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.They’d have to scramble from there but it shouldn’t be a problem if their paperwork was in order.Air Vietnam’s line in Hong Kong was down but Northwest reservations told him that the airline always had empty seats.They left the motor running at the travel agency, thanked Don Larson profusely, grabbed their passports and visas and tickets and drove like hell.Two hours later the Jeep was tucked away in the long-term parking ramp at Minneapolis-St.Paul International.Broker felt the empty place in the small of his back where his Beretta used to live.They’d left the guns in the car.They buckled their seatbelts.Broker glanced around and maybe it was fatigue-induced hallucinations or maybe it was clarity but it looked like the 747 was crammed with all of Rodney the arms dealer’s rude, over-weight dumbed-down extended American family off on a mission to sink Seattle with cellulite.After takeoff, Broker unfolded himself from the cramped economy seat and got up.“My feet hurt,” he explained to Nina.Which was true.From kicking Bevode and swamp walking.But he also wanted to check out the passengers to see if anyone resembling the Fret family was onboard.He saw a lot of physiognomy that suggested latent serial killers and depressed gene pools but none of them with the long jackass bone structure of the Frets.He returned, restacked himself in the Procrustean seat and fell asleep and didn’t wake up until the flaps cranked down as the jet made its landing approach.Nina, still fast asleep, snuggled on his shoulder with her hand warm where her fingers curled around a dead tiger’s gold-tipped fang against his chest.After they landed in Seattle they took a bus into town and ate at a restaurant with so many ferns that it felt like jungle survival training in Panama all over again.At four in the morning, Seattle time, so slap-happy they were making stale Dorothy and Toto jokes, they remembered that they hadn’t called Trin.They left their incomplete flight information with the hotel desk clerk at the number in Hue.They’d arrive in Hanoi on the first open flight from Hong Kong.Trin would have to fill in the Air Vietnam blanks.In the background, Broker could hear the alien bells and growls of Vietnamese afternoon traffic.Then they showed their passports and boarded their flight.53THE PLANE IS FULL OF PEOPLE WITH BLACK HAIR AND those wraparound brown eyes.No idea what they’re talking about.Everything is backward and upside down.Sleep has slipped between the cracks of a dozen time zones.Nina is coping better.She snoozes on his shoulder.No-smoking flight.His mouth and his nerves ache for a cigarette.He stares at the Northwest Far East magazine he finds in the seat pocket.The centerfold is a brightly colored map of the world.Like a Rorschach.The Asian continent is a spotted beast rearing out of the crouched leg of Africa with Europe in its hip pocket.North America is an afterthought cropped and running off the page left and right.Marginal.No calling 911 where he’s going.The flaps jerked, their ears swelled and popped, and Hong Kong emerged from a layer of dirty clouds.Cement high-rises streaked by like smoke, window lights for sparks.They banked sharply and the pilot kicked the big 747 through a fighter-jet turn, passing—it seemed to Broker—right between the tall buildings.Cramped and numb they lumbered out the door and the clouds were burning tires and the air was rancid dishwater that stuck to Broker’s cheeks.China was a fractured sensation.His first steamy look at the oldest engine in the world.Customs queues, immigration, and a six-hour wait for the Air Vietnam desk to open for business.The terminal was a racket of Chinese.They hired a cab and escaped into the neon constellations of Kowloon and Mercedes gridlock on the streets.The working-class sections zipped by like the sets for Blade Runner.Across the bay, Hong Kong nestled against the mountains like a silver money clip.They found a glittering glass and chrome restaurant.Outside the air smelled like a vat of stewing sweat and dirt and blood.Like money.Inside, they found the cleanest, most well-dressed people in the world.Hydroponics mannequins.Scientifically bred in posh display windows until they’d grown into their perfect tailoring.After the most expensive meal of their lives they took another cab back to the airport.Beyond conversation, too nerved up to sleep, they paced and drank coffee and smoked cigarettes and waited.A smiling young woman in a blue blazer happily took their money and stamped their tickets for Hanoi
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Tematy
IndexWarren Adler Wojna państwa Rose 01 Wojna państwa Rose
§ Menzel Iwona W poszukiwaniu zapachu snów 01 W poszukiwaniu zapachu snów
Lachlan M D Synowie boga 01 Synowie boga (2)
Robbins Harold Handlarze snów 01 Handlarze snow
§ Rudnicka Olga (01) Zacisze 13 Zacisze 13
Reynard Sylvain Piekło Gabriela 01 Piekło Gabriela
Kalifornijska noc 01 Kalifornijska noc Adler Elizabeth
Alexandra Bracken Mroczne umysły 01 Mroczne umysły
Briskin Jacqueline Tamta strona miłoÂści
Cherrie Lynn Do szaleństwa (Ross Siblings 01)