Black Sun Reich Read Online Free

constantly turn their heads to look out for enemy planes as well as to clean their goggles—he said, “And at least until Captain Rucker awakens, I will be your pilot for today’s flight.”
    From the corner of his eye Deitel could see Chamberlain’s reaction. The man was, fittingly, as white as a sheet.
    â€œOur flight time to Austin is approximately ten hours, with a one hour layover for refueling,” Chuy said, and then closed the cockpit door.
    â€œOh my God,” Chamberlain muttered, hands gripping the armrests so tightly he would almost leave indentations.
    In minutes they were up in the Big Blue heading north.
    Chamberlain’s bags were still sitting on the tarmac, the contents being picked over by some local boys who’d snuck onto the coastal airfield.
    S everal hours later, somewhere over the Caribbean, Deitel heard muffled retching from behind the rear bulkhead. The Raposa was surprisingly quiet inside once at cruising altitude. Then he heard what sounded for all the world like a shower running. Which was curious, since he’d never heard of a cargo plane or even a passenger plane with such an amenity. That kind of luxury was reserved for airships.
    But moments later the rear bulkhead hatch opened and Rucker stepped through, dressed now in khaki pilot’s pants with lots of pockets, a pistol belt, black undershirt, and leather flight jacket. He was toweling off his short, choppy, dark blond hair. It was surprising a man with such fair hair could be so tan. Rucker slipped on a baseball cap that sported a logo of a winged scorpion.
    Of course, Deitel was scandalized by the pilot’s behavior thus far, but he reminded himself again and again that he was no longer in the civilized part of the world. He was in the Americas now, and unless he wanted to be blatantly indiscreet, he must follow the age-old advice to the visitor to Rome. And the man appeared sober, so there was that.
    Rucker all but ignored the two passengers.
    â€œChuy! Got any coffee up there?”
    Deitel noted only the hint of the infamous and parodied Texas twang to Rucker’s accent—it wasn’t as thick once the man was sober.
    â€œIn the galley, Cap’n,” Chuy shouted from the cockpit.
    Finally Rucker acknowledged his passengers, his eyes still not focusing on them but certainly lucid. He poured a cup of Jamaica Blue Mountain with a dollop of sugar and cream.
    â€œCoffee?” he called vaguely in Chamberlain’s direction.
    â€œNo, I want a word with you, Mr. Rucker.”
    â€œ Captain Rucker,” came Chuy’s voice from the cockpit. Rucker winked and mock saluted Chamberlain.
    â€œWhatever—all you southerners and Texicans are Kentucky colonels aren’t you? Now see here, Captain Rucker, first we had to wait an hour to even get on your plane, and then your uppity boy starts giving me lip. That damn darky shouldn’t even be in the cockpit, let alone flying. I wouldn’t have booked your plane if I’d known that’s how I was to be treated. I cannot wait to get back to U.S. soil where planes run on time and people know their place.”
    Rucker took another long draw on his coffee as the man finished his harangue. There was more about how the only civilized place on earth was New York City, how backward the Southrons, Freeholders, and South Americans were, and the rest of the standard “New York is the center of the world” song.
    Chamberlain finally finished up on the “Do you know who I am?” point. “I’m the undersecretary to the Union States ambassador to Colombia, and I can assure you, sir, that whatever agency licenses your company will be hearing from my government.”
    Chamberlain crossed his arms and sat back with a smug, self-satisfied smirk. He figured he’d put the fear of God in this hick bush pilot.
    â€œSo no coffee?”
    Chamberlain sputtered.
    â€œMr. Chamberlain, you’re welcome to take