Jake's fingers tightened on the pistol's grip. The wind whipping over the plane's wing threatened to tear him off at
any second. His left shoulder ached from clinging to the support strut as he pulled back the hammer. Two shots left, he thought.
Better make it good. As the wing shook, he amended his thought: Better make it fast. Fighting the wind, he dragged his arm
round and drew a bead on the pilot's cabin. The heavy pistol barked only once before the wind tore it from his grasp. The
shot punctured the tight steel skin of the plane, and Jake saw the pilot stiffen in his seat. As the dead man slumped lifelessly
forward, Jake swung his weight around the strut. Arms screaming in protest, he kicked his feet forward and let himself go.
As the wind hurled him backwards, the plane pitched down. Jake's hands grabbed the upper edge of the wing as the ground lurched
into view ahead of him. Gritting his teeth and fighting the wind, Jake pulled himself along the wing to the cabin door. Hooking
his arm round the strut that held the upper wing, Jake reached for the cabin handle. It moved in his hand. Jake smiled. A
thin trickle of fluid ran from the bullet hole. Jake tore the cabin door wide and leaped into the belly of the plane. As his
legs found purchase, a hand found his chin. Jake staggered backwards, blinking. As his eyes adjusted, he saw two of Van Gelder's
goons. One drew a knife. The other grinned at Jake and cracked his knuckles. The first one came in low, but Jake was ready.
A jab to the upper arm had him dangling the knife from useless fingers. Jake snatched the knife away and snapped it at the
big man, who went down clutching his throat. Turning back in one fluid motion to his first hapless assailant, Jake brought
a leg down hard on the man's back and he crumpled to the floor. Jake leaped over him, through the swirling storm of
the fuselage to the pilot's cabin.
"Give it up, Van Gelder!" he yelled to the scarred Vendel man tugging on the controls.
"Keep back, Kincaid!" Van Gelder roared over his shoulder, his face white with anger highlighting his thin black moustache.
"I'm the only one of us who knows how to fly this plane!" Jake's eye darted to the glint of gold from the art collector's
shirt pocket.
"The egg, Van Gelder! Hand it over! You can still get out of this!" The plane shook, the vast expanse of the Western
Ocean sweeping out of view and then back again. Van Gelder gripped the stick tighter.
"Not a chance, Kincaid! I can make it to Gossia!" The seaplane levelled out. "Which, Mr. Kincaid, is more than I
can say for you!" Keeping one hand on he stick, Van Gelder spun round, the heavy automatic in his clenched fist spitting lead
randomly into the air where Jake had been standing. Jake leaped behind the pilot's chair and pulled hard on the restraining
harness draped loosely around Van Gelder's arm. The little Vendel was slammed back into the chair, dropping the gun. As the
plane's nose turned up to the sun, the automatic slid slowly down the fuselage, rattling as it went. Van Gelder flailed wildly,
his hands fumbling over the harness. "You'llkillusboth!" he gasped, as the plane's nose began to dip and the sky spun lazily
away from the windows.
"The egg." Jake repeated, his voice rough and dry. "Or we both die."
Van Gelder sputtered with rage, twisting himself out of the choking grasp of his own harness. "Over my dead body!" he
gasped. As the plane sloped into a decline toward the ocean, Jake snapped his head up to the cabin window. Steadying
himself with his arms, he bolted for the flapping door as Van Gelder pulled the harness straps from around his neck and wrestled
with the stick. "You're a coward, Kincaid!" he shouted. "That's why you swim home, and I keep" he delicately patted his top
pocket, and his face turned to stone. He leaped from the pilot's seat just in time to see Jake leap from the plane, clutching
a life preserver to his chest. Van Gelder swore under his breath, then ran back to the controls as the engines began to cough
and falter. His eyes searched the instrument panel until he found the fuel gauge. Empty. Van Gelder threw up his hands to
cover his eyes as he hurtled screaming into the ocean.
As Jake hit the water, his battered lungs struggled to cope with the shock. For a moment, the world went black, but when
the life preserver dragged him to the surface, he saw Gossia like a shining beacon in the distance. The McDiarmid Seaplane
hit the water like a giant's fist, throwing up a great wave that washed over the fatigued adventurer. Wreckage bubbled up
to the surface as Jake kicked his weary legs toward Gossia. That's the business, Van Gelder, thought Jake, as he paddled through
the bobbing wreckage of the seaplane. I may not know how to fly one, but I know where the fuel lines are. In the last red
rays of the sun, Jake turned the Mikochov egg over in his free hand. This one would require some explaining.
Next week:
A mysterious benefactor! Deadly Combat in Cathay! A Cursed Artifact! A daring expedition!
