Hanley watched as the larger of the two men took the pistol from its holster and began pointing it at the plane, first at the tires and then other parts; the nose, the engine, the tip of the wing. As he worked his way toward the rear of the plane, he stopped for a millisecond at the doorway and Hanley and then moved to the tail. At each stop, the muzzle of the gun rose almost imperceptibly. Hanley knew little about guns, but recognized this gun to be an old 45-caliber Colt 911, once the sidearm of the American military. It looked barely functional to Hanley and, should the Sudanese guard pull the trigger, there was a greater chance it would fail than work, he thought. The second man sat and grinned at his partner’s antics. Hanley suspected the smaller man hoped his companion would shoot this American fool.
Hanley did not wait for the thug to accidentally shoot him as he worked the gun back to the plane’s nose. Getting his right foot under him, he pushed himself up, pulled the hatch shut, turned and walked to the cockpit. He began the startup procedure for the left engine; the side where the two Sudanese watchdogs were sitting. When Hanley hit the engine boost, the left engine kicked over and started immediately. Grit and dust filled the space between the plane and the building, swirling clockwise, enveloping the two men in a choking and blinding grit-fog. Hanley watched as the man with the gun tried covering his nose and mouth with his right hand, then dropped the gun while pushing the other toward the corner of the building and away from the swirl. Standing on the brakes, Hanley revved the left engine enough to insure dust would surround that side of the plane. Dropping the engine to an idle, Hanley set the brakes and got out of the seat. From a metal chest located at the bottom of the bulkhead, he took goggles and put them on as he exited the rear cargo door. He walked straight to the wall of the terminal and began searching. He saw the lizard just to his right, about a foot from the wall. Resting under the left front paw of the lizard was the old 45. He took the gun and walked back to the plane. I hope this thing is ready to fire, he thought.
Back in the pilot’s seat, he shut the engine down and was surprised at how quickly the dust settled and how quickly the two men returned. Hanley watched as they began searching for the gun then, failing to find it, begin shouting at each other, with fingers pointing and soon each shoving the other. The larger of the two was the one who dropped the gun and was now the angriest and most animated. Soon, he was kicking dust at his companion, shouting so violently that spit flew everywhere, creating little round welts on the ground that he then blew to oblivion as he kicked the dirt. The second man, smaller and a little older, began retreating when the assistant customs inspector rounded the corner and received a face full of dust. The shouting stopped so suddenly, Hanley thought he heard its remnants carried off by the wind. The customs inspector was stunned for a second and then marched over and hit the dust kicker across the face with his clipboard. Then the assistant customs inspector unleashed his fury, letting it stream over the man like a bucket of scalding water. The second man disappeared around the corner. After a minute, the thug was ordered away and the assistant customs inspector approached the plane, knocking at the rear hatch as if he were a meter-reader back in Kokomo. Hanley walked to the back of the plane, opened the hatch, knelt and peered out at the customs inspector.
“What did your boss say about my inspection?” Hanley asked. The bureaucrat’s face now resembled a tribal mask, painted on before battle. The red dust and perspiration together created twisted brown lines that ran down his face, surrounding his eyes, lips and exaggerated a nose that did not need the help.
“The chief customs inspector sends his regrets. Tomorrow will be the soonest he can attend to this matter. You must realize he is an important man and his time has a certain value. To inspect your plane now means his time is diminished and he would be forced to work longer today to make up for dealing with you. It not that you’re an American, that has no bearing on this. It must be said that what you are doing is considered irregular. Where you are going and what you are doing are seen as a problem by some. The chief customs inspector is aware of this. However, that is not really the problem in this case. It is simply the value of time. You must understand.”
Finally, there it is, Hanley thought. He considered bringing the gun into the bargaining that was about to start, but decided against that, at least until he saw how it went.
“Yes, I understand and appreciate the value of your time and of the chief inspector’s time. Really, I do. I’m sorry to have caused you such trouble. I know you must think of the Sudanese people first and I appreciate that. I must be leaving soon, at least first thing in the morning. If there was a way that I might express my understanding of the value of both your time and
