The Hunters Read Online Free Page B

can of burning Sterno. Steam rose from the pot. The smell of something edible filled the air; Parson could not identify the food. Four men stood around Gold as she addressed them in Arabic while Chartier looked on.
    â€œHassalan,”
one of the men responded. Parson didn’t know the words, but the tone sounded like “okay,” “you got it,” or “will do.” The men wore UN ID tags on chains around their necks. They walked outside, and through a broken window Parson saw them begin to unload the bags of rice and boxes of rations from the airplane. The armed guards, still out on the ramp, seemed more alert during the unloading. They eyed the parking areas, the fences, and the road to the airport. One of them hooked his right thumb over the safety lever of his AK, ready to click it into firing mode.
    â€œHow come those guys are so spring-loaded?” Parson asked. “Is my flight mechanic safe out there?”
    â€œHe’s as safe as we are in here,” Gold said. “We don’t know of any specific threats.”
    â€œBut you have general threats,” Chartier speculated.
    â€œWe do. All the older people remember when warlords hijacked aid shipments to use hunger as a weapon. They wonder if al-Shabaab will take a page from that playbook. Everybody’s pretty tense, especially when food comes in.”
    The woman at the cook pot called out in Arabic, and Gold answered. Then she turned back to Parson and Chartier.
    â€œLunch is ready for the staff,” Gold said. “Do you want to eat something?”
    A question Parson hadn’t anticipated. He gave Gold a puzzled look.
    â€œNot if food for these folks is an issue. I can wait till I get back to Djibouti.”
    â€œDon’t worry about it,” Gold said. “You just brought us tons of food. I think we can feed you lunch.”
    Several Somalis, presumably on the UN payroll, lined up at the food table. The cook began spooning something into paper bowls. The Somalis ate with relish, though not as if they were starving. Parson and Chartier followed Gold into the line, and when Parson’s turn came, he received a bowl of rice cooked in goat’s milk. He dipped a plastic spoon into the bowl and began eating.
    â€œNot bad,” he said, though he thought the rice could use some pepper.
    â€œBon appétit,”
Chartier said.
    â€œCan I take a bowl to Geedi?” Parson asked Gold.
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œYou won’t have to,” Chartier said. “He’s coming inside.”
    Parson looked out the window and saw the flight mechanic heading for the terminal, wiping his hands with a red rag. When Geedi came in, Parson said, “Take a break and get some lunch. What did you find?”
    â€œThank you, sir,” Geedi said. “I didn’t find anything. I think it was just water in the fuel. I drained several cups from the main tank sump on that side. Drained some out of the carb bowl, too.”
    Parson frowned. “Didn’t you check the sumps before we took off?” he asked.
    â€œI did, and I found a little water then. I think more of it settled out of the fuel later on.”
    Entirely possible, Parson knew. They’d filled up at Djibouti, and heaven only knew the quality of fuel storage there. Water could have contaminated the airport’s storage tanks. It seemed the worst of the watery fuel had gone into the DC-3’s right main tank, and not all the water droplets had settled around the sump drain when Geedi first checked it. The water, heavier than gasoline, eventually pooled at the bottom of the tank. In flight, when Parson switched from the aux tank to the mains, the right engine apparently ingested a big slug of water. When flying in this environment, Parson realized, you couldn’t take anything for granted. Hell, you couldn’t even count on your fuel to burn.
    â€œSo, do you think we’re good to go?” Parson