by G M Eppers
He tilted his head in thought. “I’m going with the vermicelli. Thanks, Helena.”
“No problem.” He did seem calmer with the idea that the dire fortune had been completed. Glancing down at the strips of paper, I noticed one in particular. “What’s this?” There was a fortune strip that was completely blank. I turned it over a couple of times to make sure, and there was no printing of any kind on either side.
“Factory reject.” Badger shrugged. “I was going to throw it out. Unless you know anyone who does miniature origami.”
I handed it back to him. “Maybe it’s for writing your own.”
He started turning the slips over to see the vocabulary words again, lining them up in rows on his tray table, the blank one left to one side. “Porcupine? When am I going to use that?”
“When you see your first Chinese porcupine, I would imagine.” I was going to remind him that CURDS didn’t really go to Asia, but our team didn’t normally go to Africa, either, and here we were on the way to the Democratic Republic of the Congo. The three teams kind of each have their own territory, although there is overlap when necessary. Team A covers Europe, which is cheese intensive and a huge job. Team B does Australia and South America, and Team C’s turf is Africa, which is not cheese intensive but good training ground. We all did missions in the U.S. and Canada when we were home as well.
Since everyone was occupied, I went to my seat, plugged my phone into the arm charger and Googled the Congo. Team C wasn’t exactly all trainees, but they were less experienced. The continent of Africa has only three chembassies on it. There is one in South Africa, one in Ethiopia, and one in Benin, affectionately known as NinComPoop. Team C answered calls throughout the continent, in Madagascar, and the peripheral island nations, checking in with the nearest chembassy whenever possible.
I began looking into what to expect in the Congo.
It was about four hours later when I was wakened by a gentle hand on my shoulder. I was upset with myself. Yes, sleeping is one of the things we do on the plane, but I hadn’t felt sleepy and I didn’t recall dropping off. Was reading about the Congo so tedious that I read myself to sleep? I remembered reading about the Congo River and Kinshasa, the capital, but not much of the detail.
It was Dinny waking me. “Sorry to wake you, but I need to serve some food before we enter African airspace. They require two in the cockpit at all times. We’re coming in at an angle because I want to buzz NinComPoop and see if they know anything.”
“Thank you, Dinny. I’ll be right – what is it?” She looked worried. Now that I was awake, so was my bladder, but I waited until I found out what was causing that expression on Dinny’s face. I preferred to keep my cool when this situation came up. I was supposed to be in control. It would have been unseemly to push her out of the way and make a run for it.
Her voice was in a low whisper. “They’re going to need to clear the table. It’s kind of, well, cluttered.”
“What do you --?” I looked up reflexively at the conference table. I could see the pile of clothing from here, and my son’s bare back. “I’ll take care of it, Dinny. Go on and get the food ready.”
“Thank you, Helena. Oh, and one more thing.” Of course there was one more thing. I was going into uremic poisoning. Why wouldn’t there be one more thing?
“Yes?”
“I’m not sure if this is the proverbial short straw or not, but I guess I’ll be joining you on the mission.”
I smiled. It would be a pleasure to have her along. “Glad to have you, Dinny. I’ll make sure Roxy gets the paperwork to you. The table should be clear in ten minutes.” I waited with apparent calm while she returned to the cockpit, then made a beeline for the bathroom. Badger, focused on his phone, which was tethered for power to the arm of his chair, didn’t even notice me.
After I’d taken care of my immediate needs, I went upstairs. The table was completely covered with articles of clothing. All of them save one were down to their skivvies. As I’d slept, Roxy had joined the game. Sylvia and the twins were in their bras, and I was assuming panties though I couldn’t see under the table. Sir Haughty, and Nitro were fully visible, one in boxers and the other in ironic blue tighty-whities. And they were still playing! Cards were propped up on discarded jeans, sweaters, belts and socks. Roxy was fully clothed and hugging her cards close to her chest, peeking at them every few seconds and trying to maintain a poker face. “Sylvia, do you have any sixes?”
“Go fish.”
Roxy started pawing through the cards on top of the clothes, which weren’t hands but the draw pile. Others were holding their hands under the table and leaning back to peer at them. She fished and came up with a card that apparently was not a six. “Pass.”
“What are you guys doing?” They hadn’t noticed me come up and suddenly became self-conscious, covering themselves with their cards. Sylvia seemed to have over a dozen cards in her hand, while Sir Haughty had but one, which he held solemnly over his navel.
“You’ve never heard of Naked Go Fish?” Roxy, the presumptive winner, sat up straighter as if being at attention made it more impressive.
“Clean it up, please. Dinny wants to serve the food before we enter African air space.”
“Oh, I AM starving!” Agnes grabbed her shirt from the pile and put it on.
Roxy was not starving. She was disappointed. “But this is the bumper round,” she objected. “And I’m winning.”
“You won,” said everybody, grabbing clothes as they reassembled their wardrobes.
“Yippee!” Roxy tossed her cards on the pile and reached under the clothes for some jewelry. She found an earring and put it on her left ear, then searched for the other, lifting and dropping clothes to see underneath. Before long, only scattered cards remained on the table and Billings, now dressed but with his shirt untucked, gathered them up into a deck.
I went to the supply cabinet and got a roll of paper towels and some Lysol. I handed them to Billings. “Sterilize everything. Roxy, do you have the waiver ready that I asked for?”
“Yes, Helena.” She was still blocked in by the twins pulling on jeans and tying their shoes.
“Waiver? What waiver?” Billings sprayed the table and started wiping. “You didn’t tell me about any waivers.”
“It’s for Dinny. She’s coming with us. I want someone who knows planes.” I pointed to the benches to indicate he should sterilize those as well. Mostly naked people had been sitting on them. He’d be lucky if I didn’t have him do the floor, carpet or no carpet.
“Gotcha. I hadn’t thought about that.” He crawled around behind as Roxy finally extricated herself and headed down to get her tablet. “I should have thought of that, Mom.”
“Don’t worry, Billings. I know you’ve been lead on a lot of missions lately, but not this time. I’m back. Let your brain lighten up a little. I’ve got this.”
Some of the others ducked into the bathroom area and I shortly heard flushing and water running. “Thanks, Mom.” Billings finished cleaning, set the supplies in the corner, and ran downstairs to do likewise.
By the time they all came back, Dinny was there with her wheeled cart delivering trays. Someone had notified Badger and he came up last, rubbing his left wrist. Dinny pulled off covers. “It’s kind of pot luck, I’m afraid. I have no idea what they eat in the Congo.” It was family style with large containers. Dinny dealt out white dinner plates as if they were cards. Utensils were in a pile which we each raided individually. Once the table was populated with food, Roxy handed her the tablet and pointed at the places to sign using an attached stylus. “I’m not sure whether to be excited or scared about this.” Dinny gave Roxy the tablet back.
“Ever been to the Congo?” Roxy asked.
“No.”
“Then excited. New places are always exciting. Old places, those are scary. You might run into someone you know.” Roxy grinned, tucking the tablet between her leg and Badger’s so she could eat.
Dinny examined that idea
skeptically and returned to the cockpit, probably still not sure.
Playing Naked Go Fish took a lot out of you it seemed. They ate so quickly that Nitro, the vegetarian, might have gotten something meaty by mistake. There was a casserole of some sort, some random pieces of chicken, a container of buttered corn, a pile of firm scrambled eggs, crackers and cold cuts, and the usual assortment of bottled and canned drinks. Smelling food, Backwash and Harelip came bounding up the stairs from wherever they were hiding doing whatever, and T.B. sauntered up behind them looking self-righteous and superior. With the cats weaving in and out amongst our feet, we ate our fill. Their diligence soon paid off with scraps of scrambled eggs hitting the floor. Backwash made off with half a slice of bologna. Keeping his dignity, T.B. waited at my feet until I accidentally on purpose dropped a piece of salami.
“I would suggest some shuteye. We’ll be arriving just before noon local time.” Having had a nap, I offered to clean up, since it would be impolite to call Dinny in from the cockpit when we’d just been told she needed to stay there. I cleaned up as best I could, not knowing exactly where everything went, hiding the dirty dishes out of sight, but where they would be found later. Then I wiped down the table again before going downstairs. I found the switch and dimmed the lights. The team was reclined in their seats, some along the windows, and others on the inside aisle. Sir Haughty was already snoring softly.
I took my seat and reclined, but didn’t fall asleep right away. I stared at the ceiling, listening to the soft breathing around me. Backwash kept walking around, looking for someone to pet him. Harelip climbed up on Sylvia and curled up on her stomach, and T.B. plopped on my ankles. I tried to remember that my feet would probably be numb when I woke up and I should be careful getting vertical. I kept repeating the reminder in my head, letting it lull me into a light doze.
“Pst.”
Why are people always “psting” me?
It was Nitro. In the dim light, I could see that Backwash was once again on Nitro’s chest, kneading away. Unfortunately for Nitro, Backwash’s rear end was virtually in his face and the cat was kneading an area that was better left alone. Gently, Nitro put a hand on each side and turned Backwash around. Unperturbed, Backwash began kneading the new location without missing a beat. “You could put him on the floor,” I whispered.
“Nah. You know, I’m kind of starting to like it. Oof!” He expelled some air as Backwash pumped his sternum. “Now, if only we could teach him mouth-to-mouth we’d have a feline first responder on the plane.”
“You are on your own.”
“I think the fortune must be wrong. This isn’t annoying at all, right? Ow! Claws, guy!” Nitro carefully extricated Backwash’s claw from his shirt, then tried to pet him into complacency, getting him to settle down and give up on the kneading for now.
I closed my eyes and let sleep take me. I like sleeping on the plane. Even though the APE software equalizes pressure and makes flight much more stable than commercial planes enjoy, when it’s dark and quiet and you sit still you can feel the gentle bobbing up and down. It’s kind of like being in a big steel hammock swaying between two imaginary trees. Really, really tall trees. I think I sleep more easily on the plane now than I ever did in my bed back on terra firma. But I still sleep light. When the ding went off to indicate that we were landing, it woke me.
Some of the others slept equally lightly and began stirring, taking another run to the restrooms before buckling up. Others had to be woken up by their neighbors. I got up to corral the cats, glad that even Harelip, the late addition, seemed to take to the idea of going to the carriers in the alcove like it was the most natural thing in the world. Usually Dinny secured them, but I managed. I thanked them all for their cooperation, although Backwash did try to crawl into the same carrier as Harelip. I directed him to his own carrier and brought down the gate. After my own trip to the bathroom, I went back to my seat, bringing it out of the reclining position, and buckled in. I looked down at Kinshasa, the capital city of the Democratic Republic of the Congo.
The DRC itself is a very large country in central Africa, home to the second largest rainforest in the world. Only the Amazon is larger. Fortunately for us, the CURDS3’s flight path had been taking it out of Kinshasa heading west. This meant that we’d be searching only a small portion of the rainforest, bordered on the north by the Congo River on its way to the Atlantic. Kinshasa is a very large city, home to more than ten million people. But its buildings and infrastructure are aged and in disrepair. We could see it as we circled for a landing. The runway seemed to be the only stretch of undamaged cement in sight.
The plane touched down smoothly and rolled to a full stop some distance from the terminal building. Since we are almost never a scheduled flight, it is often the case that no gate is available so we cannot attach to a concourse with an umbilical. In that case, we usually find an out of the way place on the tarmac and the airport sends in a rolling staircase for us to disembark. While we waited for the staircase, we went to the locker room and began what we call “suiting up”. Dinny is always there with the keys to the weapons locker, but this time she had to suit up too. She watched us all put on our HEP belts, which had adjustable pockets that we populated with cell phones, stun guns, flashlights, and other equipment. Nitro picked up his field kit and stared at it. “Helena, we’re looking for people not Uber. Should I even bring this?”
I checked the charge on my stun gun. “Stock it heavier on the first aid. And second aid. When we find them, they are probably going to need help.”
He started shuffling things around in his locker, putting things in and pulling other things out. “How I wish this kit worked like Hermione’s purse in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.”
Badger tucked his stun gun into a pocket on his belt. “You mean with a drawstring?”
Nitro glared sadistically. “No, Gerrold.”
“Don’t call me that.”
Leadership time. “Focus, Thaddeus.” Nitro got the message and continued stocking his kit.
Dinny opened the weapons locker. “I don’t have a HEP belt.”
“You’re weapons certified, though, right?” She nodded. “Find a safe place and stick a Glock in it.”
She picked up a pistol with two fingers, filled the chamber and checked the safety, then slid it into her right pants pocket. “It’s heavier than I remember.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
She spoke a little louder. “Oh, and I want to warn all of you, the temperature out there is 92 degrees Fahrenheit with humidity at 85 percent, and local time is 11:43 in the morning.”
Perfect. Our sleeping on the plane was the equivalent of sleeping in considerably. We should be able to search even after dark if we wanted to. Then the first part of her statement registered. I’d spent a couple of months in D.C. at near freezing temperatures, a few days in Ireland in the 40’s. The jump to 92 was going to be nasty. None of us had packed clothes for warm weather, let alone sweltering.
“Hold on,” Roxy said, running back into the cabin of the plane for a minute. She returned with a pair of scissors. “Okay, anyone that doesn’t want to die of heat stroke, line up and kiss some of your clothing goodbye.” Sylvia submitted first and Roxy cut the sleeves off of her shirt. Sylvia’s toned arms were evenly tanned and the muscle shirt look worked nicely with the chains on her outfit. The edges were ragged, but it was definitely an improvement.
“Not the pants,” said Nitro. “It’s a rainforest. We’ll want protection from the waist down even if it is a little uncomfortable.” He sidled up to Roxy and sacrificed his sleeves as well. I rolled my socks down to my ankles and got in line.
When Roxy had modified everyone else’s shirts she handed the scissors handle first to Sylvia and covered her eyes with her other hand. Roxy was still wearing her print dress, so the skirt didn’t go all the way to the floor. It left her legs below the knee bare, but it was still no doubt more valuable than all of our shirts put together. “My turn. I can
’t watch.”
As Sylvia trimmed the sleeves to the shoulders she asked, “What about your legs, Roxy? Do you have anything that would be more protection? And those shoes are not going to do you any favors in a rainforest.”
“I can deal with all that. Honest.” She looked sadly at the mutilated edges at her shoulders, then shrugged it off. “Watch this.” Roxy reached into her locker and brought out solid wedge heels that snapped right on to the bottom of her spiked shoes. “This investment is about to pay off.”
“Convertible shoes? Is there a hiking boots option?”
“Yes, but I didn’t buy it. Hiking boots look ridiculous with a dress.” She honestly didn’t see the irony in this at all. What could I say? She passed all her combat and physical evaluations with similar attire and that was what really mattered. She took no clothing allowance and paid for all the dry cleaning and mending out of her regular salary. I could be hard-nosed about it, sure, but that wasn’t the kind of leader I wanted to be. It wasn’t affecting her work, despite all appearances that it should. Where there was a will there was a way.
“Everyone ready?” I took a head count and noted that everyone had appropriate hardware. Dinny spun the wheel that unlocked the door and pushed it open. A blast of hot moist air swam in and my hair immediately turned into wet whole grain noodles. I watched as Roxy’s curls tightened and Sir Haughty’s waves turned to tiny curls and felt beads of sweat burst from every pore. I felt like Senator Jacob Quick, the man with the largest pores, except that he seemed to react like this to anything over the freezing point. The rolling stairs had been locked into place and we started down.
Down below, a gray Smart Car with black trim rolled toward the CURDS1 accompanied by three black Lincoln Town Cars. It rolled to a stop and the Town Cars formed a U around it. As I stepped onto the tarmac, waves of heat shimmering in front of me, the driver side door opened and a husky black man wearing a suit and cap unfolded himself from the tiny vehicle. He darted around behind the Smart Car and opened the passenger side door, standing at attention as another man emerged. He was lighter skinned and wearing an elaborate caftan and headdress. He ignored the driver as he came forward to greet us. The driver remained where he was, holding the door open. “Welcome, welcome!” The man in the caftan smiled broadly at us and bowed slightly. “I am Kiki, president of the Democratic Republic of the Congo.” He paused while the drivers of all the vehicles pulled out kazoos and played a welcoming riff. “I’m so sorry your visit is because of such dire circumstances. Please, allow me to welcome you to my country before you start your journey.” He waved toward the Town Cars. “Accompany me to my palace, and you may feast on succulent roast pig and other delicacies of my country.”
