Somewhere across the Black Sea

Pilot Gerald Scott flew the helicopter into an endless void of black clouds, rain, snow, and lightning. Winter currently had a firm grasp on this section of the Black Sea. Just think of all the exotic drinks you will be able to buy your pals at the End of Seas Tavern, Gerald reminded himself.

He had a hard time keeping the helicopter steady in the air as strong gusts of wind added to the already challenging weather. According to his on board radar, the facility was close. The flight stick started shaking uncontrollably, so he grabbed onto it with both hands. This will be a rough landing.

“There it is. Hang on, sir,” Gerald said to this passenger.

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During the descent, the helipad was barely visible, but Gerald was able to land the helicopter with only minimal damage; part of the landing gear was bent, but his skill allowed him to land the craft without killing anyone.

I’ve landed in worse situations. At least bullets aren’t being fired . . . yet!

“We’ve arrived,” Gerald said, his voice shaky now.

“I appreciate making it to my destination alive. You have truly lived up to your reputation,” the man said. Gerald briefly looked over at his passenger: a tall, Middle Eastern–looking man with a neatly trimmed beard. He handed Gerald a large and heavy rectangular bundle.

“Payment for your services.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You need not call me sir.”

“What should I call you, then?”

“The Sultan.”

Gerald nodded. The Sultan put on an overcoat, and then stepped outside the helicopter and into the storm.