The bar was about three feet higher than tall Nam’s head. Biff waited until the front of the jeep was directly under the bar. Then he leaped up as if he’d been blasted off a launching pad. His hands seized the bar. Like a trapeze artist, he swung his body forward in a giant arc. At the top of his swing, when his body was parallel to the ground, Biff twisted his head, looking over his shoulder as his body started a swift downward stroke. At the split second, he lashed out with his feet. One foot struck the left knife-wielder square on the side of his head. The man shot over the side of the jeep as if jerked by the hand of a giant.

Biff’s other foot struck the second knife-wielder full in his chest, toppling him out the back of the jeep.

Now Biff was propelling himself into the backward arc of his swing. Again his body came swiftly downward. He lashed at Nam, planting both his feet solidly in the Oriental’s shoulders. Nam shot forward, his head striking the windshield.

Biff swung his body sideways, and dropped to the ground. He ran back toward the terminal building, nearly half a mile away. After a hundred yards, he slowed to catch his breath. Turning, he looked back at the jeep. There was no need to run. Nam still lay sprawled over the steering wheel. One of the knife-bearers was out of sight, apparently still sprawled on the ground on the other side of the jeep. The other guard was just rising from behind the jeep. Biff saw him stagger, still not fully recovered.

He ran back toward the terminal building

There would be no more trouble with those three, Biff said to himself. Not right away, at any rate. The boy continued toward the terminal building at a rapid walk. He didn’t run, no need to, and if he did, he might attract attention. He might be stopped. Explanations would be demanded. The gate-keeper might come up and describe what had happened.

Biff needed time to think. What was his next move?

“Guess I’ll have to play it by ear,” he told himself, and what, he wondered, had happened to Uncle Charlie? Had he been waylaid by those same three?

Inside the teeming terminal building, Biff mingled with the constantly moving crowds. He hoped he wouldn’t be noticeable, but there was little chance of that. In his American clothes, gray slacks and open-necked shirt, he was as noticeable as an Oriental dressed in mandarin clothes would have been at the Indianapolis airport.

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