1 Chapter One: An Unusual Pair
The rust streaked prop plane stuttered to a landing in the tiny weed choked airfield. It coasted tentatively along the runway, coughed explosively a few times, but the engine somehow hung in there. However, as the plane neared the meager row of hangers, the engine let out a series of ominous sounds, and sputtered into silence. The plane coasted for a few more meters, but came to an abrupt stop as the wheels hit some gravel and other small debris which littered the cracked and weathered runway.
The co-pilot door popped open, and a slender figure dropped out to lay on the runway, heedless of the blistering heat, or the choking humidity.
"Ground, sweet ground!" exclaimed the figure in loud English, and tried to flatten against the ground. This attempt did not last long, and soon the figure sat up and rubbed scorched hands and cheek painfully.
"Ouch! So hot!" the figure complained.
The pilot's door opened, and an elderly South American man disembarked, ramrod straight and spry despite his wrinkled and seamed face. Wispy white hair escaped from under an aviators cap and goggles. His dark leathery skin bespoke many years under the sun.
"Enough fooling around," he said sternly in Portuguese, "Don't make me regret this... more than I already do, girl."
"You know I hate flying," she complained in the same language. At his silent unyielding glare, she shrunk her head back and murmured, "Yes, master."
The pair was a study in contrasts. Her cream colored outfit contrasted his dark toned clothes, her long dark wavy locks the opposite of his aged silvery white strands, her youth compared to his elderly stature, and his portly width greatly out-massed her petite and slender frame.
After another long moment, he finally spoke shortly, "Clear the debris on your side."
He turned away and started sweeping the runway with his boots. She stuck her tongue out at his back.
"Want to lose it?" he promptly responded without looking.
Hastily, she covered her mouth with a hand and swiftly moved to clear her assigned area. Once enough of the debris had been scraped away from the wheels, he tossed her a pair of gloves, and nodded towards the plane. Already sweating from the humidity and heat, she sighed, but donned the gloves and took her position by the cockpit. Together, one on each side, they pushed the plane slowly towards the nearest hanger.
The hanger doors were only open a crack, so the pair pushed back the heavy hanger doors. Neither the old man nor the young girl looked strong enough to push back the steel doors, yet they each handily accomplished the task, one to each door.
The plane safely stored, the pair unloaded their gear, hefted it onto their backs, and walked to the "terminal" building. This proved to be a dingy single room affair, with smoke stained walls, and a ladder on one wall leading up to what appeared to be an outhouse perched on the roof. Only the dirty glass windows on each side indicated that the outhouse structure was actually a glorified control tower.
