37
The Wrong Flight
The cargo plane left the tarmac and climbed steeply into the sky, rocking us all back on our feet. The angry mob steadied themselves. They kept their assault rifles pointed squarely at us.
“I think we got on the wrong flight,” I said, raising my hands in surrender.
Philippe left his arms down by his sides.
“Come on,” he said to the unblinking special-ops unit. “You’re not going to fire live rounds in an airborne transporter.”
“Keep testing me, b***h,” said a Hispanic guy chewing violently on a stick of gum.
“We’re not that important to you,” Philippe said.
“Hell, he’s right,” Buzzcut said with a sigh, stepping to the front of the pack. “Stand down, people.”
The men and women let their weapons down.
“You know, sir, there are other ways we can put a hurting on ’
