a bunch of thieves.’

Frank pushed the gun into my kidneys. ‘Shut your mouth! Now, for Christ’s sake, let’s get back to the hangar and stop this yapping.’

We trudged over to the brightly lit hangar in silence. The Boeing was parked on the apron and a number of men were busy trundling wheelbarrows about underneath it. Every so often, a big canvas bag would drop from the plane’s cargo bay to the tarmac, then someone would heave it into a barrow and transfer it to the hangar. I did a quick count. Not including the armed man who was overseeing the operation, there were four of them in sight. That’s if they were actually part of the gang: for all I knew, this was Bette Haslam’s slave labour. If they were, then the odds had shortened significantly.

Inside the hangar, a man I didn’t recognise was stacking the canvas bags in a pile beside the Learjet. The young man went over and began to help him. Frank turned and stared wearily at Leotta and me.

‘Put these two with the others,’ he said.

‘I don’t know what you brought them for,’ Philips said. ‘They’re nothing but trouble. When did you figure it all out, Kemp?’

‘Not long ago,’ I said. ‘This afternoon.’

It seemed like an age.

II

Leotta struggled to climb the metal ladder that was leaning against the Boeing’s fuselage by its rear door, but with some effort and her natural agility, she finally made it. I supervised her ascent solicitously from the ground, then followed her up. Philips watched until I was at the top of the ladder and then went away towards the hangar, shouting something I couldn’t make out to the armed man below.

The passengers were jittery and I couldn’t blame them. I was pounced on as soon as I went through the door and assailed by a score of voices all asking different questions. I saw a hostess elbowing her way along the aisle from the front of the plane. ‘Quiet!’ I yelled, and was surprised to find myself instantly obeyed. The hostess came up to me and I said, ‘Where’s your chief officer?’