I glanced at my watch. It was nearly half-past six. 'I suppose we'll have to.'

He pulled out the snake gun and held it behind his back. 'If I still had the Browning, it would be much simpler.'

'If you had that thing, you'd have had to shoot anybody who saw you with it.'

The car swung into sight; a white Mercedes saloon. Not likely to be one of Jiminez's supporters, but not an official Air Force car either.

Luiz stepped forward and waved a hand in gesture that was friendly but commanding. The car slowed, then suddenly stopped a good twenty yards off. The front doors jumped open.

An airman with a sub-machine gun piled out of one; Ned, in flying overalls, with a streak of dried blood on his face, and the stubby revolver in his hand, out of the other.

Twenty yards was much too far for the snake gun; the machine-gun made it even farther. Luiz sighed and I heard the pistol clatter on the concrete behind him.

Ned walked slowly forward and there was a grim, satisfied smile on his face. 'The gallant aviators themselves,' he said quietly. 'I'mso glad to meet you.'

Then he swung the gun.

I didn't go out, but I didn't bother to notice much of what was happening until I was seated in Ned's suite at the Americana witha tauglass of Scotch in my hand. Seven in the morning is a little early for the first drink of the day usually, but usually I don't seem to have toothache in every tooth I own and several sets borrowed for the purpose. The gun barrel had clipped me just on the left jawbone.

Ned was on the telephone; Luiz was standing by the window staring out over what he could see of the city. The guard was just inside the door, still with his sub-machine gun.

Ned put down the phone and said: 'A short delay before we meet the General. Better think up something good.'

Luiz turned round. 'Ah, we are to meet the newpresidente?'

'I came in to report to him personally. It's nice to have you two on the credit side of the sheet.'

'Tell me something, Ned,' I said out of the corner of my mouth, just like any amateur George Raft down in the casino, 'was that the usual road from the base?'

He looked at me. 'No. You were just lucky to meet me. Your pal Jiminez started shooting up our people on the normal road just before first light. That's what I was taking off so early for: clear the road-block. And why I had to come into town on the coast road.'

Luiz sighed. 'Just lucky. I understand.'

'How many did we get, Ned?'

He looked at me hard for a while before answering. 'All bloody ten,' he said slowly. 'Three need engine changes. Three, maybe four, are complete write-offs – that includes mine.'

'Glad it didn't include you,' I said politely.

'Yeh – I noticed how bloody careful you were. Just tried to chop me up with the prop.' He shook his head disbelievingly. 'I never thought I'd see a man like you take a risk like that, Keith.'

Luiz murmured: 'I also found it somewhat surprising.'

Ned came over to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of Swan beer. 'It don't look like I'm going to be flying today, so…' He started pouring. 'Bricks. Bleedingbricks. You should've been in jail, Keith. I knew you'd be coming back, but I knew you hadn't got any bombs. Them bricks was all your own idea.'

He turned away, then back again, and said quietly: 'In case it interests you, I was just off the ground when you hit me. So you can count me. That makes five, don't it? You're finally an ace, Keith. But round here, aces count low. Bosco'll tell you just how low.'

I shrugged. 'It's over now, anyway.' I glanced as casually as I could at the guard by the door. He was propping up a wall, the sub-machine gun still in his hands, but gazing at the carpet with an expression left over from the Stone Age. If he understood English, I was going to lose an expensive bet, but I was prepared to have a side bet that understanding wasn't something he specialised in anyway.

I said: 'So where's the Dove, Ned? Still at the airport or over at your base?'

He stared at me. 'What the hell are you worrying aboutthat for?'

'You've got a car downstairs; we could be airborne in half an hour. I'll give you a free ride to Kingston or PR – whichever you like. What d'you say?'

There was a crackle of gunfire from the old town, a couple of miles away. The snap of a grenade, the buzz of a machine gun. It lifted quickly to a crescendo, then died away.

Ned was still staring, now incredulously. Then he said slowly: 'You really think because we was once Dear Old Pals, that-'

'You need a pal right now, Ned.'

'I need one? What about yourself?'

'Oh, I've got friends in this town.' I waved at the window. 'They're not too close just yet, but they're there. What about you?'

'What about me?'

'Suppose Castillo and the Army come back in: they'll cut your throat because you're Bosco's right-hand man. Right? Or suppose Jiminez takes over: he'll cut your throat, too, except with the personal touch because you've actually been shooting at his people. Right? So that leaves Bosco.'

Tvegot news for you, Keith: I'm already on Bosco's side.'

'That might be news to Bosco, too. He had just one weapon, Ned, one: the Vamps. Andyou lost them for him, every damn one. You've probably lost him the revolt. I wonder if Boscoisyour pal any more.'

Luiz had turned away from the window. Now he nodded with grave approval.

Ned said softly: 'I wish I'd killed you, Keith. I wish I'd got her up.'

'It wouldn't have made any odds by then. You weren't hired as just a pilot, Ned: you were thecoronel, the boss, the thou-sand-a-week man. You were incommand-and by then you'd lost nine-tenths of your command. Because you left 'em neatly lined up for me to hit them on one run.'

'Hell, I didn't think you'd be comingtoday: we didn't think Jiminez was ready. And we'd sent a couple of-' Then he stopped.

I nodded. 'I know: I met them. I was sleeping in the plane that night. But don't make your excuses to me, chum, make ' em to Bosco. He'd hiredyou to do the thinking about those Vamps.'

After a while he said again: 'I still wish I'd killed you, Keith. Just personal reasons.'

One of the phones buzzed.

Ned walked across, studied them, and said: 'That's Bosco. Here we go.' He picked up the green one, listened, said: 'Yes,' several times, put it down and turned round. 'On your feet, boys. Sorry there hasn't been time for a hearty breakfast.'

We filed out, Ned leading, the airman with the sub-machine gun bringing up the rear. We went along the soft-lit, thick-carpeted corridor, up a wide staircase, and out in front of the double doors of the pent-house suite – with a double armed guard outside.

Ned knocked on the door, opened it, and we marched in.

It was a wide room – and dark, except for pools of light-around a jumble of radio and telephone equipment in one corner and a big desk in the centre. Then I saw the steel shutters over the windows on two sides; the General wasn't taking any chances with stray snipers.

There were two men at the radio, three at the desk. Boscowas behind it, an officer with a telephone at each end. One of them was Capitán Miranda.

Boscosaid: 'Make your report, Coronel.'

Ned took a breath and started. All aircraft had been serviceable, fuelled, and armed, by four o'clock. At five he'd got a call to clear an ambush on the road, started taxiing a couple of minutes later. He hadn't seen me make my scouting pass, hadn't heard me because of his own engine noise. The tower had warned him by radio in time to watch my bomb run…

Boscolistened silently, his meaty near-handsome face expressionless. He was dressed very simply: khaki drill trousers and a shaped shirt of the sort American sergeants go for, fitting as tight as a tee-shirt; black tie tucked in below the second shirt button, webbing belt and holster. But all very clean and crisp; knifeedged creases on the shirt arms, medal ribbons in exact parade rows. The perfect soldier: tough but tidy, efficient but elegant. Just what you'd want your new dictator to be.