[pshrynk]

At the airport, the maintenance crews were standing behind a bunker they had created out of hastily improvised sandbags. The Devil Plane was moving again. First it had driven itself up to the gas pumps and demanded rudely to be filled up and then screamed at them in Swahili when they tried to charge it for the fule.

Then it had driven over to the maintenance shed and talked loudly at them until they had tuned its engines. After that, it had taxied around the airport and bullied the other planes into giving it the best parking spot.

Now, it was moving to the main gate. It stood there, as if expecting someone.

"If I'm going to be in Mexico City, I might as well have a spa treatment," said M.A.R.V.I.N.