Nathaniel Cannon and the Secret of the Dutchman’s Cross No. 61

“How are we doing?” Cannon shouted over his shoulder at the cab.

“Halfway there!” Masaracchia called.

“Another truck’s coming, skipper!” Burr raised her machine pistol and fired a short burst.

Looking behind himself, Cannon saw his machine gun teetering on the edge of the on the edge of the bed. Quickly, he holstered his Mauser, then snatched the machine gun before it toppled over the side. As he put the sling over his shoulder, five planes roared a thousand feet overhead. He waved an arm at them.


Lecocq sat up against his straps and peered over the control column. The speeding truck which had caught his eye slid down the Albatross’s glazed nose. A man in the back, one of several, swung an arm over his head, just before the truck disappeared below the fuselage. He looked over his shoulder and caught Emma’s eye. “I think that may have been the captain.”

Emma shrugged. “He’ll call if he needs us.”

“As you say.”

Emma looked toward the turret behind her, then listened closely to her radios. Ahead of the plane, two of the Kestrels rolled into steep banks and climbed away.

Lecocq’s brows drew together. “Ominous?”

“Looks like the limeys aren’t keen on making this easy.”

Lecocq sighed. “Such is the life of a pirate. Perhaps you should patch me into the radios and man the guns.”

Emma made an insolent salute, flipped a few toggle switches on the radio console, and climbed the ladder up into the dorsal turret.

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