"Waall, we're over Venezuela. We should be in Miami in approximately three hours. We'll stretch our legs while we refuel and should be in New York about three hours after that."

Francesca's scientific eye was drawn to the screens on the instrument panel. The copilot noticed her interest and couldn't resist the chance to impress a beautiful woman.

"This plane is so smart it can fly itself while we watch the soccer games on TV," he said, showing his big teeth.

"Don't let Carlos blow smoke up your flue," the pilot said. "That's the EFIS, the electronic flight instrument system. The screens take the place of the gauges we used to use."

"Thank you," Francesca said politely. She pointed to another gauge. "Is that a compass?" she said.

"Sim, sim," the copilot said, proud of his successful tutelage.

"Then why does it indicate we're going almost due north?" she said with a furrowed brow. "Shouldn't we be heading in a more westerly direction toward Miami?"

The men exchanged glances. "You're quite observant, senhora," the Texan said. "Absolutely right. But in the air a straight line isn't always the fastest way between two points. Has to do with the curvature of the earth. Like when you fly from the U.S. to Europe the shortest way is up and around in a big curve. We've also got to deal with Cuban airspace. Don't want to get ol' Fidel all haired up."

The quick wink and smirk again.

Francesca nodded appreciatively. "Thank you for your time, gentlemen. It's been most instructive. I'll let you get back to your work."

"No bother, ma'am. Any time."

Francesca was fuming as she took her seat. Fools! Did they think she was an idiot? The curvature of the earth indeed!

"Everything's okay, like I said?" Phillipo asked, looking up from the magazine he was reading.

She leaned across the aisle and spoke in a low, even tone. "No, everything is not okay. I think this plane is off-course." She told him about the compass reading. "I felt something odd in my sleep. I think it was the shifting of the plane as they changed direction."

"Maybe you're mistaken."

"Perhaps. But I don't think so."

"Did you ask the pilots for an explanation?"

"Yes. They gave me some absurd story saying the shortest distance between two points was not a straight line because of the curvature of the earth."

He raised an eyebrow, apparently surprised by the explanation, but he still wasn't convinced. "I don't know . . ."

Francesca pondered some other inconsistencies. "Do you re member what they said when they came on board, about being replacement pilots?"

"Sure. They said the other pilots were called off on another job. They took their place as a favor."

She shook her head. "Peculiar. Why did they even bring it up? It's as if they wanted to head off any questions I might have. But why?"

"I have had some experience in navigation," Phillipo said thoughtfully. "I will go see for myself." He sauntered up to the cockpit again. She heard male laughter, and after a few minutes he came back with a smile on his face. The smile faded as he sat down.

"There's an instrument in the cockpit that shows the original flight plan. We are not following the blue line as we should be. You were right about the compass, too," he said. "We are not on the correct course."

"What in God's name is going on, Phillipo?"

A grave expression came onto his face. "There was something your father didn't tell you."

"I don't understand."

Phillipo glanced toward the closed cockpit. "He had heard things. Nothing that would persuade him you were in danger, but enough so that he would like the reassurance of knowing I would be nearby if you needed help."

"Looks like we could both use some help."

"Sim, senhora. But unfortunately we must do for ourselves."

"Do you have a gun?" she said abruptly.

"Of course," he said, faintly amused at the hard-nosed question from this beautiful and cultured woman. "Would you like me to shoot them?"

"I didn't mean-no, of course not," she said glumly. "Do you have any ideas?"

'A gun is not just for shooting," he said. "You can use it for intimidation, use its threat to make people do things they don't want to do."

"Like pointing us in the right direction?"

"I hope, senhora. I will go forward. I will ask them politely to land at the nearest airport, saying it is your wish. If they refuse I will show them my gun and say I would not like to use it."

"You can't use it," Francesca said with alarm. "If you put a hole in the plane at this altitude, it would depressurize the cabin, and we'd all be dead within seconds."

"A good point. It will increase their fear." He took her hand and squeezed it. "I told your father I would watch out for you, senhora. "

She shook her head as if it would make the situation go away. "What if I'm wrong? That these are innocent pilots doing their job?"

"Simple," he said with a shrug. "We call ahead on the radio, we land at the nearest airport, we bring in the police, we straighten things out, then we resume our trip."

They cut their conversation short. The door to the cockpit had opened, and the captain stepped into the cabin. He ambled forward, having to bend his head because of the low overhead.

"That was some joke you just told us," he said with his crooked grin. "Got any more?"

"Sorry, senhor," Phillipo said.

"Waall, I got one for you," the pilot replied. Riordan's droopy, heavy-lidded eyes gave him a sleepy look. But there was nothing sluggish about the way he reached behind his back and produced the pistol he had tucked in his belt.

"Hand it over," he said to Phillipo. "Real slow."

Phillipo gingerly opened his jacket wide so the shoulder holster was in plain view, then extracted his gun by the tips of his fingers. The pilot stuck the gun in his belt.

"Grazyeass, amigo," he said. "Always nice to deal with a professional." He sat on an armrest and with his free hand lit a cigarette. "Me and my partner have been talking, and we think maybe you're on to us. Figured you were checking us out when you came up a second time, so we decided to lay it all out so there won't be any misunderstandings."

"Captain Riordan, what is going on?" Francesca said. "Where are you taking us?"

"They said you were smart," the pilot said with a chuckle. "My partner never should have started bragging about the plane." He blew twin plumes of smoke from his nostrils. "You're right. We're not going to Miami, we're on our way to Trinidad."

"Trinidad?"

"I hear it's a real nice place."

"I don't understand."

"It's like this, senyoreeta. There's going to be a welcome party waiting for you at the airport. Don't ask me who they are 'cause I don't know. All's I know is we've been hired to deliver you. Things were supposed to go nice and easy. We were going to tell you we had mechanical problems and needed to land."

"What happened to the pilots?" Phillipo asked.

"They had an accident," he said with a slight shrug. He ground the cigarette butt on the floor. "Here's the situation, miss. You just stay put, and everything will be fine. As for you, cavaleiro, I'm sorry to get you in trouble with your bosses. Now I can tie you both up, but I don't think you'd try anything foolish unless you can fly this plane yourselves. One more thing. Up, partner, and turn around."