The Paris Spy (Maggie Hope Mystery #7)(87)

Maggie pulled back on the yoke and the plane jerked up, slamming them backward. Back in the cabin, Sarah yelped.

“No! Not so fast!” Gus cried.

Maggie adjusted the altitude.

“All right, better, better….Now, just make sure you keep climbing—maintain the climb rate using the vertical speed indicator at five hundred feet per minute. Don’t raise the nose too fast or too far up, or you’ll stall.”

“And if we stall?”

“Don’t ask.”

In moments they entered what looked like cotton, and she realized they were actually in the clouds. “I can’t see!” Maggie said, a crackle of panic in her voice. “I can’t see a thing!” A fine mist swirled at the cockpit’s windowpanes. “Where are the windshield wipers?”

“Afraid there aren’t any. The instruments are our eyes—watch your artificial horizon to keep your wings level. And have faith.”

“We could hit a mountain!”

“We’re nowhere near the Alps.” She could hear suppressed laughter in his strained voice. “There are no mountains in this part of France.”

The cloud thinned. “All right now—gently—level her off,” he instructed.

Maggie carefully adjusted the yoke, eyes flicking between the windshield and the instruments, as the plane’s engines droned on. She glanced at Gus, at his increasing pallor, the bruise-like smudges under his eyes. “Do you need water?” she asked.

“No, I’d really prefer not to have to take a piss on the floor in front of you. Er—sorry about the language.”

“Gus, we’re five thousand feet in the air in a glorified sardine can. Do you really think I care about your damn language?”

“I do try to be a gentleman.”

“And I’m sure your mother’s very proud.”

They flew in silence. “All right,” Maggie said, “let’s have a quick lesson. I know how to change altitude. But how do we control the speed?”

“The engine controls are here on the center console. These two levers are the left and right engine throttles. Push forward to give it more power.”

“All right—good to know. What else?”

“You won’t need to worry about the flaps and landing gear until later.” Gus was squinting at the horizon. “Shit! Er, sorry.”

“What?”

He pointed. “Messerschmitt—ten o’clock, climbing.” He pointed.

“Oh, bloody hell!” The German plane was still in the distance, but as it climbed closer, Maggie could see the distinctive black crosses on its wings. She felt nauseous. “Because we didn’t have problems already—”

“It’s a Messer 109.” Gus explained it as if they were out on a nature walk and had spotted some harmless animal in the underbrush. “She’s fast and light, with two machine guns mounted in the cowling. They fire over the top of the engine and through the propeller arc. He’ll definitely try to shoot us down. We’re going to have to brace for impact. Are you strapped in?”

“No…” He glared at her, and she bristled. “We didn’t exactly have time for all the niceties, what with capturing the double agent and taking control of the plane!”

“Grab that strap and put it around you,” he said, doing the same for himself. Maggie managed with trembling fingers.

“Your friend should, too.”

“Sarah!” Maggie shouted.

Sarah poked her head back in. “What?”

“We’ve got company—buckle up.” Sarah left. “All right then, Gus, what do we have? Where’s the artillery?”

He looked around, then grimaced. “I’m afraid we have nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“They took out the gun turrets to make the plane lighter,” he explained.

“So we’re completely defenseless?”

“Yes. We need to hide—fly into another cloud—find cover. There—” Gus pointed. “Go there.”

She adjusted the yoke with shaking hands, muttering obscenities. As the enemy plane edged closer, Maggie could see bright flashes. She heard the chilling rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire.

They had not been shot.

Yet.

The Messerschmitt flashed past them, then arced, swooping in for another pass. As it approached, it opened fire again. The sparks flared red and orange in the night sky.

The left wing was hit, the bullets punching through the aluminum skin. The sound was terrifying. “It’s all right,” Gus reassured her. “Just as long as he doesn’t hit the fuel tank.”

“Oh, you bloody, bloody, buggering bugger!” Maggie’s anger felt good, and swearing even better. Better to be furious than frightened out of her mind.

“All right—it’s all right,” Gus said by way of comfort. “We’re still in the air, after all. And we’re almost there. Just keep going toward the cloud.”

As the German plane banked and prepared for a third pass, they reached the safety of the cloud. “Now change direction,” Gus instructed.

Maggie did so, smoother this time. They’d lost the German plane and now flew in silence. Maggie didn’t know what Gus was thinking, but her thoughts were of Jacques. His betrayal.