5 Detective Novels Magazine Cover — page 83: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

WINGS OF THE DARK ANGEL That’s theory. But when a man plans it out ahead of time, checking everything like a good general, including emergency plans in case something goes wrong, he don’t make that mistake. - “In other words,” Mead said sourly, reaching for the cigarette pack again, “you were simply visiting on that last trip up to Sing Sing? Just got lonesome for a lot of your pals and went up and paid board to the warden, hah?” He was baiting the man, hoping to make him careless. He knew that Burke would not shoot unless it came to an ac- tual struggle. Then Burke the Goat would kill and he would kill quickly. Burke took the bait. His teeth were bared as his lips thinned out. “Somebody else made the mistake, mister. Burke don’t make mistakes. I’m not making one this time. Now, shut up before I lose my temper.” ee flew steadily over desert studded with greasewood and cacti for an hour and forty minutes, cruising at one hundred and fifty miles an hour. Pres- ently, a range of bare, jagged lava moun- tains, higher than the others, loomed up ahead with a pass to the right. Under Burke’s instructions, Sam Mead flew through and then swung left. Then he saw the place, about two miles away, in what appeared to be acres of green with a huge white man- sion in the center, enclosed by a white wall. Snuggling almost against it, on the east side, was a sheet-iron hangar with a long white landing strip stretching away. Not much wind here, the airman in Mead thought, if they have just one strip. The place is probably protected by the mountain behind it. He cut the motor and swung down, coming around in a long circle to lose two thousand feet of altitude. He gunned the motor a couple of times to keep the plugs clear and the cylinder heads warm, came in for a landing, and taxied up to the hangar. Then he saw several things at once. He saw two men strolling out of the hangar, and across the concrete apron, one of them cradling a Thompson submachine gun across his arm. The other man car- ried a Schmeisser German machine-pis- tol. Mead’s eyes, however, were on two 83 yellow planes inside the large hangar which had housed Horton’s twin-engined plane. One was the new trainer flown by Tobie Ralston and the kid. The other plane, a makeshift landing gear beneath, was the ship that had been missing for three months. Constriction hit Mead’s: stomach then. He remembered what Burke had said about the pilot who had bungled. Buried. Maybe Tobie and the kid were buried out there in the sand, too. Burke got out, stretching his jaws wide to clear his eardrums. He spoke to Mead and the others. “All right,” he said. “We’re home. In pulling a good snatch, there’s nothing like using the home of the snatchee’s father.” He motioned with the pistol for them to get out and then turned to the two others. He was grinning almost happily now. “Hello, Choo-Choo. Hello, Joe. Well, here’s the bacon, right on time.” He obviously was quite pleased with himself. Mead got out, stretching, and looked at the two men. They didn’t look like criminals. Choo-Choo was well dressed, lean, sardonic-looking, in his thirties. He could have passed for an F.B.I. operative. Joe was in his late twenties, good look- ing and dark. A Sicilian, Mead guessed. “So I see,” the man called Choo-Choo said. “Bridal couple and pilot. This the guy Mead you planned on?” “He’s the bird,” Burke nodded. gun still ready. “And watch him. Watch him close. He’s mean and he’s tough.” “T like tough fellows,” Joe put in soft- ly, his voice cultured. “I’ll take care of him.” Burke turned to Mead. “This is Choo- Choo, mister. I call him that because he likes to ride trains. He’s a nut about Pullmans. When we’re not on a job, he’ll ride all the way from New York to Los Angeles just to be on a train. Joe, here, is different. He’s a college graduate in civil engineering and was an officer in the Infantry. That means, mister, that he’s a whizz on close combat and a wiz- ard with a burp gun-—just in case you get any ideas.” “Thanks for telling me,” Mead an- MICLOO <5) (C(O) (C(O)