"Don't worry, amigo. Nobody will harm you."

Lomas got up from the chair, slapped the cat to the floor, and peered out the dusty window. Ricardo, in shock, regarded him from the floor, lifted his tail like a periscope, and paraded out the open door in injured dignity.

Cedric watched him go and felt even more alone than before. There was only one other employee on the field, the operations man. Even the narcotics officer had finally left to go to the Junkanoo.

Run to Operations, he begged Ricardo silently. Or to Calypso Charters. Meow or something, let them know. Why couldn't the government have given him a dog? A German shepherd or a Great Dane?

Past the intruder, Cedric could see Hoagie Newcombe and two other men—the conch experts using government funds to chase conch they never ate—heading toward Newcombe's Stearman.

"I awready gassed Mr. Newcombe's plane," he complained. "Now he goin' out there, thinkin' I ain't worth nothin'!"

The man turned from the window. He took the gastruck keys from a hook by the door.

"He's right. You ain't."

He closed the door, took the pillow, folded it over the gun, and pressed the muzzle to Cedric's head.

He almost lit fire to the pillow, but the dull report could hardly be heard outside the gas-shack.

He stuffed the weapon under his chest strap, walked outside, and climbed into the gas truck.

By the time Hoagie had preflighted the plane, climbed in next to Mike, flicked his master switch, and noticed that his tanks were, after all, full, it was too late.

The petrol truck had parked to the left of the plane. Lomas was under the port wing at the pilot's open door, and Hoagie was looking down the barrel of his gun. The whole operation was Lomas's show.

"Now give me your gun, el Inglés." Lomas smiled. "And do it very carefully."

Slowly Hoagie pulled the gun from his belt, under his tropical shirt, and handed it to him. Behind him, in the right rear seat, Jake murmured, "Mon, oh, mon..."

"Take off the jump panel," demanded Lomas. Hoagie looked into the muzzle, leaned across Mike, and unlatched the wide, modified panel, containing the right door and opening up the entire cabin on the starboard side. He had installed it for dual and triple jumps, and Lomas had dived through it, screaming "Geronimo," in his famous jump to win the soccer game.

"Let it drop," ordered Lomas. The panel clattered to the tarmac. Wherever they were bound, it promised to be a cold and windy ride.

Lomas, holding the gun against his head, climbed clumsily with his backpack 'chute into the left rear seat behind him.

"I trust your flying okay, el Inglés," he said. "But I think I keep my parachute on this flight."

"What flight?" asked Hoagie tersely. "Flight to where?"