Airport

obtained credit under false pretenses. That, in itself, would have no
bearing on a subsequent insurance claim.
Another thing was that he deliberately bought a round-trip ticket to
create the appearance of not only intending to complete the outward
flight, but also to return. As to choosing a Rome flight, he had a second
cousin in Italy whom he had never seen, but occasionally talked of
visiting-a fact which Inez knew. So at least there would seem an element
of logic to his choice.
D. 0. Guerrero bad had his plan in mind for several months while his
fortunes were worsening. During that time he studied carefully the
histories of air disasters where airliners were destroyed by individuals
seeking to profit from flight insurance. The number of instances was
surprisingly large. In all cases on record the motive had been exposed
by post-crash investigation and, where conspirators remained alive, they
were charged with murder. The flight insurance policies of those involved
had been invalidated.
There was no means of knowing, of course, how many other disasters, where
causes remained unknown,

bad been the result of sabotage. The key factor was the presence or
absence of wreckage. Wherever wreckage was recovered, trained
investigators pieced it together in an attempt to learn its secrets. They
usually succeeded. If there was an explosion in mid-air, its traces
remained, and the nature of the explosion could be determined. Therefore,
D. 0. Guerrero reasoned, his own plan must preclude the recovery of
wreckage.
This was the reason he had selected Trans America's non-stop flight to
Rome.
A large portion of the journey of Flight Two-The Golden Argosy-was above
ocean, where wreckage from a disintegrated airplane would never be found.
Using one of the airline's own passenger brochures which conveniently
showed air routes, aircraft speeds, and even had a feature called Chart
Your Own Position, Guerrero calculated that after four hours' flying-al-
lowing for average winds-Flight Two would be over mid-Atlantic. He
intended to check the calculation and amend it, if necessary, as the
journey progressed. He would do so, first by noting the exact time of
takeoff, then by listening carefully to the announcements which captains
always made over cabin p.a. systems about the aircraft's progress. With
the information it would be a simple matter to decide if the flight was
behind schedule, or ahead, and by how much. Finally, at approximately a
point he had already decided on-eight hundred miles east of
Newfoundland-he would trigger an explosion. It would send the aircraft,
or what remained of it, plummeting toward the sea.
No wreckage could ever be found.
The debris of Flight Two would remain forever, hidden and secret, on the
Atlantic Ocean floor. There would be no examination, no later exposure
of the cause of the aircraft's loss. Those left might wonder, question,
speculate; they might even guess the truth, but they could never know.
Flight insurance claims-in the absence of any evidence of sabotage-would
be settled in full.
The single element on which everything else hinged was the explosion.
Obviously it must be adequate to

destroy the airplane, but-equally important-it must occur at the right
time, For the second reason D. 0. Guerrero had decided to carry the
explosive device aboard and set it off himself. Now, within the locked
bedroom, he was putting the device together, and despite his
familiarity-as a building contractor-with explosives, was still sweating,
as he had been since he started a qLiarter of an hour ago.
There were five main components-three cartridges of dynamite, a tiny
blasting cap with wires attached, and a single cell transistor radio
battery. The dynamite cartridues were Du Pont Red Cross Extra-small but
exceedingly powerful, containing forty percent nitroglycerin; each was
an inch and a quarter in diameter and eight inches long. They were taped
together with black electrician's tape and, to conceal their purpose,
were in a Ry-Krisp box, left open at one end.
Guerrero had also laid out several other items, carefully, on the ragged
coverlet of the bed where he was working. These were a wooden clothespin,
two thumbtacks, a square inch of clear plastic, and a short length of
string. Total value of the equipment which would destroy a six and a half
million dollar air-plane was less than five dollars. All of it, including
the dynamite-a "leftover" from D. 0. Guerrero's days as a contractor –had
been bought in hardware stores.
Also on the bed was a small, flat attach6 case of the type in which
businessmen carried their papers and books when traveling by air. It was
in this that Guerrero was now histalling the explosive apparatus. Later,
he would carry the case with him on the flight.
It was all incredibly simple. It was so simple, in fact, Guerrero thought
to himself, that most people, lacking a knowledge of explosives, would
never believe that it would work. And yet it would-with shattering,
devastating deadliness.
He taped the Ry-Krisp box containing the dynamite securely in place
inside the attach6 case. Close to it be fastened the wooden clothespin
and the battery. The battery would fire the charge. The clothespin was
the

switch which, at the proper time, would release the current from the
battery.
His hands were trembling. He could feel sweat, in rivulets, inside his
shirt. With the blasting cap in place, one mistake, one slip, would blow
himself, this room, and most ot the budding, apart, here and now.
He held his breath as he connected a second wire from the blasting cap
and dynamite to one side of the clothespin.
He waited, aware of his heart pounding, using a handkerchief to wipe
moisture from his hands. His nerves, his senses, were on edge. Beneath
him, as he sat on the bed, he could feet the thin, lumpy mattress. The
decrepit iron bedstead screeched a protest as he moved.
He resumed working. With exquisite caution, he connected another wire.
Now, only the square inch of clear plastic was preventing the passage of
an electric current and thereby an explosion.
The plastic, less than a sixteenth of an inch thick, had a small hole
near its outer edge. D. 0. Guerrero took the last item left on the
bed-the string-and passed one end through the hole in the plastic, then
tied it securely, being cautious not to move the plastic. The other end
of the string he pushed through an inconspicuous hole, already drilled,
which went through to the outside of the attacb6 case, emerging under the
carrying handle. Leaving the string fairly loose inside the case, on the
outside he tied a second knot, large enough to prevent the string from
slipping back. Finally-also on the outside-he made a finger-size loop,
like a miniature bangman's noose, and cut off the surplus string.
And that was it.
A finger through the loop, a tug on the string! Electric current would
flow, and the explosion would be instant, devastating, final, for
wbornever or whatever was nearby.
Now that it was done, Guerrero relaxed and ]it a cigarette. He smiled
sardonically as be reflected again on how much more complicated the publ
ic-incl u ding writers of detective fiction-imagined the manufacture of
a bomb to be. In stories he bad read there were

always elaborate mechanisms, clocks, fuses, which ticked or hissed or
spluttered, and which could be circumvented if immersed in water. In
reality, no complications were required-only the simple, homely components
he had just put together. Nor could anything stop the detonation of his
kind of bomb-neither water, bullets, nor bravery-once the string was
pulled.
Holding the cigarette between his lips, and squinting through its smoke,
D. 0. Guerrero put some papers carefully into the attach6 case, covering
the dynamite, clothespin, wires, battery, and string. He made sure the
papers would not move around, but that the string could move freely under
them. Even if he opened the case for any reason, its contents would
appear innocent. He closed the case and locked it.
He checked the cheap alarm clock beside the bed. It was a few minutes
after 8 P.m., a little less than two hours to flight departure time. Time
to go. He would take the subway uptown to the airline terminal, then
board an airport bus. He had just enough money left for that, and to buy
the flight insurance policy. The thought reminded him that he must allow
sufficient time at the airport to get insurance. He, pulled on his
topcoat quickly, checking that the ticket to Rome was still in the inside
pocket.
He unlocked the bedroom door and went into the mean, shabby living room,
taking the attach6 case with him, holding it gingerly.
One final thing to do! A note for Inez. He found a scrap of paper and a
pencil and, after thinking for several seconds, wrote:

I won't be home for a few days. I'm going away. I expect to have some
good news soon which will surprise you.

He signed it D.O.
For a moment he hesitated, softening. It wasn't much of a note to mark
the end of eighteen years of marriage. Then be decided it would have to
do; it would be a mistake to say too much. Afterward, even without

wreckage from Flight Two, investigators would put the passenger list under
a microscope. The note, as well as all other papers he had left, would be
examined minutely.
He put the note on a table where Inez would be sure to see it.
As he went d ownstairs D. 0. Guerrero could hear voices, and a jukebox
playing, from the greasy-spoon lunch counter. He turned up the collar of
his topcoat, with the other hand holding the attach6 case ti-hfly. Under
the carrying handle of the case, the loop of string like a hang
gman's noose was close to his curled fingers.
Outside, as he left the South Side building and headed for the subway, it
was still snowing.