“Or in jungles at the mountain bases.”
“Yes.”
They came nearer, ever nearer to the spy and her plane.
“A burst of fire might bring them down even now,” said Sparky. But his fingers did not reach for the gun controls.
Five minutes more. They must decide. To turn back meant defeat. Could they face that? Or should they turn loose the fury of their guns?
But what was this? The fleeing plane faltered, began to fall, then righted itself and flew on. Ten tense seconds passed and again it faltered.
“They stole the plane.” Sparky’s voice was solemn as Moses. “They did not take time to check the ship’s fuel.”
Once again the plane picked up speed, only once and then, like a kite that has lost its tail, the plane began to fall, slowly at first, then faster and faster, turning over and over.
“She was a spy,” Mary said, forcing her eyes away from the sight.
The next time she looked, the plane was all but upon the mountain, the snow-packed slope. She saw it crash, then begin rolling over and over. Down it spun, a thousand, two, three thousand feet.