Chapter 1 -- Flight 2298
International Flight 2298 already was an hour late to its destination in Frankfurt when the aircraft was rocked by a nasty band of turbulence. The plane dropped into a wind shear, shuddered upwards, and then dropped again. The pilot, who already had ordered all passengers to return to their seats, ominously ordered the fight attendants to immediately sit down as well. The passengers watched with increasing anxiety as the cabin crewmembers swayed in the aisles towards the dubious safely of their landing seats.
Again the plane shuddered upwards and dropped. Outside bands of thick clouds alternated with gray sky as the aircraft banked to avoid the worst of the storm. The worst of the storm, however, already had begun moving into northern Germany, which meant that a landing in Frankfurt was becoming increasingly unlikely.
Air travel that evening would be a mess throughout northwestern Europe, as flights had to be diverted away from a string of cities extending from Paris to Warsaw. The storm showed no promise of letting up, thus forcing controllers to make the difficult decision to land planes in airports far away from their intended destinations.
As alternate airports filled up, controllers decided to divert International Flight 2298 eastward to the King Vladik International Airport in Danúbikt Móskt, the Danubian Republic's only international airport. Yes, that primitive airport was very far out of the way, but Flight 2298 still had enough fuel to make it, whereas many other planes competing for landing slots did not. So the crew and passengers, already exhausted from a grueling flight from Panama City to Europe, now would fly an extra hour to get to Danúbikt Móskt. Unless the weather cleared, the plane's occupants could expect to stay well into the following day before they could fly out.
As the plane banked right to turn eastward, it was buffeted by still more sickening turbulence. The pilot announced that, regrettably, the flight would end in the Danubian Republic, not Germany. Not that it really mattered. Most of the passengers simply wanted to get on the ground and be done with the horrible journey. Anywhere, even Danúbikt Móskt, was just fine, as long it was out of that storm. They could deal with getting to Germany tomorrow, but now all that mattered was returning to solid ground.
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As the plane began its final descent into Danubian airspace, Maria Elena Rodriguez-Torres felt waves of nausea surging through her body. What the young Colombian felt was not simple air sickness, but rather the rebellion of her body against what she was carrying inside her stomach. A full kilo of cocaine, divided into grape-sized plastic packages, was the young woman's reason for being on the flight. Now she knew those packages, (or "pellets", as they were called in the world of drug traffickers) were not going to stay down much longer. Sweat poured down the passenger's face as she tried to keep them down.
Por favor...por favor...o Dios mio...por favor...que llegue al aeropuerto sin...
It was not to be. Maria Elena surged forward, covering her mouth as it filled with vomit and three round grape-sized objects. She flailed about with her free hand while the man in the seat next to her frantically pulled out an air sickness bag, opened it, and handed it to her. She vomited, and to her horror felt more pellets working their way up her esophagus in a desperate attempt to escape through her mouth. It seemed that not only was her body rejecting the presence of those unnatural objects inside her, but the pellets themselves did not want to be there either and were determined to get out.
Over and over Maria Elena threw up into the bag, as sweat and tears poured down her face. She rudely waved off the efforts of her neighbor to comfort her as pellets passed upwards and gagged her, making her want to throw up all that much more. Within seconds the bag was completely full of the contents of her stomach, which included nearly thirty bluish-gray ovals, about a third of the cocaine that her handler had entrusted to her for delivery to Germany.
Panic and total despair swept over the unhappy courier, because not only her freedom, but her very life now was in grave danger. Maria Elena knew that the cost of losing any of the cocaine that her handlers had entrusted to her would be her life. She had been given 100 pellets to swallow, and she would deliver 100 pellets to her contact in Frankfurt. In exchange for her efforts she would be given 15,000 Euros. To deliver anything less than 100 pellets would cost her life, or at the very least enslavement in a brothel to pay off her debt.
La plata o el plomo...as they always said. Silver for success...lead for failure.
The man sitting next to Maria Elena tried to take her air-sickness bag, but she violently snatched it away.
"Look, lady...I'm just gonna give it to the attendant. I'll get you another bag."
The young woman struggled with her very limited English.
"You no take...you no say me nothin'!"
"You need to get rid of that...come on now...hand it over..."
"You no take me!"
The man was bewildered, but suddenly became irritated and suspicious. OK...just what the hell was in that bag that she was so worried about?
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With intense pain sweeping through her intestines and tears rolling down her cheeks, Maria Elena stared through the window as the plane finally dropped through the clouds and the lights below became visible. The aircraft was still shaking as it was buffeted by wind, but the rain had let up and the passengers could make out the lights of Danúbikt Móskt (or Danube City in English) the capitol of the Danubian Republic, as their flight made its final approach.
The pilots took a deep breath as they lined up their huge aircraft to a runway that was not designed for such a large plane. This airport was something else...not set up at all for night landings, a short runway, no decent radar system, no adequate lighting, and no modern gates. However, the Danubian Army was doing what it could to help diverted planes make safe landings; two rows of Danubian soldiers were waving flares and shining spotlights onto the runway in a feeble attempt to direct incoming flights to the ground and the terminal. The plane hit the ground with a violent jolt as the pilot immediately hit the reverse thrusters to avoid overshooting the runway. As soon as the plane slowed sufficiently a military jeep moved in front of the aircraft, with a soldier in the back wildly waving a flashlight to get the pilot to take his plane off the runway. The soldiers' haste was quite justified, because other diverted flights were circling Danube City waiting to land, some of which were about to run out of fuel. The moment Flight 2298 turned off the main runway, another jumbo jet roared past and another flight was safely on the ground.
Led by its military escort, Flight 2298 approached the small terminal building and a stopped next to multitude of other planes that were parked very close together. Torrents of rain poured down and gusts continued to shake the aircraft, but now the danger of crashing was past. As the pilot cut the engines, yet another flight roared in...yet another safe landing in this woefully small airport.
The moment the engines were turned off, airport workers rolled two staircases to the front and back of the plane. As the doors opened the pilot announced that everyone was ordered to get off immediately. To highlight that point, Danubian police officers climbed into the plane and started yelling at the passengers to get out. No, there would be no leisurely checking to see if everyone had everything, and if anyone was caught struggling with a large bag and holding up other passengers a cop yelled: "You no take! You now move-move!"
The scene outside was surreal to anyone accustomed only to modern airports. As the rain continued to pour down on them, two lines of stranded travelers descended the staircases into darkness and ran between parked planes towards a large military hanger. Another hanger already was full to capacity and Danubian soldiers were erecting tents, presumably in anticipation of receiving yet more passengers. The entire area outside the terminal building was full of over-sized aircraft, the buildings were packed to capacity, and diverted flights continued to come in. The cops were frantic to empty the planes as quickly as possible to make room for more incoming passengers, which justified their rough treatment of anyone holding up the evacuation of an aircraft.
Maria Elena staggered out of her seat, clutching her air-sickness bag and a small backpack that was her only carry-on item. As she stepped into the rain she nearly lost her balance on the staircase, but she held on tightly to her cocaine. That bag was a matter of life and death. She would have to find a place where she could clean off those pellets and somehow get them back inside her body.
She struggled in the rain towards the hanger, but suddenly another wave of nausea swept over the unhappy girl. She retched yet again, separated from the other passengers, fell to her hands and knees, and lost another five pellets onto the wet pavement. She picked them up and stuffed them into the pocket of her sweatshirt. She recovered slightly and finished the arduous journey to the hanger.
The wind picked up and a loud clap of thunder announced that the storm had arrived full force to Danube City. A large military tent broke loose and flew across the tarmac, with several soldiers in desperate pursuit. The weather now prevented any more flights from coming in and it was obvious none would be taking off anytime soon. The roof of the hanger rattled from the wind and rain as Danubian cops holding up signs with flight numbers tried to re-organize the crowd of panicked and bewildered passengers.
