CHAPTER 38MONROVIA BURNING
Cian landed at the mission an hour before dark. He tied the airplane down using metal twist stakes that he had brought along. He knew this mission had almost nothing in the way of facilities—not even a wind sock—so he congratulated himself in not forgetting to bring his last bottle of Irish whiskey, a full bottle which he handled with care.
The accommodation was primitive, as he expected—a circular wattle hut with a grass roof, single kerosene lantern, a frame cot, a small, crudely made table, and no mosquito netting. He had not forgotten to bring his new battery-powered cassette player and two hours of Irish folk music. The doorway was covered by folds of rough burlap emblazoned with 100 LBS. NET in red. There was a small wooden cup on the table, which Cian in
