Then a rope dropped over my shoulders. Its noose yanked tight around my
arms, and I was being dragged up, kicking futilely. I caught a glimpse
of the broad Latin faces gaping at me from below, then two men on a
rope ladder had me.
I was dragged in through the bottom hatch of a big helicopter with no
markings. The hatch closed. Facing me was a lieutenant of expediters.
The two men tumbled in after me and reeled in the rope ladder, as the
copter dipped and swerved away. I let myself go limp as the rope was
loosened around me; when my hands were free I made my bid.
I leaped for the lieutenant; my fist caught him glancingly on the
throat, sending him reeling and choking backward. I grabbed for the
hard-pellet gun at his hip--he was pawing at it--and we tumbled across
the floor.
It was, for one brief moment, a chance. I was no copter pilot, but the
gun was all the pilot I'd need--if only I got it out.
But the expediters behind me were no amateurs. I ducked as the knotted
end of the rope whipped savagely toward me. Then one of the other
expediters was on my back; the gun came out, and flew free. And that
was the end of that.
I had, I knew, been a fool to try it. But I wasn't sorry. They had too
much rough-and-tumble training for me to handle. But that one blow had
felt good.
It didn't seem as worth while a few moments later. I was fastened to a
seat, while the wheezing lieutenant gave orders in a strangled voice.
"Not too many marks on him," he was saying. "Try it over the kidneys
again...."
I never even thought of maintaining a heroic silence. They had had
plenty of experience with the padded club, too, and I started to black
out twice before finally I went all the way down.
* * * * *