Somewhere over Saudi Arabia’s seemingly endless desert, we hit turbulence that makes me white-knuckle the plush leather seats of Lance Mortensen’s Phenom 300. I’m not a nervous flier, but the rough air doesn’t stop. One hundred miles ago, oil wells stood as signs of civilization; they’re long gone. Outside either window now: sand as far as the eye can see. It was 105 degrees Fahrenheit when we left Luxor, Egypt, and it’s no doubt hotter here. Chances of survival if we go down? Probably not very high. But it’s business as usual for Lance, who is piloting, and his wife, Natasha, on the comms. He and his fellow pilots on this trip tell a story about being GPS-spoofed, most likely by the Russian military, while flying over the Black Sea last year. The avionics displayed Africa, but the planes were most definitely in Central Asia. Things could go bad here,..
