Tikki lifts her hands to the top of her head, and, peripherally, sees Raman 
do the same. They are standing on either side of Raman’s chopper along the
shoulder of a local two-lane highway flanked by heavy woods. The gruff male 
voice giving the orders comes from somewhere beyond the glaring colored strobes 
and dazzling, flashing headlights of a car stopped on the shoulder about five 
meters behind them.