the smuggler’s bible


The altimeter beeps gently and Willie spools out a few yards of cable as the kite catches an updraft gusting off the salt flats.

From this height the truck looks like a dusty brown pencil eraser. Willie can see a speck moving in the shade that must be Shun. His radio chirrups three times in quick succession.

“Go ahead,” he says.

“Got anything to report?”

“A lot of bright-ass sunshine.”

“Willie.” The speck moves again, back and forth.

“Nothing yet. Did they really approve a grant for this?”

“For three whole years,” Shun says. “The government is dumb as shit.”