But today, she’s being patient and actually answering questions. After she finishes, we each grab a nap before the plane lands.
“We still have to go through customs,” Harding says. “But it will go fast. Here are your passports.”
The line is short, and as we approach the guard, we hand him the passports. Harding had some made specifically for this assignment.
The guard scans our photos into a computer at his station. He asks Harding where we are going. In Russian. She tells him we are here to see our father, who is ill. The man nods, opens the gate, and lets us through.
Once we are out of earshot, I ask Harding about it. “Ill father? Does this mean we are all siblings?”
Harding smiles at me. “It does.”
Harding leads us to a parking lot next to the airport. She reaches above the front tire and pulls out a set of keys before getting into the driver’s seat.
“Shotgun!” Moose yells.
I glance at Rover, who rolls his eyes. Moose learned that from Lightning.
For the next two hours, we drive through marshlands and a forest before turning in to the parking lot of a small airport.
“We are meeting my colleague and the pilot here,” Harding says. “He will fly us to another airport, and we will drive from there. We have to keep going because we need to get to the compound before dark.”
It’s summer, so the sun sets late here, and we have a few hours of daylight left.
Harding parks and then turns to us. “Neither of them can know Durango understands Russian. Understood?”
“You don’t trust your colleague?” I ask.
“I’ve never met the pilot. Better to be safe than sorry,” she says.
“But they’re aware you are fluent, right?” I ask.
“They are. If the pilot or Damien say anything, it won’t be while I’m around.”
Instead of going through the building in front of us, Harding leads us around the side to the back, where there is a plane and a man and a woman waiting.
“Daphne Davis, nice to see you again,” she says as we approach.
A woman in black jeans and a T-shirt turns and smiles. “Cara Harding, good to see you, too.” She takes her hand and shakes it.
“This is our pilot, Vlad. Vlad, this is Harding.”
“And this is my team,” Harding says, motioning to us.
“You need to get to Staiki? There is no airport there,” Vlad says.
Harding gives Davis a look.
Davis grimaces and turns to Vlad, holding up her phone. “There is a field here. This will do.”
Vlad stares at the phone.
“Is this a problem?” Davis asks as she holds up some money.
Vlad smiles. “No problem. Short flight.”
“You were supposed to have the destination arranged before we got here,” Harding says to Davis as we get onto the plane.
It’s a ten-seater, so we aren’t cramped.
