The Rocketeer Read Online Free PDF

time, in steadfast pursuit of the fleeing roadster.
    The roadster tore out across open ground behind the hangars. Wilmer was looking around furiously and then saw one with an open door. He drove into it and screeched to a halt, allowing himself a small sigh of relief. They weren’t remotely in the clear, but there was something vaguely comforting about being in an enclosed area. He grabbed the patent leather case and turned toward the rear of the car. “Let’s go, Lenny!” he started. “We can’t get caught with the—”
    His eyes opened wide. Lenny would never be caught now, because he’d caught something—a bullet. He was slumped to one side, staring at Wilmer with glazed, dead eyes. Wherever Sheila was, Lenny was now with her.
    Wilmer felt a tremble go through him. It just as easily could have been him. He felt the same guilty sort of relief that any soldier feels when the trooper next to him in line has taken the bullet.
    “Lousy feds,” he muttered.
    In the distance he heard the screech of tires and the sputtering of an engine that could only be one that had sustained the sort of punishment Lenny had inflicted on the Plymouth. Backfiring, chugging, but determined. The feds would be there in minutes, checking through the hangars.
    He was going to get caught. After all this, on the edge of a clean getaway and a new life, he was going to get caught. He couldn’t fly a plane. Maybe the roadster could still outrace the feds. Sure. There was a better than even chance. But what if he couldn’t? And he got nailed holding the contents of the case?
    His mind was racing as fast as the GeeBee that was wobbling into view in the distance, but he paid it no heed. For his frantic gaze had fallen upon a vacuum cleaner that had been designed in that obnoxious art deco style. Wilmer couldn’t stand that look, but suddenly it was starting to grow on him, especially when he saw the duffel bag next to the vacuum cleaner.
    He grinned.
    The spectators in the bleachers heard the GeeBee approaching before they saw it because it was dropping down straight from the sun like a meteor. But the sound told as much as the view, for Peevy’s trained ear detected the telltale, labored sputter of a plane engine in trouble. “Something ain’t right . . .” he murmured, and then more loudly, to alert the others, he shouted, “Something ain’t right!”
    Then the GeeBee came into view, wobbling toward the runway, a plume of smoke boiling from the cowling. The group looked up in horror and Peevy glanced once more at the bottom of his shoe, which still had traces of sticky gum. Man, if Cliff lived through this, he’d probably kill Peevy.
    “Come on!” shouted Peevy. “Move yer butts! Get the fire extinguishers! Get the water trucks! Get going! Move! Move!” The occupants of the bleachers cleared out, dashing toward the hangars to get whatever crash assistance gear they could.
    As Cliff hurtled downward, he frantically tried to wipe the spewing oil from his goggles. Smoke billowed up in front of him and he held his breath. The last thing he needed to do was inhale a few lungfuls of smoke and choke to death. No. Then he would miss his chance to die on the runway.
    The runway, which was now only seconds away, seemed to reach up toward him and tilt crazily.
    But it wasn’t too fast for Cliff. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. He told himself that over and over again. He wasn’t going to let the GeeBee beat him despite all the things that had gone wrong. Cliff hadn’t gotten to where he was by listening to naysayers who predicted a fiery end for him. Then Cliff realized just exactly where he had gotten to—namely, inside a falling box of metal that was going to crash and burn inside of thirty seconds, and wondered if maybe he should have taken those naysayers a bit more seriously.
    No. He banished those thoughts from his head as he concentrated on the job before him. Doesn’t have to be pretty or elegant. Just get down on the