Jumma smiled and said, “It’s me, Mr Martin.”
Hanley reached for the truck and followed the side with his hand as he approached the young man. “No Sister Marie Claire?” he asked.
“No, she is not here,” Jumma answered in a low voice. The American remembered the nun’s repeated reminders to be as quiet as he could. She insisted he demonstrate his whisper for her, which she reviewed and suggested he modify. There was nothing she did not try to control, he thought.
Leaning against the hood, Hanley tried to relax, but became more restless as the time crawled past. Once he was in the air, he would be all right. Noticing Jumma’s head turning, Hanley heard the sound of someone approaching. A woman’s voice hummed a melody softly as she walked toward them. When close, Sister Marie Claire said, “Hello, my heroes. Let us leave now before anyone wakens.”
“Don’t say that. We’re not heroes,” Hanley snapped back at her.
“Not yet, but I have faith,” she replied.
“You’d better have enough for both of us,” he said.
She opened the door of the Land Rover, flipped the front passenger seat forward and climbed into the back. Jumma started the truck and immediately drove off toward the airstrip. Having picked the spot where he parked the truck days before, Hanley made certain Jumma walked the route out of the compound several times, noting bushes, depressions in the ground and any large rocks to avoid. Now reasonably certain he knew what was ahead, Hanley strained to watch for problems as Jumma drove until they were away from the compound. After what Hanley estimated to be two hundred yards or so, Jumma turned on the headlights and increased the truck’s speed a bit. Hanley knew they would be airborne before anyone else could follow them to the plane. He relaxed some, turned in his seat and said to the nun, “Well, now would be the right time to announce any surprises. You may as well, because if you wait until we’re in the air, I can easily turn around and land. You cannot stop me, so let’s get everything on the table right now. Okay?”
Smiling, the nun said, “There are no surprises, at least not that I’m aware of. When we land, the children will be waiting. When my people hear the plane approach, they will bring the truck with the children to the end of the runway and we will take them on board and leave. I believe everything will work very well.”
“My people? You sound like the Mafia,” Hanley said. The nun smiled again and began to hum the same melody she was humming when she approached the truck. As she hummed, she reached into a pocket of her dress and pulled out a rosary. Fingering the beads, she moved from one to another. Hanley watched for a moment and then turned to watch the road in the wash of the old headlights.
The plane first appeared as a small reflection of the truck’s lights. A large amount of time was spent on the plane’s preparation and while he knew it hadn’t made much sense, Hanley still checked and double-checked everything on the Beech that could be a potential problem. He knew this airplane as well as anyone possibly could, but he didn’t take anything for granted. He was still worried, even after adjusting to his decision to assist the nun with her plan. If he was to make a mistake, it wouldn’t be with the plane.
Jumma stopped the truck near the terminal shack and killed the engine. The truck creaked and popped as they stepped into the darkness. The sounds of the African night surrounded them as they made their way to the plane. Hanley unlocked and lowered the heavy door, warning the nun to step back. He paused to turn on the small flashlight he carried. When Jumma approached, Sister Marie Claire took him by the arm and said, “Jumma, before you get on the plane, I want you to know how much your help has meant to me. I know that I don’t say thank you enough for all that you do, but this is too important and I could not have done this without your help. You have always been special to us at the mission, but what you have done to make this happen is extraordinary. Thank you. I know God is pleased with you.”
“And I am pleased with him,” Jumma said, then turned and entered the plane. This made Hanley smile.
The nun busied herself with the task of making certain everything they put onboard for the trip was secured. Jumma also began an inspection of things in the cargo hold, but knew things were ready that afternoon. Hanley entered the cargo bay and told the nun and the young Sudanese he was going out to unlock the chain from the iron ring and the large flat stone and they would depart. He told them to buckle themselves in. Hanley turned on the interior lights of the plane. Outside, he unlocked the padlock and slid the chain through the wheel housing, slipped the lock through a chain link and snapped it shut. Even though the night had a bit of a chill to it, he was starting to sweat, his shirt clinging to the small of his back, cold and sticky. Pulling the rear door closed behind him, he locked it and turned to see Jumma sitting in the seat in the cargo hold. He doesn’t look nervous at all, Hanley noticed. As he passed, Hanley put his hand on Jumma’s shoulder and gently squeezed it, but said nothing.
Once
