Chapter Thirty-Seven
The goliath-sized Antonov turboprops sat dormant on the tarmac. As Damien and the rest of the team were taxied toward them in a minibus, he noticed the Antonovs’ tails were scribed with the letters WFP in blue. The aircraft’s tails and back ends were flipped upward, like the lid of a zippo lighter, and food pallets swathed in cargo nets were being loaded inside with forklifts.
Sophia’s team split up. Damien and Jay headed toward the Antonov scheduled for New York, while Sophia and DC veered toward the first of the two bound for Miami. Nasira and Chickenhead went for the second.
Damien and Jay’s pilot, a mountain of a man with large teeth and an American accent, introduced himself as Will.
‘Missionary, mercenary, misfit or broken heart?’ he asked, beaming at them.
