“Afraid?” Biff felt a tingle of fear race up his spine. “What do you mean? Is my uncle in danger?”

Jack Hudson’s shoulders sagged. He shook his head as if trying to rid himself of unpleasant thoughts. “Come along, Biff. I’ll tell you about it over some coffee.” At the door, he turned back. “Keep trying, Mike. You might raise him. And if you do—”

“I’ll buzz you fast.”

In the mess hall, the servants had already set the breakfast table. Two of them padded about the room silently on their bare feet. Biff sat down to a plate containing an oval-shaped, reddish fruit, streaked with white.

“It’s the fruit of the durian tree. Try it. We think it’s delicious. If you don’t like it, though, there’s fresh pineapple or guava.”

The taste was like nothing Biff had ever eaten before. He didn’t know whether he liked it or not. And he didn’t care. There were more important things than breakfast fruit right now.

“Tell me about Uncle Charlie.”

Jack sipped some coffee. “I’ll tell you what I can, Biff. It won’t be much. I don’t know it all myself. I know where he went, and I think I know why. The why is what I can’t tell you.”

“Was there danger in this trip of Uncle Charlie’s?”

“Danger? Perhaps. Always dangerous crossing the border. But Charlie should have been able to handle it.”

Biff felt his heart pound.

“Your uncle left here exactly eight days ago. He left early in the morning. He needed the cover of night to fly across the border.”

“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?”

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