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"Hey, buddy. Want a cold one?"
Henry leaned on the back of the truck, pressing down on the lid of a Styrofoam cooler packed with ice. He looked over at Bernie, the oldest member of the security team.
The retired Green Beret glanced at his teammate Mark, then nodded. "Sure, Henry. Crack one open."
Henry pulled out two ice-cold cans of beer and tossed them over with practiced ease. Then he grabbed one for himself.
All three popped their tabs at once, took a long pull, and exhaled in unison. The chilled beer felt like liquid magic, driving the African heat from their bones.
Not far away, Audrey Hepburn was playing with the children at the local shelter, accompanied by UN staff and a few Somali officials. At least, she was.
The others had already stepped aside after the photo op, deep in conversation, their expressions clouded with concern.
Henry, thanks to his super-hearing, had already caught wind of the topic—unrest in the region, instability, tension. The kind of thing you didn't see in press releases, only in the furrow of brows and tight whispers.
The only time they really smiled at the kids was when someone raised a camera. At that point, their warmth could rival a summer's day.
Henry had just finished shooting a roll of film and returned to the car to reload. He took the chance to hang back, sip a beer, and catch a breather with the two private security guys.
From the corner of his eye, he noticed a few local uniformed men—police or soldiers, hard to say—looking their way with clear envy in their eyes.
Henry grabbed a few more beers from the cooler and walked over, greeting them in broken Somali:
"Hey, friends. Hot day, huh? How about a little gift from a friend?"
One of the men grinned wide and replied, "You are too kind, my friend." They accepted the beer with delight.
Henry had picked up a little Somali before the trip, but it hadn't come easy. Textbook language and real-life conversation were two completely different beasts. The first few days, his robotic phrasing got him laughed at.
But he kept trying. And over time, the jokes turned into camaraderie.
Of course, if he wanted to, he could mimic their dialect and accent perfectly, right down to the rolling consonants and local cadence. But that would've been suspiciously impressive. So he played dumb and learned slow.
Back by the car, Henry turned to Bernie. "Where's Bryan and the rest?"
Bernie grunted. "They're working on tomorrow's arrangements."
Henry let out a sigh. "Figures. Before we left, everyone kept insisting no sudden plan changes. But the second we land? Boom. Chaos."
Bernie chuckled wryly. "Nobody saw things getting this bad. We figured it'd be a walk in the park—tour a few spots, snap some photos, and go home."
Henry raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He didn't believe that for a second. If anything, it was the meddling of Bernie and his CIA buddies that helped stir the pot here in the first place.
But of course, he couldn't say that. So instead, he went along. "From what I've heard, Somalia invited us over. But once we got here? Whole country's spiraling, and there wasn't a word of that in any report."
He cracked another grin. "I'm starting to think President Barre didn't ask for more aid money—he was trying to lure in UN peacekeepers to prop up his crumbling regime."
Bernie nodded grimly. "You're not wrong. We've known these damn Africans for a long time. No wonder the old plantation owners just used the whip instead of trying to negotiate."
This wasn't the kind of world where you could call out that kind of blatant racism and expect it to change anything. Not in the early '90s. Back home in the States, political correctness hadn't tightened its grip yet. People like Bernie could say whatever they wanted—and they often did.
Even in the future, that kind of hate didn't vanish. It just got better at hiding.
Henry sighed and changed the subject. "And now we're supposed to visit a site that's already in the middle of a civil flare-up. The Somalis say Audrey doesn't have to go if she doesn't want to, but they're insisting the peacekeepers do."
He laughed dryly. "The way that guy made the request—with his nose in the air—I almost laughed out loud. He seriously think we're just his personal army?"
Bernie grinned. "Nose in the air? You mean those big-ass nostrils of his. I don't think he can look down."
"Thanks to him, we've gotta split the team and send people in two directions," Henry said with a groan. "Honestly, I'd rather just tell Miss Hepburn to call it and head home early."
Bernie shook his head. "You and me both, kid. But nobody can talk that woman out of something once she's made up her mind. Hell, even Bryan just shrugged and started reworking the plan."
Henry gave him a look. "You've seen movies, right? You know how it goes. As soon as the team splits up, one group gets screwed. Worst-case scenario, full wipe. Always happens."
"Hollywood logic." Bernie laughed again. "This is real life, Henry. We don't follow scriptwriting rules. No commander with half a brain splits forces unless he's got a solid plan. And Bryan's got one."
He went on, "We're not going in blind. Tomorrow's site was already listed as a backup in the original itinerary. Bryan's just shifting deployments and locking down the area in advance. You'll be safe. That's our job."
Henry muttered something under his breath, just loud enough to sound like the grumbling of a slightly nervous young assistant.
Then Audrey waved from across the lot.
Henry straightened up and grabbed a crate of candy and biscuits from the back of the truck. "She's calling me. Gotta go."
"Go on, kid," Bernie chuckled. "I've got your ass covered."
The others laughed. Henry rolled his eyes.
He didn't dislike these covert CIA boys masquerading as security. In fact, he kinda liked them. They were too rough around the edges to last in the intelligence game for long. They'd probably end up back in some warzone—or in a body bag—before they got used to the stench of real espionage.
Still, he shot back with a smirk. "Then if some psycho charges in here with a rocket launcher pointed at my ass, make sure you block it with your mouth. That way we don't all have to worry about yours later."
"Ooooh, damn!" Mark finally spoke up, whistling. "Kid's got bite!"
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