still dry?”Valdez leaned forward and confided, “Man, we got us one weird passenger back there.”“So what’s new?” Kozlowski said.“I mean, this one’s really strange. Got flak flyin’ all ’round and he doesn’t bat an eye. Just sits there like he’s floatin’ on some lily pond. You should see the medallion he’s got ’round his neck. Gotta weigh at least a kilo.”“Come on,” said Kozlowski.“I’m tellin’ you, Kozy, he’s got a kilo of gold hangin’ around that fat little neck of his. Who is he?”“Some Lao VIP,” said Maitland.“That all they told you?”“I’m just the delivery boy. Don’t need to know any more than that.” Maitland leveled the DeHavilland off at eight thousand feet. Glancing back through the open cockpit doorway, he caught sight of their lone passenger sitting placidly among the jumble of supply crates. In the dim cabin, the Lao’s face gleamed like burnished mahogany. His eyes were closed, and his lips were moving silently. In prayer? wondered Maitland. Yes, the man was definitely one of their more interesting cargoes.Not that Maitland hadn’t carried strange passengers before. In his ten years with Air America, he’d transported German shepherds and generals, gibbons and girlfriends. And he’d fly them anywhere they had to go. If hell had a landing strip, he liked to say, he’d take them there-as long as they had a ticket. Anything, anytime, anywhere, was the rule at Air America.“Song Ma River,” said Kozlowski, glancing down through the fingers of mist at the lush jungle floor. “ Lot of cover. If they got any more.57s in place, we’re gonna have us a hard landing.”“Gonna be a hard landing anyhow,” said Maitland, taking stock of the velvety green ridges on either side of them. The valley was narrow; he’d have to swoop in fast and lo
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