The stench of cuban cigars and Laphroaig could only mean one thing. Godden. The still smoldering stub of the cigar laid on the table next to the baton. Waltzing Matilda, playing over the rooms hi-fi was, i felt, a nice touch.
The distant wail of sirens alerted me, I hadn’t long to get from his room to the airport and continue our journey.
Crewing in, the route seemed simple. No time to check the plates now, that would have to wait until the transit, Police cars assembling around the terminal and hands gesturing my way.
For today’s trip, we would we taking th