He dwarfed everything in the cockpit. He spoke German into a small handheld receiver as he flipped switches on the control panel with his littlest finger. He seemed the perfect picture of modernity as he eased the jet down the runway. His dialog with the Swiss air controller crackled in my headphones and the sound of the engines rose to mimic the roar of a raging fire as the plane accelerated across the asphalt. Chance's bass voice speaking German into the headphones and the drone of the jet lulled me to sleep as we floated up into the night sky.

A nudge from his heavy hand woke me out of a deep sleep. We flew toward the morning sun hanging low on the horizon.

"Hey," he said, making sure I was awake. "There it is." A narrow strip of land divided the sea from the sky.

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. "There is what?"

He held an accusatory finger out toward the brown strip on the horizon. "Yemen."

20

The small town hugging the coast passed under us quickly as Chance circled the jet for an approach at the lonely stripe of asphalt in the sand. Clouds of dirt and sediment boiled up at the edges of the runway as the plane touched down. I waited until the engines went silent before I spoke.

"Where are we?"

He inspected several instruments and switches on the control panel. "Al-Mocha, in the Arab Republic of Yemen."

"Does he live here?" I asked, pointing to Clovis' slumped figure in the back seat.

"No, he lives about twenty miles down the coast. Don't worry, it's a nice place. I need to make some quick notes before I take off, could you go back and wake him?"

"How?"

"Shoot him with ten CCs of the bottle marked adrenalin."

"I'll give it a try," I said, climbing out of my seat. I went to his yellow bag and fished out the needle and vial. "Where do I shoot him?" I asked back into the cockpit.

"In the arm is fine."

Needle in hand, I walked to the sleeper in the back of the plane. I rolled up his sleeve and ran my fingers over the flat side of his arm. The spotty skin had lost all its elasticity but the muscle underneath was still surprisingly firm.

"Don't forget to purge the needle of air bubbles," he shouted back to me.

"Thanks." Holding the needle up, I pressed on the plunger until a thin stream shot up onto the ceiling. His snoring became erratic as soon as I plunged the syringe into his arm.

"How long will it take?" I asked over my shoulder.

"Did you shoot him already?"

"Yeah," I called back.

"Then he should be coming around any time now."

I watched his furrowed face for signs of life. His eyes darted in quick movements under their lids, then flickered to life.