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“Any bets?” Holly called out.
Jon certainly wasn’t taking any. The fact that he was the pilot and still wouldn’t bet probably wasn’t the best vote for success, but it was all he had.
“Tim?”
“Twenty on the good guys.”
“Cheapskate. I’ll go fifty, Australian.”
“Is that even real money?”
They both laughed.
“Any takers? Elayne? No?” Either Holly was cocky or simply irrepressible, and Jon hadn’t decided which yet.
“They ready, Mike?” Holly had her satellite phone on speaker now.
Mike had become the liaison to the Groom Lake pilots flying the C-5A Galaxy from its paint job in Seattle to the pending switchover here in Russia.
Jon had followed their route as they’d arced the remote-controlled C-5 in along the Great Circle route, crossing toward Japan until well out on the Sea of Okhot
