"He's on the jazz," B.A. growled. "He loves the chase."
"Don't we?" Face grinned.
B.A. gave a reluctant smile in return. "Yeah, I guess we do. But we gotta remember that little boy's hidden away somewhere and we hafta find him."
They left the van--their arms filled with weapons. They watched the helicopter lift off and a moment later Murdock's borrowed chopper dropped down. "I'll follow them in the van," B.A. said.
"Oops!" Hannibal said, taking his machine gun and "accidentally" thumping B.A. in the head.
"You know, Hannibal," Face complained, "I do wish we could cure B.A. of his fear of flying. It would be a lot better on his head too."
"Stop complaining and help me lift him. Ooof! He ought to lose weight or I should get stronger. Okay, Murdock, up, up and away."
"South, southeast, Colonel," Murdock reported. "Mexico, maybe?"
"No, I don't think so. Border Patrol's pretty alert. Look, they're swinging toward the desert. Stay up and right behind, in their blind spot."
"Roger-dodger, mon colonel."
Where old airplanes go to die on page 33.
Strategy on page 34.
_____________________________
Another day, another poll. I'll close it tomorrow night. "Gotta" go. (If B.A. can have his words set down that way, so can I.)
Be back here in 24 hours!
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