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rough windows. Whoever approached on his left called back, unaware of Vince's close proximity. A smaller light, he guessed a butane lighter, snapped on. It waved back and forth in the air, as if signaling to the man in the hut that he was no threat.
     
    In that sweeping light, Vince had seen the boy's face. He was no older than thirteen, maybe fourteen. It wasn’t the skinny physique that concerned the Delta commander, but instead the AK-47 held in the boy's free hand. The man in the hut barked something Vince didn't understand. The lighter went out, and the boy continued on his way. What Vince needed was that rifle; it would at least give him some leverage. He didn't have to hurt the boy, so he slithered in behind the unaware youth and readied to strike.
     
    He had to be fast and precise, and in the darkness, that wouldn't be easy. As a modern operator, he’d been spoiled with the latest night vision technology or at least a barrel mounted flashlight. Tonight he'd have to do it the old-fashioned way, the way his father had done it in Vietnam.
     
    He was only four feet from the boy when a commotion erupted from the shanty. There was a clanging of pans, a yelp of pain, and the boy sprinted forward. Vince's hand caught nothing but air as he reached for the boy, who was too quick for his lunge. The kid was smart enough not to say anything, but rushed in without regard for his own safety. Vince was close behind and thought that he might reach the boy before he climbed up the ladder. Then he recognized a voice from above.
     
    "I'm not going to hurt you, okay? Just take it easy," Karl was saying, but that only made the boy climb faster.
     
    Vince had no choice but to yell up to his friend, "Tango inbound. He's just a kid." More noises from above could be heard as Vince leaped up to the fourth rung of the ladder and managed to grab the boy's bare foot. But the size nine foot was slick with mud, and it slipped right out of his grasp. The boy kept going, dashing right into the hut, weapon leveled and ready to fire.
     
     
     

Chapter 5
     
     
    Karl tensed as the boy with the AK-47 slipped inside the hut. The Delta operator had one forearm securely against the old man's throat while his other arm encircled the man’s torso. The guy was all sinewy threads; strong, but not strong enough to shake off Karl.
     
    The kid came into the hut sweeping his gun, like he'd done it before, or maybe it was just the way he’d seen it in the movies. His eyes swept from the old man to the enemy holding him. The old man said something sharply, and he replied. Karl thought it might have been French, but the only French he knew was from half a semester during his high school sophomore year. But then he had gotten kicked out for fighting with Fitz Manzurela, so it was understandable that he didn't comprehend anything during the rapid exchange. What he did understand was the muzzle pointed straight at his head.
     
    The kid moved back into a corner, and a moment later Vince climbed into the room, hands over his head — the international sign that he meant no harm. The old man said something again, but this time the boy didn't respond. Karl could see that he was quite comfortable behind that gun. His finger wasn't resting on the trigger, but straight and off, like he was still considering whether or not to shoot.
     
    Vince moved a step closer and that's when his finger shifted to the trigger. "We mean you no harm," Vince said slowly.
     
    Karl stared at the boy, expecting a confused look, but instead he detected a slight cock of his head, like he was more intrigued than confused.
     
    "Who are you?” the kid asked in nearly perfect American English.
     
    Well, I'll be damned , Karl thought.
     
    Maybe they'd gotten lucky. But the AK-47 was still pointed straight at Vince and the lad showed no sign of backing down. In fact, his eyes looked even more intense now, like the sound of English had lit a spark to a tangle of anger smoldering in his