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“We’ve already faced the possibility once,” Sam replied. “Let’s do our best to avoid that, shall we?”
“Right. Okay, let’s move on to snakes and venomous insects . . .”
After a quick supper that consisted of tandoori chicken, Sam and Remi retired for the evening. They found their rooms in keeping with the hostel’s motif: Hollywood western chic sans the chic. Though the outside temperature was a pleasant sixty degrees, the humidity was stifling. The room’s creaking ceiling fan slowly churned the air, but after sunset the temperature began dropping, and soon the room was comfortable.
They were asleep by eight.
They awoke the next morning to the sound of Ajay knocking softly on their door and whispering their names. Bleary-eyed, Sam crawled out of bed in the darkness and shuffled to the door.
Ajay said, “Coffee, Mr. Fargo.”
“No tea? This is a pleasant surprise. It’s Sam, by the way.”
“Oh, no, sir.”
“What time is it?”
“Five a.m.”
“Uh-oh,” Sam murmured, and glanced over at Remi’s sleeping form. Mrs. Fargo was not exactly a morning person. “Ajay, would you mind bringing us two more cups of coffee right away?”
“Of course. In fact, I will bring the carafe.”
The group assembled in the tavern thirty minutes later for breakfast. Once they were done, Karna said, “We’d best pack. Our death trap should be here anytime now.”
“Did you say ‘death trap’?” Remi asked.
“You might know it by its common name: helicopter.”
Sam chuckled. “After what we’ve been through, we almost prefer your description. Are you sure you can handle it?”
Karna held up a softball-sized Nerf ball. It was riddled with finger holes. “Stress toy. I’ll survive. The ride will be short.”
With their gear assembled and packed, they soon regrouped at the northern edge of Yingkiong near a dirt clearing.
“Here he comes,” Ajay said, pointing to the south where an olive green helicopter was skimming over the surface of the Siang.
“It looks positively ancient,” Karna observed.
As it drew even with the clearing and slowed to a hover, Sam spotted a faded Indian Air Force roundel on the side door. Someone had tried and failed to paint over the orange, white, and green insignia. The group turned away from the rotor downwash and waited until the dust settled.
“Ajay, what is this thing?” asked Karna.
“A Chetak light utility helicopter, sir. Very reliable. As a soldier, I flew in these many times.”
“How old?”
“Nineteen sixty-eight.”
“Bloody hell.”
“If I had told you, Mr. Karna, you would not have come.”
“Oh, you’re damned right. All right, all right, let’s get on with it.”
With Jack clawing furiously at his Nerf ball, the group packed their gear aboard, then took their seats. Ajay checked their fivepoint seat harnesses, then slid the door shut and gave the pilot a nod.
They lifted off, the nose tilted forward, and surged ahead.
