[Steven Lyle Jordan]

Considering how I'd gotten out of the zoo, I really wasn't expecting how I'd get back in. "What? No blue pill?" I'd asked Amy.

"Those things are expensive... and dangerous," she replied. "Besides, we haven't been able to steal any from the zookeepers. It's this, or nothing."

"Yeah, but... this?" Parked next to me, inside a C-51 cargo plane that had flown us out of a tiny Florida airstrip anecdotally known to be popular among Columbian drug smugglers, was a tandem hand glider, made of non-reflective black fabric and black-anodized aluminum framing. Someone had cast a light on it, before we'd left, and it seemed to magically absorb every bit of the light.

"It's the only way we can get in unnoticed," Amy explained. "The zoo's sensors would detect close-passing aircraft, engine noise or heat signatures."

"Please tell me you've done this before," I asked. I'd actually tried hang gliding once, and had gotten scared witless when I managed to reach a grand total of twenty feet in altitude.

"Only once before," Amy replied. "That time, it was in the middle of heavy winds, and we got down fine. We won't have any trouble today."

"We?"

"I've taken others inside," she explained.

"Oh. Will they be helping us?"

"Not likely... they're all dead."

"Caught as spies?"

"No: Turned out to be allergic to leeks."

"Mm-hmm."

Once we were over the drop point, some thirty miles distant from the zoo, the rear of the cargo plane started to open, whipping any dust and loose debris about like a mini-hurricane, and drowning us in wind noise. Amy patted me on the knee, and stood up. "Time to go!"

Our harnesses that fit over our coveralls included a sort of body-sock that you shrugged into, to aid aerodynamics. Once into the harness, an accompanying technician helped me into the tandem, with Amy strapped in on top of me--forcing me to consider how many times I'd managed to get this close to her in the past few days, with no result. Talk about incentive to get this whole mess over with. As I fought to not overdwell on Amy's practically straddling me, the technician pushed us out of the back, where a tether strung us out to a safe distance, then cut us loose.

Immediately, the hang glider began twisting and flipping through the air... despite our distance from the plane, its backwash tossed us like a kite during Katrina. I bit my lip and squeezed me eyes shut, assuming at that moment that my concerns over dragging this adventure out were probably unfounded. But in time, Amy managed to wrest control of the hang glider back from the elements, we were finally able to tuck our legs into the socks, and we began a leisurely glide through the night.

I knew Amy had a heads-up display in her helmet, but mine had no such equipment. So I asked: "How long until we reach land?"

"About an hour," she replied. "You can't rush espionage."

"Speaking of which... I know we talked about this mission, and all. You said there might be casualties. But I hope you understand that I want nothing to do with the killing of innocent pandas, clones or no."

"Don't worry," Amy said. "We discussed this. If the plan goes properly, not a single panda will be harmed in the accomplishment of this mission. Now, settle back and enjoy the ride."

"If you wanted me to enjoy it," I complained in a low voice, "you should have had us reverse positions..." My complaint was cut short by a knee-jab on the back of my thigh, preventing me from suggesting further that I could have been facing upward, at least...

Traveling at night on a silent glider, when you can't see anything around or below you, tends to drag out a trip. Consequently, when it seemed like about day and a half had passed, Amy finally announced, "There it is." Now I could vaguely see lights ahead and below us, though it was too dark to make out details. "I'm going to aim for the east beach. Remember to relax and let the sock take the landing."

There was nothing for me to do but hang on, while Amy brought us about and angled for the ground. Abruptly, I could make out the beach below us, approaching fast. Amy flared us out, and we flew parallel to the beach for a few yards. She lowered us easily, and then, my sock was dragging on the sand, bringing us down and killing our airspeed. I, Amy, and the glider did the last few yards on my chest, as I sputtered to keep sand out of my mouth.

"Perfect," Amy whispered, as she shrugged out of her sock and started to climb off me.

"Yeah, I'm sure you enjoyed it immensely," I replied, still spitting sand out of my mouth.

"Shh! Let's get rid of the glider." After I was out of my gear, we picked the glider up, walked it over to the surf, waited for the tide to go out, and simply deposited it on the sand. When the tide came in and washed over the bottom of the glider, it immediately began to melt like a sand castle, fabric, struts, and all.

"No way," I whispered.

"What better way to get rid of the evidence?" Amy smiled in the gloom.

"But... what if we'd had a problem, and had to ditch in the ocean?" I asked.

Despite the dark, I could see Amy roll her eyes. "Men: You're such pessimists! Come on."

We snuck off the beach and into the zoo village, and my proximity to this strange place that I felt like I'd just escaped from, left a bitter taste in my mouth. Or maybe it was just sand. Amy steered us to a small building, and used a key to open the door. We entered, using a small flashlight to find our way. Eventually, Amy stopped at one of many unmarked doors, and we stepped inside. She locked the door behind us, then found a light switch on the wall. The room was a storage closet, with the usual cleaning tools, a small sink, and a locker on the wall.

Amy unzipped her coverall and pulled it off, revealing the white suit underneath it. I did the same, and we deposited the coveralls in the locker. Then she held out the black and white creams to me. Suppressing a groan, I started to smear cream on my face, copying Amy's treatment of covering her face with white, then her eyes and ears with patches of black. Once we were done, she put the creams in the locker, and we donned our black gloves.

Amy grinned at me, as we shouldered the small packs we'd brought with us. "Showtime!"