okay? I mean . . .â
Rucker nodded. âItâs a lot more painful than it looks.â
âRight.â
Bonhoeffer started pulling bundles out of the bag. When he finished unloading it, Rucker groaned at what he saw. Storm trooper uniforms.
âNow we get to see if Chuy was right that Iâd make a great Nazi,â he said.
Ciampino Aerodrome
Rome
S omething wasnât right and Chuy knew it. It had been two days since the last radio contact with Rucker. Something was up and he was anxious to get back in the air, but he was still cooling his heels in Rome at the Ciampino Aerodrome.
Literally.
He was sitting in a folding lounger on the starboard wing of the Raposa and had his bare feet propped up in front of a little portable fan. Today he was wearing a vented black bowler, a green velvet waistcoat, pin-stripped trousers rolled up to the knees, and a crimson blouse. His leather harness and belt matched the bowler, which also matched the boots heâd doffed.
Chuy had watched at least a dozen airships of all sizes arrive and depart. Heâd fiddled with the engines. Heâd restocked the usual payload, food, medical supplies, and ammunition. Heâd packed additional equipment that might come in handy in Romania, like climbing gear, considering the mountainous terrain on the border between Wallachia and Transylvania. Heâd also packed wooden stakes, silver bullets, glass vials of concentrated wolfsbane and garlic powder, a rosary, and a supply of holy water straight from the Vatican. One couldnât be too cautious. Of course, he always packed them on almost any job. Rucker had his ideas about being prepared by bringing lots of guns. Chuy had his own ideas on what being prepared meant. Rucker thought mostly in terms of earthly foes. Chuy knew there was more on earth and in heaven to deal with.
Chuy wanted to take off, but he was still awaiting a priority delivery from Austin. From the Prometheus Society, to be precise.
When he turned his gaze back to the main terminal, he saw a porter pulling a dolly bearing a wooden crate that was about eight feet to a side. He was heading straight toward the Raposa . The crate was marked fragile and THIS END UP !
âFinally,â Chuy said, packing up his folding chair and fan, then leaping to the tarmac.
Loading the crate would be tricky. But tricky was exactly what the Raposa was. While the porter pulled the crate around to the tail, Chuy fired up the planeâs generator and pulled a switch in the rear cargo bay.
The porter stared in awe as the entire upper tail assembly rose upward and folded on hinges and a ramp extended from the open tail to the tarmac.
âLoad her up,â Chuy said with a wink.
He didnât know what was in the crate, but he knew it was important. Heâd expected written instructions from Lysander. But there was nothing. Just the crate.
Grabbing a crowbar, he went to work where it said OPEN HERE. When he yanked the side panel it opened like a drawbridge.
He was more than a little surprised at the contents.
Inside the crate, a man sat in a padded lounging chair, writing notes by means of a battery powered lantern. He wore a wrinkled purple linen suit and a fanciful dress shirt with green trim on the collar. Despite the comfortable spring temperature, he wore an overly long and colorful scarf and a floppy wide-brimmed hat. He was writing something down on what looked like an old napkin.
âAhem?â Chuy said.
âOne second,â the man responded, finishing his note.
The man looked up, saw Chuy and smiled.
âLysander Benjamin, as I live and breathe,â Chuy said. âWelcome to Rome!â
âI told you I considered the cargo the most valuable thing youâd ever carried.â
Chuy noticed that Lysander wasnât the only thing in the crate. There was something under a tarp behind him.
âSorry for the roundabout and the scuttle-doo,â Lysander said. âI