Date: Tue, 21 Feb 2012 07:30:16 +0100
From: Micheal Mikey <michealwitluv@gmail.com>
Subject: The Game He Lost 6

The Family

     Abe stored his toothbrush in his bag and sat on the edge of the
cot. It was so low to the floor, his knees came up to his chest. He grasped
the edges and swung his legs up carefully, afraid the frame might tip over
but it was sturdier than it looked.

     Sandra toed off her shoes and sat cross-legged in the center of the
other cot. "Think of this as a camping trip," she said.

     Abe glanced at the canvas wall beside him. A few snores and the low
murmur of masculine voices came from the other side of the partition. He
kept his own voice just above a whisper. "I haven't gone on a camping trip
since I was ten, and then I didn't share my bunk with a girl."

     "It's okay. Ghost thinks you will feel more comfortable with me than
with the pack of testosterone just waiting to pounce on you on the other
side of the tent." Sandra said. "They are a team of best trained commandos
from the United States Army, but they are legendary for making women and
some men very uncomfortable when they are not making them very passionate."

     "I'm well aware of that." Abe pulled up his feet and wrapped his arms
around knees. "They seem to be..." he searched for a word "...in excellent
condition."

     Sandra smiled. "Their size can be a bit intimidating."

     When Abe had been brought here previously, he had been restricted to
this room – he hadn't seen much of the rest of the tent or met the other
soldiers. He understood it was because of their concern for security. He
was only now beginning to grasp the scope of what he had stumbled
into. "It's not just the size," he murmured. "It's the way they move. The
way they act. Are they all gay or something?"

     Sandra gave a small laugh. "No. Ghost, that is the commander, Chef
Esposito, some other guys and myself are pretty much hetero. But some of
the guys like Braveheart, Wildman and Jack are gay or at least bi."

     "Don't you guys mind? And isn't the military at odds with gay soldiers
or something?"

     "Yep. There's the Don't Ask, Don't Tell. But the Nighthawks don't care
about that. We recognize good soldiers, no matter what their sexuality
might be. Of course, we can't do that on record, so all the guys are
officially straight or asexual." Sandra said. "Believe it or not, you get
accustomed to it after a while. Or if my guess is right, you don't have a
problem with that at all." He gave a small smile.

     "What do you mean?" Abe asked.

     "Your sexuality, of course. I'm an intelligence specialist. It's my
job to know these things, or at least guess at them." Sandra tugged her
sweater over her head and stripped off her pants, leaving her in an
olive-colored undershirt and shorts. She grabbed a hair-brush from the
duffel bag she had stored at the foot of her cot and leaned over her
ankles, flipping her hair forward so she could brush it from the roots.

     Abe watched Sandra's easy movement through down-cast eyes, and
marveled at how relaxed she seemed. She appeared to have a comfortable
camaraderie with the men. She treated them with a combination of the
authority of a ranking officer and the protectiveness of a sister. Her
manner toward Abe had warmed considerably after the brief chat with Rafe –
Abe suspected Sandra's manner would have cooled just as quickly if Abe had
shown any sign of revulsion with his scars.

     "Are you the only woman in the Nighthawks?" Abe asked.

     "That's a tricky question. I'm not the only woman in the Nighthawks,
but I'm the only woman on this team. Officially, the women in the
Nighthawks often only serve in the support squadrons, not the assault
team. I'm an intelligence specialist. The woman who worked with Ghost
before was a medic and also worked with the assault team sometimes. When
Ghost was putting together a team from the Nighthawks for this mission, he
needed someone who could speak Hausa and Ijaw, so I'm on temporary duty."
She chuckled. "Actually, I've been `temporary duty' with the commander on
and off for over three years now."

     "You must be very courageous to have chosen a career in the military."

     "I grew up with the military, so it was a natural choice. This is my
family." Sandra straightened up, pushing her hair back from her face so she
could look at Abe. "I understand that this whole experience must be tough
for you, Abe. We really do appreciate your cooperation. It's a lot to ask."

     "I couldn't refuse."

     Sandra smiled. "Braveheart does have a way with words. He could charm
the hairs off a camel if he could speak Arabic."

     "Finn's charm had nothing to do with why I'm here. It's the
child. Matteo Ibru. How could I refuse to help?"

     "Yes, it's a sensitive situation. Nigeria has large oil reserves that
several countries are vying to tap."

     Abe frowned. "I would have agreed to help if he was only an ordinary
boy from Virginia. Am I the only one who realizes he's still just a kid?"

     Sandra stored her hairbrush. She was silent as she twisted around to
draw up her blanket. "No, you are not the only one, Abe. It's easier for us
to function if we maintain our objectivity, especially in a situation like
this. We have to focus on the mission."

     "I'll try."

     "You are doing fine so far."

     "I don't seem to be doing anything."

     "That's all you need to do for now. Just like the rest of us. We wait
for Boko Haram to make the next move."

     "When do you think that will happen?"

     "It should be soon. With any luck, we'll have you back home within a
day or two. You'll be able to pick up where you left of."

     "I hope so."

     Sandra punched her small pillow and stretched out with a sigh. "You
must be exhausted, Abe. You should try to get some sleep. It's going to
daylight soon."

     "I don't think I'll be able to sleep."

     "Sure you will. I can see your adrenaline high has already worn
off. Your hands stopped shaking ten minutes ago."

     Abe held up his fingers and saw that Sandra was right. He twisted his
wrist to check his watch. He stared. That couldn't be the correct time,
could it? Where had the night gone? It seemed like only minutes ago he had
awakened with Finn in his arms.

     His gaze went to the canvas wall. Where was Finn now? Was he sleeping?
Was he thinking about him?

     Idiot, he told himself. He was here because of the mission. As Finn
had said once before, it was nothing personal. He grasped the lower edge of
his sweater and had started to pull it off when Sandra said, "By the way,
you'd better yank the chain on that bulb before you undress, Abe. The way
your cot is positioned, it would throw your shadow on the wall next to the
guys." She yawned. "No point pulling their chain too. Or mine for that
matter."

     Abe dropped the hem of his sweater and got up to reach for the chain
that dangled from the light bulb. The cubicle went dim and he stumbled
against the edge of his cot. Somehow he managed to get back on without
tripping onto the floor.

~~~~~~~~~~

     The coffee was strong enough to dissolve a spoon, but it was all there
was, so Abe held his breath and took another swallow. He didn't expect
special treatment and he wasn't about to complain. Considering the lack of
basic amenities, he was grateful to have found real coffee in a real mug
rather than freeze dried rations or cans of beans or whatever it was that
soldiers in the field usually ate.

    Propping his elbows on the mess table, Abe looked around the
tent. Everyone seemed to have a job to do except him. Sandra was working at
a computer. The pit bull like Chief Esposito was fiddling with wires that
led from what looked like a small radio. Sounds of metal scraping on metal
came from the far side of the tent, where he spotted the pale gold of Rafe
Marek's hair tinted green as he bent over some kind of machinery. Other men
came and went, saying a few words to him, or nodding courteously as they
passed by, but no one stopped.

    Normally, at this hour on a Saturday morning, Abe would be reading the
paper while he took his time over a second cup of coffee. He had planned to
go to the library today, since his books were due. He had also planned to
work on the crib blanket he was knitting for Ellie's baby. This would be
his sister's third child. Ellie was only twenty-seven, but she and her
husband, Tomasz hadn't wanted to wait to start a family. Their first child
had been born nine months after their wedding night.

     Abe's older sister, Martha had needed Caesareans with both of her sons
and had no intention of having any more. She spent most of her weekends
shuttling her boys from piano lessons to soccer practice or whatever new
activity had caught their attention. She often joked it was the only way
she could escape from the chaos of her husband's never ending renovating
projects, but anyone could see that she and Barry were as deeply in love
now as they had been ten years ago.

     Abe and his sisters had learned by example what a good marriage was
like. Their parents had weathered more than thirty-five years together as a
team. They were both strong, complete individuals on their own, yet
together they became more. It wasn't surprising that Abe had hoped to find
the same for himself someday.

     Sandra had said that the military was her family. Was it the same for
the other soldiers in the Nighthawks? Only three of the men Abe had met so
far had been wearing wedding rings. Chief Esposito, the sergeant named Lang
and Commander Anson. Were the rest of the men unmarried because of the
demands of being a Nighthawk commando?

     Or was it because the type of man who was drawn to becoming a
Nighthawk commando preferred to remain unmarried? With the excitement and
danger that filled their lives, settling down to a home in the suburbs
would seem tame. Someone like Finn would have too much testosterone to be a
good candidate for domestication.

     On the other hand, he would be an excellent candidate for stud
service. Just think of the beautiful babies he would make...

     Abe choked on his coffee. He set the mug down to the table and pushed
himself to his feet.

     "Are you okay?"

      He stared. For a large man, Finn could move in complete silence when
he wanted to. He hadn't heard him approach, even though he had been
watching for him.

     Yes, there was no point denying it, he had been watching for
Finn. Finn had been the first person he had looked for when he had emerged
from the cubicle at the back of the tent, and why shouldn't he? Finn was
the one who had brought him here; he was his link to his normal life.

     Finn was also far more effective than even this, dissolve a spoon
coffee when it came to kick starting his pulse.

     Damn. He knew better than this, didn't he?

     "Abe?" Finn put his palm between Abe's shoulder blades and rubbed
gently. "Do you want some water?"

     "No, I'm fine, thanks." Abe turned to face him and cleared his throat
and keeping his gaze on Finn's shirt. Finn was wearing pale-blue chambray
today. A few fine, dark hairs showed at the base of his throat where he had
left the button open. "Has there been any news?"

     Finn shook his head. "Nothing from Boko Haram. We did get a call from
Ambassador Ibru."

     "The poor man. He must be beside himself with worry by now."

     "Yeah, he's strung out. He said he wants to meet you."

     "Of course. When?"

     "Now."

    That was something else that was different between Abe's normal life
and Finn's world, Abe thought. There was no room for hesitation here. When
these Nighthawk soldiers decided to do something, they simply did it. It
spoke of the confidence they had in themselves, that straight ahead self
assurance that seemed to color every action.

     Like the way Finn kissed.

     Abe's gaze rose to Finn's chin. He must have just finished
shaving. There was no beard stubble to darken the lines beside his
mouth. Abe caught a whiff of lime aftershave and the earthly freshness that
was pure Finn.

     "In case anyone asks why you are at the embassy, keep the lines
simple," Finn said. "Say your class is doing a project on Nigeria."

     Lies. Right. That's what Finn was good at. "Wouldn't the embassy staff
know about the kidnapping?"

     "Someone had to have tipped Boko Haram to the kid's movements before
the snatch," Finn said. "Ibru doesn't want to trust anyone except the
immediate members of the family. He's afraid there could be terrorist
sympathizers at the embassy."

     "How awful."

     "If he could trust his people, Nighthawks wouldn't have become
involved in this in the first place," he said, "We'll be taking my bike
this time, so you'll need a jacket. Did you pack one?"

     "Yes, I did, but why would we take your motorcycle again?" Abe
asked. He wasn't accustomed to travelling by motorcycle; he preferred
conservative modes of transportation, something that would hold a child
safety seat. Like the boxy Volvo station wagon Paul Hedgeworth drove when
he picked up Bradley from school. "Why can't we use the van you were
driving yesterday?"

     "That was so we could carry your suitcase." He started toward the
cubicle Abe and Sandra shared. "We'll be meeting Ibru at the embassy, so we
are being highly visible in case anyone is watching."

     Abe hurried to catch up. "I don't understand."

     "This would have been the next logical step if Ibru had contacted you
himself. You would be expected to meet him in person."

     "Then wouldn't I be going there on my own?"

     He held aside the canvas door and waited while Abe retrieved his
jacket. "You are not going anywhere without me, Abe. It's my duty to ensure
your safety while you are on this mission. Until it is over, consider me
your shadow."

     Abe didn't like the tickle of pleasure he felt at those words. He
frowned as he put on his jacket and followed Finn across the tent. It was
his duty to stay with him; nothing more.

     "Do you have a problem with that?" Finn asked.

     Of course he did. But this was about the child, not Finn, he reminded
himself yet again. "I don't have a problem, as long as you understand our
relationship is not personal."

     Finn stopped walking and faced him. "And by that you mean...?"

     Abe might as well clear this up now. He should have cleared it up
before they had left his apartment. "I don't want to repeat what happened
the other night."

     "Check. No kissing or fooling around in bed. Got it."

     The blunt comment startled Abe into meeting Finn's gaze.

     Finn was watching him intently, his eyes gleaming. "Did I
misunderstand what you were referring to?"

     "No, you understood perfectly."

     "Too bad. I enjoyed kissing you and being in your bed. I think you
enjoyed it, too."

     "That's beside the point."

     Finn smiled. "I disagree. Mutual pleasure would be the point. It's
what the sex organs were made for."

     "That's a cynical way of looking at it. There should be far more to a
relationship than just physical attraction."

     "But think of how boring things would be without one." Finn stroked
the pad of his thumb along Abe's jaw. "You did like it, Abe, didn't you?"

     "Yes, but..."

     "Are you involved with someone else?"

     "No."

     "No? How can a man with so much passion and such...interesting dreams
be alone?"

     Abe tipped his head away from Finn's touch. "Spare me the charm,
Finn. I'm immune."

     Finn's smile faded. "What's that supposed to mean?"

     "Let's just say you are not my type."

     Finn looked startled.

     Abe felt a stirring of resentment, both at Finn and at his persistent
reaction to him. "Why does that surprise you? Are you accustomed to having
men swoon every time you flash the dimples?"

     "I didn't think you noticed my dimples."

     "Just because I'm not interested doesn't mean I'm blind."

     "Then what kind of man is your type?"

     Abe's reply was immediate. "A history buff, who likes kids, drives a
station wagon and lives in the suburbs."

     "Sounds exciting. Have you picked out your china pattern and the names
of your first child yet?"

     "Yes, as a matter of fact, I did that eight years ago, not that who I
want, or what I want, or the details about my love life are any of your
business." He paused, finally aware that his voice had risen. He glanced
around. Sandra and several of the men had turned toward them and were
regarding them with interest. He pressed his lips together. He was
abashed. It wasn't like him to lose his temper.

     Finn scowled at the other soldiers and took Abe's arm, to guide him
toward the entrance of the tent. He lifted the flap and led him into the
warehouse.

     A bird chirped and fluttered among the steel rafters that supported
the roof. Sunshine poked through the windows under the eaves, making
streaks through the dust motes that floated in the air. After the cramped
quarters of the tent, the sudden spaciousness was a relief. Abe took a few
quick breaths to clear his head.

     Finn nodded to the man who was standing by the warehouse door, then
helped Abe over the bundle of electric cables on the floor, and walked
toward the relative privacy of the row of vehicles that were parked along
one wall. Finn stopped beside his bike, let go of Abe's arm and turned to
face him. "You are right," he said.

     "What?"

     "It isn't any of my business. I'm sorry."

     Abe rubbed his forehead. "I'm sorry I snapped at you, Finn. I
shouldn't have."

     Finn shrugged. "No problem. Many of my closet friends regularly tell
me to shut up."

     "We seem to have gotten off the topic."

     "As I recall you were saying our relationship isn't personal."

     "It isn't."

     Finn shoved his hands into the pocket of his jeans and regarded Abe in
the silence for a while. "Fine, it won't be," he said. "Not as long as I'm
on duty."

    "What does that mean?"

     "I won't pretend that I don't find you attractive, Abe. I do. I enjoy
looking at you and touching you."

     What could he say? Abe wanted Finn to be honest, didn't he? "Finn..."

     "But that's beside the point. Whatever else you might think of me. I'm
a soldier first and foremost. My priority is always the mission."

     The mission. The innocent seven year old boy named Matthew. Abe
sighed. "That's my priority too."

     "If you truly object to my presence, we can talk to Ghost and have
someone else assigned to escort you." He paused as he continued to look at
Abe. "But I hope you don't. When I'm given an order, I carry it out. I
don't like to fail."

     He was offering Abe an out. Yet considering what was at stake here, it
would be petty to take it. What could he tell the commander? That Finn was
too handsome and charming to work with? That Finn found him attractive, and
he found Finn attractive too, but ever since his affair with Stuart, he had
had a serious hand-up about sex? "I won't object," Abe said. "I think we've
got things straightened out."

     "Good." Finn picked up a helmet from his bike and held it out to
Abe. "Ibru is expecting us."

     Abe took the helmet and hesitated, looking down at the sweater and
slacks he was wearing. "If I'm going to meet an ambassador, I'd like to
change into something more formal."

     "Ibru won't be concerned about protocol, and besides, with your body,
you would look good even in a gunny sack."

     Abe's gaze snapped up to Finn's.

     Finn turned away and swung his leg over his bike. "It was just a
compliment, Abe, not a kiss."

~~~~~~~~~~

     The Nigerian Embassy was tucked into a quiet, tree lined street of
restored Georgian houses. It had been constructed more than twenty years
ago when the country had first developed diplomatic relations with the
United States. The architect had taken care to preserve the charm of the
neighborhood – the brick looked as if it had been mellowed over the
centuries rather than merely decades. High casement windows gleamed from
the front of the first two stories and neat gables graced the roof.

     Yet while the embassy building might have blended with the Washington
neighborhood, the grounds had an unmistakably African air. Naked soil paved
the yard, water sparkled from a stone, man-made stream and the wrought iron
gates at the edge of the street were adorned with the Nigerian coat of
arms; two white horses standing on a green background and holding a shield
with a red eagle perched on it. A Nigerian flag, green white and green
snapped in the breeze. The guards at the entrance wore white uniforms, with
polished brass buttons and plenty of ornamental gold braid. The overall
effect might have been picturesque, even quaint...if not for the automatic
rifles the men carried.

     "The security at the embassy was stepped up by Ibru," Finn said as
they walked toward the guards. "These men are members of an elite group in
the Nigerian army."

     Finn was in what Abe was coming to think of as his soldier mode. True
to his word, Finn was all business: no charms or dimples in sight. He had
been that way since they left the command center. "Do they know that
Matthew is missing?" Abe asked.

     "There is no need for them to know. Ibru used a recent attack on the
police headquarters back home to justify the reinforcement. He put out the
story that his son is in bed with the flu."

     "There seems to be a lot of that going around," Abe muttered.

     The guards checked Finn's and Abe's identification and then ushered
them through a metal detector into a foyer tiled in black and white squares
of marble. They were met there by a round, gray-haired man with heavy, dark
eyebrows that dragged his forehead into a perpetual frown.

     "Mr. Locke, Mr. O'Brian," he said; his voice as heavy as his brows. An
accent tinged with the words with extra stress on the vowels. "I'm Peter
Ibrahim, assistant to the ambassador. His Excellency is a busy man. He has
agreed to see you in his private sitting room. Please follow me."

     Abe felt Finn's palm settle on the small of his back as they crossed
the foyer to a curving staircase. It was an easy gesture, not forceful or
possessive. It was the kind of respectful touch that any man might give a
woman in public.

     Abe felt like a hypocrite for enjoying it.

     Two more men with the white and green uniforms of the guards
scrutinized them as they reached the top of the stairs. The second floor of
the embassy was divided into suites of rooms for visiting dignitaries and
living quarters for the Nigerian ambassador. Peter Ibrahim ushered Finn and
Abe through an ornately carved set of dark wood doors and into a large
sitting room.

     Sunlight poured through a pair of long windows, spreading squares of
gold on an intricately patterned carpet. Several antique chairs and a low
sofa were richly upholstered in velvet of Nigerian green. A sideboard
decorated with a carving of a foreign mask, as ornate as the doors, held a
huge silver samovar and a collection of small, long wooden cups. The air
was redolent with the aroma of lemon polish and something Abe believed to
be wine.

    A man, not much taller than Abe, stood beside one of the windows, his
hands clenched behind his back. He turned to face them. His features were
sharp, as harshly honed as the eagle on the embassy gates.

     "Your Excellency," Ibrahim announced. "Your visitors have arrived."

     The man jerked his head in a quick nod. "Mr. Locke; Mr. O'Brian. I am
Anslem Ibru."

     Abe was shocked by the bleakness in the man's face. Before this, he
had only seen an expression like that in news reports of disasters. His
heart contracted with sympathy and he automatically started forward.

     Finn caught his elbow. "We are honored to meet you, Mr. Ambassador,"
he said smoothly. "We appreciate your interest in the social studies
project of Mr. Locke's students. It's very kind of you to take the time
from your busy schedule to speak with us."

     Ibru's gaze flickered briefly. "I believe education is vital to the
future of both our countries." He turned to dismiss his assistant. "Thank
you, Peter. That will be all."

     Ibrahim bowed and left the room. The moment the doors closed, Ibru
strode forward to catch Abe's hands. He looked into his eyes without
speaking. His jaw was clenched so tightly his cheeks looked sunken.

     Abe felt a twinge of pain from the force of Ibru's grip on his
hands. It communicated his emotion more clearly than words could have. He
met Ibru's gaze steadily and gave his fingers an answering squeeze. "We'll
bring Matthew home, Ambassador Ibru."

     Ibru's dark-brown eyes gleamed. "That is what I pray with every breath
I draw."

     "I'm sorry I interfered," Abe said. "If I had known..."

     "Please, Mr. Locke, no apologies. I am in your debt for your agreement
to help. This is why I wanted to meet you. I wish to express my
appreciation in person. You are a very brave man."

    "No, I am not. But I promise I'll do the best I can."

     "That is the definition of bravery, Mr. Locke. Continuing to do what
you must, even when inside your heart is crying to deny the horror." He
stopped. His throat worked as he swallowed. He dropped his gaze and
released Abe's hands. "What kind of animals would do this to a child?"

     "The fanatics of Boko Haram should know better than to harm your son,
Ambassador Ibru," Finn said. "It wouldn't serve their purpose."

     The ambassador spun to face Finn. "They claim to be patriots, but they
are nothing but thugs. They do not deserve to call themselves Nigerians. If
I were not a peaceful man..." His voice broke and he made a sharp, cutting
motion with his hand. "My rage does no good," he said. "I am committed to a
peaceful and rightful way of distributing the wealth of my country,
especially to the people from my part of the country where their farmlands
and streams has been contaminated and destroyed by the careless drilling
for crude oil."  He returned his gaze to the window.

     Ibru wasn't looking outside, Abe realized. He was looking at a framed
photograph that rested on a table beneath the window. Abe moved toward
it. "Is this Matthew?"

    "Yes."

     Abe paused to study it. The picture had been taken in a garden,
probably in the early morning, or after a rain. Against a backdrop of
glistening foliage, a black haired, black eyed boy grinned at the
camera. His features hadn't begun to develop the sharpness of his father's,
but the resemblance was there in his wide set eyes and the shape of his
face. "He looks like a wonderful child," Abe said softly.

     "He wants to be an astronaut."

     "Good for him."

     "His dream will not be possible if our country does not change. But
now because some people make it hard to change it, he might not have the
chance to grow up and pursue his dream."

     The ambassador pinched the bridge of his nose. "Forgive me. As I said,
my rage does not help."

     "We are hopeful that another ransom drop will be set up soon, Sir,"
Finn said. "We are prepared to go into action the second we get word."

     Ibru nodded, taking a few moments to compose himself. "Yes. This is
why we insisted on Nighthawks. We can trust you to fulfill your mission."

     "Yes, sir. We will."

     A door on the far side of the room opened. Abe turned to look as just
a small child peeked around the door frame. He appeared to about three
years old; a smaller version of the boy in the photo, but the worry in his
eyes mad him seem far older. "Daddy?"

     Ibru's features instantly softened. "Samson. What is it?"

     The child launched himself into the room and ran to the ambassador,
wrapping his arms around his knees. He had his face against his father's
pant leg and mumbled something in a language Abe didn't understand.

     "No, I haven't forgotten, Sam." Ibru laid his hand on the boy's head
and ruffled his hair. "We'll read your book, but right now we have guests."

     The boy tightened his arms around his father's leg and refused to look
up.

     "My youngest son," Ibru said to Abe and Finn. "He has become anxious
about Matthew's...absence."

     "Samson?" a woman called. Her voice was high-pitched and on the edge
of panic. "Samson?"

     "He's in here, Nneka," Ibru called.

     A woman hurried through the open doorway. It was obvious to Abe that
he was Samson's mother, because of the relief on her face when she spotted
him. "Thank God."

     Ibru detached the boy's hold on his pant leg and scooped him into his
arms. He closed his eyes and pressed his nose to the top of the child's
head for a moment, then settled him on his hip and walked over to the
woman. "It's all right, Nneka," he said quietly. "He could not have gotten
past the doors. More reinforcements from the army arrived this morning."

     She rubbed the boy's back then reached out to take him from his
father. "I apologize for the interruption. Samson woke early from his nap
and slipped away from his nanny."

     "No, it's fine. You will want to meet my guests." He put his arms
around her shoulders. "This is Sergeant O'Brian and Mr. Locke, the teacher
who has agreed to help us."

     Nneka Ibru tightened her hold on her child as she turned her gaze
toward Abe. Her lips trembled briefly before she spoke. "Mr. Locke. I am
sorry to draw you into our troubles, but I am grateful for your kindness."

     Abe remembered what he had learned from during his briefing
yesterday. These were not ordinary people. Nneka Ibru was the niece of the
current President of the Republic of Nigeria. The sharp featured Ibru, who
draped his arm over his wife's shoulders, came from a powerful family that
controlled most economic sectors in Nigeria, and was a diplomat influential
enough to wield enormous power during his country's ongoing negotiations
with the American president.

Yet, whatever else they were, these people were still a family. They stood
together; the parents cradling a child. Even though Nneka and Anselm were
caught in the depths of every parents' worst nightmare, they drew strength
from each other and from the love that was glowing around them.

Abe felt a lump swell in his throat. Maybe this was a reaction to the
stress of the situation; too, like his awareness of Finn, but the wave of
longing that hit him was so intense it brought tears to his eyes. This was
the essence of what he wanted. It's what his birthday wish was all
about. Not just the trappings like the house in the suburbs and the
sensible car, but this bond of love that transcended circumstance.

     He sighed, and glanced at Finn.

     Finn wasn't smiling. He wasn't looking like a soldier either. It was
as if a chink had appeared in the armor that clothes his emotions and what
seeped to the surface was pure pain.