Only coercion, and a beautiful government agent, could force Harry Thursday out of retirement. This time to find the mythical Mask worn by the Minotaur over three thousand years ago. The history of the mask resurfaces during the time of Count Bruno...
Three hours later they stood on the edge of a small airstrip about as long as a football field and at one end was a Quonset hut and a little single-engine Aero Commander 200. No one else was visible and Harry would have walked out onto the field had Sara not stopped him. They sat quietly for some time until Harry couldn't stand it any longer.
"What's the plan? It looks good to me."
The pilot should be around, but I don't see him."
Let's get a closer look," he said and started for the plane crouching as he went staying within cover of the trees. Sara tried to stop him but he took off and she followed and they stopped twenty feet from the hut. She told him to stay put and kept going to the other side. She looked through the trees and stood up and walked out into the open and motioned for Harry to do the same.
They met at the tail of the plane and then threw their things inside. Harry couldn't believe how much "Shit" she wanted to bring from her hotel room and he had to remind her - just like she had to him - that they should travel light.
"Good thing you left those shoes back at the hotel," he said. "This thing is light and couldn't handle three people for any long trip."
"Shut up Harry. You wanted to bring a whole library with you."
Through the open door to the hut came a humming noise, like a small motor running. Sara went inside and came out immediately holding her nose and waiving her hand in the air as if she was brushing away flies. "He's dead."
Harry went in. The pilot lay with his throat cut from ear to ear slumped over the desk. Strangely, the urge to vomit was gone and he looked closely at the body and saw that the eyes were missing and he let the head fall back down on the table. The humming noise came from a generator attached to a gasoline pump just outside the Quonset hut.
"Harry we're screwed."
With his shotgun in hand, he searched the room and stepped outside.
"Where are you going?" She asked. "Whoever did this could still be around."
"This body is at least two days old, by the looks of it. Look here." He turned it over. "Rigor mortise has set in and the flesh shows signs of decay in the hot air. Something has been nibbling at it. Animals won't come around if people are nearby." He pointed to it and realized he forgot about the eyes.
"Ew," she said. "The eyes are missing.
"Yes," he said, "I wondered about that. It's usually the first thing birds eat."
"But," she said, "It was face down on the desk. Maybe one eye was gettable. Those were removed."
"What kind of person would do that?" She knew though. She kicked the dusty floor and walked outside and climbed into the plane and threw their bags on the ground.
"You forget with whom you travel," he said. "My family owned a company that made airplane parts. If you did your homework you'd know that. We built half the small craft used in WWII."
"You can fly this thing?"
"I hope I can. It's been a few years. I first flew when I was 13." He smiled and hopped inside the plane. "It looks fueled, the tires looked alright. You run an efficient business lady."
He climbed in to the cockpit and examined the control panel. She climbed in after and sat in the copilot seat.
"The original design of this model was my grandfather's idea. It's been modified by the manufacturer Hal Myers, who was bought out by Aero Command. My father sat on their board."
The plane started easily. It had been maintained well over the years. He taxied to the end of the runway as close to the trees as possible. "It's been a while so hold on," he said, and pulled the throttle back and the plane took off down the runway.
"How long?"
The plane gained speed and Harry pulled back on the wheel and soon they were lifting off the ground. "We have company. I think I saw some movement over there," he said, and motioned her to look out the right side of the plane. They were already 15 feet off the ground. A hole appeared in Sara's side window. "We're being shot at Harry," she said.
He continued to lift the plane into the air. The trees at the other end of the strip were getting closer quickly and Sara clutched onto her seat and screamed, "How long has it been since you flew?"
"I only flew three times," he said.
The engine roared. They could not hear the bullets flying at them and Sara looked ahead at the trees looming larger. Harry pulled back on the wheel and with inches to spare the plane cleared the tops of the trees.
"Some runway. Whoever designed that must have been in a hurry, or good. I barely had enough room."
Sara looked at him, sweat formed on his forehead and his knuckles were white from griping the wheel. He turned the plane to get a look at the airstrip below and saw three people standing in the middle of the field.
"Where to?"
Sara hadn't moved since they started take off. She looked pale and leaned back in the seat with eyes opened wide.
He looked at her and laughed. Not a loud laugh, but a subtle laugh as one does at one's own jokes. "You better breathe. I might need you to co-pilot."
She breathed and then swallowed and seemed to loosen up after that and started looking around the cockpit and then at Harry. "Switzerland."
Funny thing.
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