"Flaps down." She heard the grinding of the flaps again, and the nose of the plane dropped sickeningly. All at once, beyond waving palms that seemed as high as they were, she saw Michael's home through the smoke in the cabin. A narrow strand of alabaster beach showed that the tide was out. The hard sand gleamed like ivory in the sun.

Hoagie growled into his microphone: "Nassau Center, Cessna four-aught-five-three Charlie, on final, for a go at Masthead Beach. Good day, old man, cheerio, and out."

"The trees!" she said with a gasp.

"Sure, the trees..." He banked gently, heading for the shortest of the grove. Through the smoke she saw him smiling. "Poems are made by fools like me..."

She stared. He was enjoying this!

The palm fronds were suddenly reaching up at them, grasping at their wheels. "Hoagie!"

She heard the whisk of their passage, felt a jarring, and they were free.

"But only God," Hoagie continued, "only God can make a tree."

They were only a few feet above the ground now, and the nose was coming up. It seemed incredible that he thought he could land before they hit the hill on Masthead Point.

She peered ahead. Through the smoke and the oily windshield she glimpsed a tiny tanned form in the distance, where Thea and she had started their castle. "Hoagie!" she screamed. "Thea's there!"

He switched his magneto on and jammed the throttle forward, but the engine only belched and flamed. She saw Thea turn, throw up her hands protectively, and then the propeller, tossing shards of sunlight, cut off her view as the nose came up.

"Oh, my God!" Hoagie grunted. "Oh, my God!"

***

Carlos Flores stood gripping the stainless-steel handrail as they bounced around Masthead Point. He kept his Panama hat on his head with his other hand. The M14 was safely back in the locker, in its bag. He sagged with relief. The Cessna was twisting and writhing, and he knew that it must fall.

The Englishman obviously had spotted him before he'd fired, and Carlos was proud that he had hit it, despite the pilot's desperate moves.

"Ay!" he exulted, wiping his glasses as he saw the smoke begin. "I am not too old to be a contra, no es verdad?"

"Viejo, who could have missed?" said Alejandro, scoffing, his strong young teeth flashing in the sun. "My baby brother could have downed it with his slingshot!" He glanced at the plane and added, "Besides, it is not down yet."

"No hay problema." The big man shrugged. "He is dead."

Some of the joy of the kill had fled with the young man's stupid jest. It was true that it had been like shooting a pigeon that was coming home to roost, until el Inglés had begun waltzing over the sky like a drunken goose.