Mike Dixon

„Dave, are you still there?‟
„Yeah … hang on.‟
He went to the window. A small aircraft was visible be-
neath the clouds and heading for the runway.
„Janet, there‟s a plane coming in.‟
„Do you think it‟s a drug delivery?‟
„Janet!‟ He cut her short. „I don‟t have time to talk. I‟ve
got to shut this thing down and get out of here. I‟ll meet you
like arranged.‟
He put the phone back, turned off the power and looked
around for signs that might betray his presence. His muddy
footprints were a clear giveaway. He wiped them up as best
he could, tied the door shut and sprinted for cover. Seconds
later the plane touched down.
It was half dry beneath the pandanus palms that bordered
the airstrip. He reached them, slumped down on his belly
and watched as the plane taxied towards him. It came to a
halt on the cement apron beside the control shed and two
men got out. One was slim and wearing a flying jacket. The
other was muscular going to fat.
The big man began to unload packages from the plane
while the slim man secured it to anchor points with steel cables.
David guessed he was the pilot. He watched for a while
then returned his attention to the big man.
He seemed to be exerting a huge amount of effort for
such small loads. David was reminded of the time he and
Tim were saving money by casting dive weights from lead
bars. The bars were amazingly heavy for their size. The big
man looked like he was carrying something even heavier.
One thing was certain. The plane hadn‟t beaten its way
through the storm to bring in lead. It had to be something
far heavier and there could be only one explanation.
It had to be gold.
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