“The border? What border?” Biff asked.
“The border into Red China. That border’s closed, you know, especially to Americans.”
Jack paused to light a cigarette.
“He took off in a light, four-place plane. It’s the type plane that Charlie could land or take off in on a dime. It carried extra fuel tanks.”
“How long did he expect to be gone?”
“He didn’t know for certain. Not more than four or five days, he said.”
Four or five days, Biff thought. And eight days had passed.
“We’ve been expecting him, Watching for him. I’ve flown from dawn to daylight myself the last three days, hoping to spot him or his plane, if he was forced down. Nothing. He didn’t break radio silence once from the time he left.”
“Until this morning,” Biff cut in.
“Yes. Until this morning. If that was Charlie.”