Freelance Journalist Bradley Tanner returns from an assignment in Angola to South Africa when chaos enters his life.
Bradley turned his attention to the other five passengers in the plane. An elderly man sitting to his right, wearing a grey tailored suit, was unperturbed by the mayhem around him. His slack jowls hung loosely, only quivering occasionally, reminding Bradley of a worn-out Basset hound. The man had opened the top button of his white shirt and loosened his canary and red striped tie. A bald patch on top of his head was flecked with liver spots and his half-moon spectacles perched on the tip of his bulbous nose. Like all the other passengers, he was strapped in his seat, but he was holding and reading a newspaper as if he were sitting in his lounge at home. The passenger one seat further to the front had his head tilted back. His silvery hair clung to the headrest, and he seemed to be asleep. He had crossed his arms in front of his bulky chest and his feet were planted firmly on the carpeted cabin floor. Sitting perfectly upright, his body moved smoothly with the turbulence, like a surfer riding a three metre wave. His tanned, wrinkled face was peaceful and it seemed to Bradley that not even an exploding bomb could wake him from his slumber. The passenger’s baggy khaki clothes were well worn and crumpled, and Bradley noticed that several pockets were bulging.
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