The sun on the western horizon of Puerto Esperanza sank like a chunk of gold being melted into a gray ocean. The air in the small harbor felt heavy, humid with salt spray and the aroma of grilled fish carried by the breeze from the dilapidated shacks along the pier. In the furthest corner of the harbor, where rust and moss reigned supreme, an old hangar with a peeling tin roof stood with the remnants of its dignity.
Mateo Rossi stood on the wing of a 1940s Grumman G-21 Goose seaplane, which he had just purchased with the last of the cash he had kept tucked under his insoles. His calloused hands were stained with black oil. A smudge he accepted gladly compared to the bloodstains that had graced his uniform just a few weeks ago. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his worn flannel sle
