“Up, up and away,” sighed Hoffman. “I don’t mind admitting I had a couple of tiny doubts there for a while.”

“Join the club,” said Burns, grinning.

As soon as he broke through the clouds and leveled the Stratocruiser out at sixteen thousand feet on a westerly heading over the Rockies, Vylander motioned to Gold.

“Take her. I’m going to make a check aft.”

Gold looked at him. The major did not normally relinquish the controls so early in the flight.

“Got her,” Gold acknowledged, placing his hands on the yoke.

Vylander released his seat belt and shoulder harness and stepped into the cargo section, making sure the door to the cockpit was closed behind him.

He counted thirty-six of the gleaming stainless-steel canisters, firmly strapped to wooden blocks on the deck. He began carefully checking the surface area of each canister. He searched for the usual stenciled military markings denoting weight, date of manufacture, inspector’s initials, handling instructions. There were none.

After nearly fifteen minutes he was about to give up and return to the cockpit when he spotted a small aluminum plate that had fallen down between the blocks. It had an adhesive backing, and Vylander felt a tinge of smugness as he matched it to a sticky spot of stainless steel where it had once been bonded. He held the plate up to the dim cabin light and squinted at its smooth side. The tiny engraved marking confirmed his worst fear.

He stood for a time, staring at the little aluminum plate. Suddenly he was jolted out of his reverie by a lurch of the aircraft. He rushed across the cargo cabin and threw open the door to the cockpit.

It was filled with smoke.

“Oxygen masks!” Vylander shouted. He could barely make out the outlines of Hoffman and Burns. Gold was completely enveloped in the bluish haze. He groped his way to the pilot’s seat and fumbled for his oxygen mask, wincing at the acrid smell of an electrical short circuit.

“Buckley Tower, this is Vixen 03,” Gold was yelling into a microphone. “We have smoke in the cockpit. Request emergency-landing instructions. Over.”

“Taking over the controls,” said Vylander.

“She’s yours.” Gold’s acceptance came without hesitation.

“Burns?”

“Sir?”

“What in hell’s gone wrong?”

“Can’t tell for sure with all this smoke, Major.” Burns’s voice sounded hollow under the oxygen mask. “It looks like a short in the area of the radio transmitter.”

“Buckley Tower, this is Vixen 03,” Gold persisted. “Please come in.”

“It’s no use, Lieutenant,” Burns gasped. “They can’t hear you. Nobody can hear you. The circuit breaker for the radio equipment won’t stay set.”

Vylander’s eyes were watering so badly he could hardly see. “I’m bringing her around on a course back to Buckley,” he announced calmly.