I saw the steward sway back along the aisle. He collapsed in a seat. The three passengers remained standing behind us. As we banked and headed east my heart banged. Bill said to me:
"They must have pulled the old stunt. Those other five reservations were fakes, just so these three mugs could have the plane to themselves."
"Any idea who they are?" I asked, and my voice wasn't very steady "No. They probably robbed a bank or something at Barranquilla, and they're using us for the getaway. Chances are that when we land and they don't need us any more they'll pump bullets into our heads—so we can't fly back and report where we dropped them. Nice going, hey, kid?"
I must have looked as scared as I felt. "Yeah, nice," I said huskily.
"What—what'll we do?"
He didn't reply for fully tve minutes. We droned on over the mountains. Then he grated, "Watch this, kid. Hang on to your seat and watch."
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.