There were five armed Cuban flight marshals onboard. They kept fending back entrepreneurs—sweaty hustlers trying to scrape together some global cash. Their tinker-toy Grenadian roubles were meaningless now; they needed ecu and were selling anything—pinky rings, strips of drug stickers, sisters if they had them.... Cut off from the world, thirty thousand feet above the Caribbean, but still going through the ritual motions. But faster now, senselessly, jumping and flickering ...