Chapter 19 #2
Pancho looked around at the large crowd, which was well controlled this time by lots of police and volunteers.
“What if my load wasn’t the only one?” she asked. “What if multiple planes came across the border during the flyover?”
Pullman grimaced. “That makes sense. If there was a temporary hole in border air surveillance and I was a bad guy, sending as many planes as possible would be a sound plan. The gangsters running the big smuggling rings aren’t dumb. It was a good idea to time a run with the air race.”
A moment of doubt assailed her. Maybe her hunch was wrong. But what if it wasn’t?
She said quietly, “Or maybe the race was timed to coincide with the booze run.”
Pullman’s gaze jerked up to hers. “You think Ayers is in cahoots with mobsters?”
“Maybe him. Maybe Aldridge. Heck, maybe both of them.” She continued in a rush, “Why were they so insistent that we had to go to Calexico at all cost? It’s a tiny burg in the middle of nowhere, by far the smallest town on the entire route.
It won’t generate a speck of publicity for aviation, which is the purpose of this whole dog and pony show. ”
“That’s a serious accusation,” Pullman warned her.
“I’m only talking to you, aren’t I?” she shot back.
She added more temperately, “I was on the race committee until a few weeks ago when I had to fly home to get ready for the race. There was no talk at all of a stop in Calexico when I was safety adviser for the race. The committee specifically planned the route to go through big cities that would draw the largest possible crowds. The idea was to expose as many folks as possible to airplanes and get them interested in flying, and also to garner a ton of press coverage.”
Pullman frowned heavily, muttering more to himself than to her, “First Thea. Now this.”
“What happened to Thea?” she asked quickly.
Marvel jogged up just then, carrying a canvas pouch with a red cross on it. She answered Pancho’s question, “Thea’s engine conked out. She had to make an emergency landing and pull a bunch of garbage from her carburetor. The junk clogged her fuel line.”
Pancho sent Pullman a significant look, then commented, “I guess whoever sent that telegram meant business.”
“Hold still,” Marvel murmured, dabbing petroleum jelly on her neck. “Want me to wrap gauze around your neck and pin it in place?”
Pancho pulled away from Marvel’s ministrations. “It’s just a scratch.”
Marvel hesitated, then shoved the roll of gauze back into the kit. “Still need disinfecting. Don’t waste your breath arguing with me. I’m a brush pilot. Infections get nasty. I’m not letting you get one.”
“How’s Thea?” Pancho asked, eager to change the subject away from her wound.
“She’s shook up something awful,” Marvel answered. “She’s thinking about quitting the race. You’ve got to help me talk her into finishing it.”
Pancho looked past Marvel. Sure enough, Thea was pacing back and forth near her Gipsy Moth while Phoebe tried to talk to her. Phoebe saw Pancho looking her way and made a get-over-here gesture.
“Go talk to Thea,” Pullman said, plucking the bottle of tequila out of her jacket. “Leave your cargo to me.”
“You’ll be discreet about getting the crates out of my airplane, won’t you?” Pancho asked him. “I’d hate for the press to photograph booze coming out of my plane’s belly.”
Pullman’s mouth twitched with humor. “I’ll wait till the cover of darkness, like any good smuggler. I plan to just let it sit in your plane for a while, though. See if anyone comes sniffing around tonight looking for it. Maybe catch a few rumrunners while I’m chasing you ladies across the country.”
That crisis averted, Pancho turned her attention to the next one and headed for Thea. You’re about to tell her to risk her life again. She paused mid-stride, chewing on the thought.
Marvel caught up with her and asked her, “What are you going to do?”
“I’ve got to think through what to say.”
“Just tell her to stay in the race,” Marvel urged.
“It’s not that simple. Of course, I’m gonna hate it if she quits.”
“Me, too. So why are we standing here discussing it?” Marvel demanded.
“There’s a whole lot more going on here than just flying,” she replied. “Sabotage is no joking matter. Thea had a close call today. She’s got a right to be scared. Quitting or staying—that’s a choice she’s got to make for herself.”
“No one’s died,” Marvel pointed out. “We’ve got luck on our side.”
“Luck doesn’t last forever.” The groove cut into her neck by a bullet stung just then, a reminder of how much luck she’d used up earlier.
Marvel’s expression tightened. She stared sightlessly at the ground, clearly thinking hard about something.
“What aren’t you telling me, Marvel?”
“Nothing.”
Pancho pressed her. “What’s going on?”
“My plane’s design is brand-new. It wasn’t adequately tested before I flew it out here.”
Pancho shot back, “The way I hear it, your plane got one trip around the traffic pattern in Wichita before it was handed over to you.”
“That’s about right,” Marvel admitted. “No different than Louise, though.”
“So, what’s concerning you about it?”
“The engine’s knocking a bit,” Marvel confessed. “I thought I was just low on fuel. But when I checked the tank after I landed, there was plenty of gas.”
Pancho frowned. “Anything else?”
Marvel bit her lower lip.
“Don’t you clam up on me, Marvel Crosson. We’re sisters, right?”
“Well, yes.” She paused, obviously wrestling over whether to spill her guts or not. Finally, she confessed, “I . . . drifted a bit in flight today.”
Pancho’s insides clenched. “That was carbon monoxide, Marvel.”
“Maybe. But I also got almost no sleep last night or the night before. And I need my eight hours of shut-eye at night if I’m going to be any good the next day.” Marvel looked around cautiously and said under her breath, “With all this sabotage, I’m wondering if it could be something else.”
“Mechanic find anything? Fuel line clear?”
“The guy assigned to me for the race says she checks out just fine.”
“Do you believe him?”