Down through the cloud base, the moments of blindness and then, far below, the sparse lights of North and South Bimini winked palely against the silver sheen of the moon on the quiet sea. There were no whitecaps. The met. report he had picked up from Vero Beach on the American mainland had been right: ‘Dead calm, light airs from the north-east, visibility good, no immediate likelihood of change’ and a check on the fainter Nassau Radio had confirmed. The sea looked as smooth and as solid as steel. This was going to be all right. Petacchi dialled Channel 67 on the pilot’s command set to pick up No. 1’s navigational aid. He had a moment’s panic when he didn’t hit it at once, but then he got it, faint but clear – dot-dot-dash, dot-dot-dash. It was time to get right down. Petacchi began to kill his speed with the air brakes and cut down the four jets. The great plane began a shallow dive. The radio altimeter became vocal, threatening. Petacchi watched it and the sea of quicksilver below him. He had a moment when the horizon was lost. There was so much reflection off the moonlit water. Then he was on and over a small dark island. It gave him confidence in the 2,000 feet indicated on the altimeter. He pulled out of the shallow dive and held the plane steady.
Now No. 1’s beacon was coming in loud and clear. Soon he would see the red flashing light. And there it was, perhaps five miles dead ahead. Petacchi inched the great nose of the plane down. Any moment now! It was going to be easy! His fingers played with the controls as delicately as if they were the erotic trigger points on a woman. Five hundred feet, four hundred, three, two … there was the pale shape of the yacht, lights dowsed. He was dead on line with the red flash of the beacon. Would he hit it? Never mind. Inch her down, down, down. Be ready to switch off at once. The belly of the plane gave a jolt. Up with the nose! Crash! A leap in the air and then … Crash again!
Petacchi unhinged his cramped fingers from the controls, and gazed numbly out of the window at the foam and small waves. By God he had done it! He, Giuseppe Petacchi, had done it!
Now for the applause! Now for the rewards!
The plane was settling slowly and there was a hiss of steam from the submerging jets. From behind him came the rip and crack of tearing metal as the tail section gaped open where the back of the plane had broken. Petacchi went through into the fuselage. The water swirled around his feet. The filtering moonlight glittered white on the upturned face of one of the corpses now soggily awash at the rear of the plane. Petacchi broke the perspex cover to the handle of the port side emergency exit and jerked the handle down. The door fell outwards and Petacchi stepped through and walked out along the wing.
The big jolly-boat was almost up with the plane. There were six men in it. Petacchi waved and shouted delightedly. One man raised a hand in reply. The faces of the men, milk-white under the moon, looked up at him quietly, curiously. Petacchi thought: these men are very serious, very businesslike. It is right so. He swallowed his triumph and also looked grave.
The boat came alongside the wing, now almost awash, and one man climbed up on the wing and walked towards him. He was a short, thick man with a very direct gaze. He walked carefully, his feet well apart and his knees flexed to keep his balance. His left hand was hooked in his belt.
Petacchi said happily, ‘Good evening. Good evening. I am delivering one plane in good condition.’ (He had thought the joke out long before.) ‘Please sign here.’ He held out his hand.
The man from the jolly-boat took the hand in a strong grasp, braced himself, and pulled sharply. Petacchi’s head was flung back by the quick jerk and he was looking full into the eyes of the moon as the stiletto flashed up and under the offered chin, through the roof of the mouth, into the brain. He knew nothing but a moment’s surprise, a sear of pain, and an explosion of brilliant light.
The killer held in the knife for a moment, the back of his hand feeling the stubble on Petacchi’s chin, then he lowered the body on to the wing and withdrew the knife. He carefully rinsed the knife in the sea water and wiped the blade on Petacchi’s back and put the knife away. Then he hauled the body along the wing and thrust it under water beside the escape hatch.
