Ming-Ji had paid the fishermen in advance, but Nola gave them one of her rings. She rose to her tiptoes, slid Lulu's basket onto the plane’s floor, and climbed in. In the dark cavity, two benches ran along each of the unfinished walls. The ceiling, curved downward, forced her to lean forward as she sat down. Tattered khaki straps served as seat belts, but she had to glide along the bench in search of one with a belt-like buckle. She tucked Lulu’s basket next to her duffel bag under the bench, hoping it would protect the baby against the jolts. Lulu slept on.

While waiting, Nola rotated her joints and listened to her growling intestines. The cramps intensified. Her teeth rattled with a sudden shiver. Was this the onset of hysteria? That or something else; she felt sick. She unbuckled her seatbelt and peeked outside. Only one of the fishermen stood there, smoking, while the pilot, carrying a gasoline can, moved about, then adjusted wedges under the wheels. He scratched his crotch as he surveyed the sky. Let’s go! Nola wanted to call out. She found her vial of Tylenol, and swallowed two tablets with tea from the thermos. She tightened her jacket around her body and stretched out on the bench.

Ten minutes later, she heard noises outside. She bolted up, hitting her head against the low ceiling, as three men in threadbare clothes climbed into the plane. In her basket, Lulu moaned in her sleep.

Nola smiled at the men to let them know she was a friendly stranger. But they lowered their heads and settled on the bench across from her, as immobile as sleeping pelicans. Her prisoners. Her free men, their freedom bought with the proceeds of the Double Happiness tour.

Their body odor in the closed space was pungent. Even in the dim light she could see that they had been beaten. Gashes cut across their faces, on their shaved heads, necks and knuckles. The slashes in their clothes exposed raw skin with parallel slices.

Tears formed in Nola's eyes. Would this have been Daniel's fate had he not been thrown out of the country? Human cruelty was hard to comprehend.

Or, if caught, this could be her fate.

She handed the men Ming-Ji’s baskets of food, and they scooped the rice with bare hands, stuffed their mouths, and chewed hungrily on dried fish.

Nola slipped off her seat and scrambled out of the plane. “There are only three men. I want four.” She raised four fingers and pointed at the plane. The fisherman shrugged. The pilot shook his head and clucked something. “Four?” She waved four fingers, but he motioned in dismissal for her to get back into the plane.