The plane wretched into its landing mechanism. After all, the Sudanese were not known for their airlines. The gear bounced across the asphalt and screeched to a halt by the port. Heat rose from the orange desert-dirt consuming the runway, endless stretches of city shanties and highrises looming in the distance. Judging by the three layovers in Europe culminating in an Istanbul shakedown, Harrison thought he’d never see his final destination. Yet here he was, climbing down the plane’s stairs to a series of men guiding him into an aluminum-shielded building.
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