“You may do that. I will be looking for you.” She gave him a saucy toss of her head. “Here I go.”
She slipped out of her white robe and laid aside her turban. Then she faced Stan. Stan looked down at her and grinned.
“I am Stan Wilson. We’ll meet again. I won’t feel right until you are out of here.”
“Perhaps you will come,” Niva said. “But a fighter who flies in the sky and a spy who slips around helping her enemies cannot be sure of anything.” She turned toward the shed.
Stan watched her saunter out toward the guards as though she had come from the shop across the street. He moved close to the shed and waited. Niva talked and laughed with the men. They crowded around her eagerly. Stan noticed that Niva kept her face in the shadow, standing with her back to the moon.
When she turned toward the shop across the street the soldiers followed her, laughing loudly at something she had said. A single flare lighted the shop across the road. It was about a hundred yards from the field where the Robin stood. Stan waited until the men turned their backs upon the field as they ordered drinks at a long table. Tossing aside his white robe, he dashed across the field.
He reached the Robin without being seen and climbed into the cockpit. The Robin was a high-wing, five-place passenger plane with a radial motor. Stan snapped on a small light over the instrument panel. He checked gas and oil and the controls. The engine would have to be twisted a few times before he could try for a start.
Carefully, Stan worked his way out and around to the propeller. He wound up the engine, then stood looking toward the shop. Laughter floated over to him. Niva was playing her part well. With the motor primed, he climbed back into the plane and seated himself at the controls. He had a plan in mind for getting her warmed up, if she fired as quickly as she should. He kicked the contact on and the Robin backfired with an explosion that shattered the hot silence. Her prop jerked, slapped back, then rolled over.
Stan looked toward the shop. Two of the soldiers had whirled and were running for their rifles which they had propped against the shop. Two more leaped after them firing pistols at the plane. The Robin’s motor sputtered some more but kept on turning uncertainly. Stan’s trained ear detected loose rods and bearings. The Robin’s engine was little better than a wreck.
The men were at the edge of the field and charging out toward the plane. Stan saw that all of them had left the shop across the street. Niva was moving toward the shadows under the trees where she had left her robe. He kicked off the brakes and the Robin stirred. Slowly she rolled ahead at a pace that was little better than a crawl.