Chapter Two

"Folks ... looks like we're cleared for an emergency landing in Santa Eduviges. We'll be touching down in about five minutes."

The sudden drop in altitude made Trish sick. A spasm of pain worked through her intestines. Unlike her fellow passengers, she was not frightened by the whooshing and strange noises coming from the plane ... because she had a much more immediate problem; trying not to throw up. This was not good. Trish had been confident of making to Miami, but she knew that she could not keep the pellets down if her plane had to make an extra stop. The aching and nausea sweeping through her body made her wonder if what she was doing was really such a great idea, if taking such a risk really was worth the bragging rights she could enjoy if she made it home.

The plane hit the runway with a jolt. The pilots immediately hit the reverse thrusters. The aircraft tilted to the right and some of the passengers started screaming. Barely, but just barely, the pilots managed to correct the direction and avoid touching the wing on the ground. There was another scary jolt as the left wheels hit the pavement. There was a bounce, a distinct pop, and then, finally, all the plane's wheels were safely on the pavement and the aircraft slowed. The screaming changed over to nervous cheering and clapping.

The pilots pulled up to a set of small buildings and a newly-built control tower. With a sigh of relief the cockpit crew announced:

"Well, folks ... welcome to Santa Eduviges International Airport ... and after our little adventure in the sky, quite a site she is..."

Several workers rolled staircases to the front and back doors of the plane. The pilots emerged from the cabin; trembling, pale, and drenched in sweat. That detail alone told everyone how close the plane had come to crashing. The crew nervously shook passengers' hands as they got off.

Trish fought off nausea as she descended the staircase into the intense heat of the tropical afternoon. She got a quick look at the locals, who were the mixed-Creole descendants of a succession of Spanish, French, and British settlers and their African slaves. They were dressed practically for their environment, all of the airport workers and officers, both men and women, wore light-colored uniforms with short-sleeved shirts and cargo shorts.

Among the officials there was a police woman who caught Trish's attention. She might have been a couple of years older than Trish. The police officer was darker-skinned than most of her co-workers, reflecting her mostly African ancestry. The woman was attractive, but had a no-nonsense look on her face. At first glance she seemed to have an ordinary figure, but Trish then noticed that her arms were muscular. The officer was tough-looking, definitely not one a normal person would want to get into a fight with. When the traveler noticed the officer's badge, there was a strange coincidence; the woman's nameplate read "Bousquet". Odd ... it turned out that Trish and the island woman shared the same last name.

Several island cops and custom officials surrounded the passengers and guided them towards a double trailer that seemed in somewhat better shape than most of the other buildings. The officials pointed at a row of metal detectors through which everyone would have to pass before being allowed into the main part of the airport.

Trish was nervous, not because of the metal detector, but because the heat was making her sicker than ever. If she could just get through those detectors, she'd find a bathroom. The nausea had convinced her that what she was doing wasn't worth it. She'd get rid of her cocaine, go home, buy some the normal way, and make up a cover story. To hell with completing this dare ... it was just stupid.

Life is extremely ironic, however. Just as Trish was starting to develop a hint of common sense and beginning to understand that not everything in this world is worth trying, her life was about to take a turn she never expected.