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okay?” Vince queried.
     
    "Yeah," Karl wheezed, "Just went down the wrong pipe. I'm fine."
     
    Vince turned back to the boy, not giving the incident a second thought. Karl was glad for the distraction as he continued trying to push past the pain burning in his chest. It had been there since the crash landing. Well, to be truthful, it had been there before that, but worsened after the explosion. He rubbed his chest slowly and tried not to cough while Vince and Christian resumed the conversation.
     
    “You said a little birdie told you about Americans in a plane? Now that we're friends, would you mind telling me the identity of that birdie?"
     
    Christian looked to his grandfather again, and there was the same nod. "They don't really have a name, you understand," Christian said, "At least, not one really worth repeating. They're just one of the latest crop of mercenary entrepreneurs that take money to bully or kidnap." The way he said it made Karl think that the kid wasn't really concerned about the men who'd shot them down, like a bunch of local hoodlums that enjoyed talking tough without the ability to back it up. Karl doubted that though, considering that the same inconsequential thugs had just shot them out of the sky.
     
    "Look Christian, I don't think it's fair to get you and your grandfather mixed up in this. I'm sorry we barged in like we did. Maybe it's better if we just hit the road," Vince offered, already easing himself up from the ground.
     
    The old man waved his hands in the air and barked something at his grandson. "He says you should stay," Christian said. "He says he wants to help you."
     
    "I have to agree with my friend here," Karl said. "This puts you both in a lot of danger, and that's the last thing we want."
     
    More hurried words from the old man followed by a translation from Christian, "My grandfather says that the Americans have done much to help his country and to help his family. He means me of course. Without the scholarship I got through your State Department, I wouldn't be getting the education that I am today, so he says we're brothers."
     
    Karl could see that Vince was mulling it over. The CO didn't have any children, but he had a soft spot for the good ones. "If you have a phone, maybe we could just borrow it for a couple minutes,” Vince implored.
     
    Christian shook his head, "No phone out here— it's kind of—tradition, with my grandfather. He likes to rough it, as we say in America."
     
    The old man nodded appreciatively, bumping a fist against his chest.
     
    That was it, Karl knew, but there was still reluctance in Vince's voice when he said, "Okay, we'll take you up on your offer. Thank you, Christian; thank you, sir," he said nodding to the grandfather.
     
    The old man stood up from his cross-legged position and stepped in front of Vince, bent down, grabbed the sides of his head with his hands, tilted forward so that the two men were touching foreheads. He said something that Karl didn't understand. Christian was quick to translate, "My grandfather says that he sees good in you—that you're a good man—brave, a good fighter, and he is happy to help you. He would even lay down his life for you." The boy said it grandly, like he was the translator for a king, all seriousness with no shame in their openness. The old man let go of Vince and left the hut.
     
    "He’s going to prepare the boat," Christian said. "We might not be able to leave tonight because of the storm and the darkness, of course, but probably in the morning if that's okay with you."
     
    Vince nodded then asked, "Where are you taking us?"
     
    "The capital, if you wish, or maybe Camp Lemonnier if that would be better."
     
    Camp Lemonnier had been a former French Foreign Legion camp. After 9/11, it had been leased by Joint Task Force-Horn of Africa (JTF-HOA), and was led by Marines from Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. Now it was a navy-run base and a key asset in the region. It was a perfect lily pad