The Finnish Fiasco, Chapter Seven
Some Time Ago, Somewhere in Africa, Shortly before Tragedy Struck
The veiled woman waited until dark. After everyone had departed the dusty hangar to go home for the night, she slipped out of her hiding place. The day’s heat still lingered and the stagnant air smelled of oil, metal and perhaps a dead rodent decomposing in the walls. The mysterious woman moved to the Piper’s small plane, and began tinkering with the engine. A snip here, a partial cut there, nothing so obvious that a mechanic would notice, but enough to prevent the plane from ever reaching its destination. You and I would refer to this sort of activity as sinister sabotage, but the veiled woman preferred the word ‘retribution’. In less than ten minutes, her diabolical task was complete. She dropped the tools back into her handbag and disappeared into the velvety African night, leaving the scent of malignant mothballs and dirty pennies in her wake.
