“One minute out,” the pilot announced. Akbar and Tim moved to the back of the DC-3 to pull open the rear jump door. He’d woken everyone five minutes earlier and they’d all started selecting which gear the plane’s paracargo boss should shove out behind them.
Akbar’s phone buzzed.
He dug it out of his pocket. Didn’t have time for it, but it might be some last minute instruction from Mark. Wouldn’t he be on the radio?
He didn’t recognize the number.
Tim popped the rear door and swung it inward. The wind’s roar grew tenfold. They were high over steeply rolling green forest.
Akbar hit View and glanced at the message. How about a run in the morning? –Space Girl.
Shit! He didn’t even have time to be pleased, never mind answer. He stuffed it back in his pocket and hurried down the aisle. Spa
