Ficly

Flight 218

The Air Jordan flight 218 touched down and taxied to the terminal at Baghdad International. What used to be Saddam Hussein International now had both a military airbase and some what larger civil air terminal. But of the two, the military base certainly was busier.

Talman walked down the sky way and into the air conditioned terminal. The florescent lights gave a blue green tint to the interior as he picked up his bag from the carousel and walked to customs.

Michael had told him that there was a job for him in Iraq. A plane ticket was waiting for him at the Air Jordan counter in JFK. A job that paid good money provided you weren’t especially enthusiastic about following the law. Nothing actually illegal, he said. Just something open to interpretation.

The customs official had him open his suitcase and found the two bottles of single malt whiskey he was bringing to toast the new job. He looked at the label of one and placed it under the counter. “Import duty” he said in broken English.

“Welcome to Iraq.”

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