Matt Shore is a substitute pilot assigned to fly four racing buffs to the track. They're nervous, but Matt's not. That is, until he manages an emergency landing minutes before the plane explodes. Matt doesn't think anything else can possibly go wrong. Then he finds himself caught up in a rat race of danger that puts him on the wrong side of the odds....
start reporting you.’ ‘Reporting me? For what? What do you mean?’ He smiled thinly. ‘If you infringe the rules by as much as one foot, Polyplanes will be on to us before your wheels have stopped rolling. They’re doing their best to put Derrydown out of business. Most of it we shrug off as simply spite. But if they catch you breaking the regulations, and can produce witnesses, we’d have to take action.’ ‘Charming.’ He nodded. ‘Aviation will never need a special police force to detect crime.
all togged up in dark green with a shining peak to his cap. ‘O.K..’ I said. ‘I’ll get my jacket.’ He walked with me along the paddock, through the gate, and across to the Members’ bar. ‘Awfully nice chap, my uncle,’ he said. ‘Unusually thoughtful,’ I agreed. ‘Soft, my mother says,’ he said dispassionately. ‘He’s her brother. They don’t get along very well.’ ‘What a pity.’ ‘Oh, I don’t know. If they were frightfully chummy she would always be wanting to come with me when I go to stay with
reported nothing doing, and ambled off. All the same I checked the aircraft inch by inch inside and even unscrewed the panel to the aft baggage compartment so that I could see into the rear part of the fuselage, right back to the tail. Nothing there that shouldn’t be. I screwed the panel on again. Outside the aircraft, I started in the same way. Started only: because when I was examining every hinge in the tail plane I heard a shout from the next aircraft. I looked round curiously but without
remember Mr Kroop in Laurel, where you got those riding boots made in a day?’ ‘Mm…’ ‘And we kept driving round that shopping centre there and getting lost in the one way streets…’ ‘Super that week was…’ ‘Wish we could go again…’ There was a long regretful silence. Nancy sat up with a jerk and slapped her leg. ‘Bloody mosquitoes.’ Colin scratched lazily and nodded. ‘Time to go home.’ We wedged back into the Aston Martin. Colin drove. The twins sat on my legs, leaned on my chest and twined
clouds and the bills she would have had either to go back, or go up. She wouldn’t see any harm in going up. With radio navigation and a good forecast for Cambridge it was merely the sensible thing to do. ‘Her destination is Cambridge,’ I said. ‘Can you check the weather there?’ ‘Stand by.’ A much longer pause. Then his voice, dead level, spelling it out. ‘Cambridge actual weather, cloud has spread in fast from the south west, now eight eighths cover, base twelve hundred feet, tops three