Sabotage Read Online Free PDF Page B
Author: C. G. Cooper
chest.
Karl took a chance and released his hold of the old man. Instead of running to the boy, the old man turned and nodded his appreciation, like Karl had just served him a cup of tea. More words were exchanged by the two dark-skinned companions. Then the kid asked, "Are you Americans?"
Vince nodded and waited. Experience proved that could either count for or against you. While some of the world loved Americans, there were just as many who would kill you just for being alive.
"Yes, we're Americans," Vince confirmed. He lowered his hands to his sides.
"You sure don't look like any Americans I've ever met," he countered.
It took Karl a moment to realize what the kid was talking about, and then he almost laughed when he realized what he and Vince actually looked like. They'd been running around in the muck wearing only their boxers and boots. The remainder of their clothes were tied around their necks. Yeah, they were a sight all right .
Karl smiled and the boy finally lowered his weapon.
"What are your names?" their captor asked.
"I'm Karl, and the ugly one over there is Vince."
He nodded and was smiling now like the whole thing was one big joke, although just a moment ago he'd been pointing a loaded weapon at two trespassers.
"My name is Christian," the boy disclosed, "And this is my grandfather. Am I correct in assuming that you're the two men that escaped the plane crash?"
The blunt question startled Karl. Vince looked at Karl who shrugged as if to counter, " What have we got to lose?"
"Where did you hear about the plane?" Vince asked.
"A little bird told me," Christian announced.
Karl could see that the boy was enjoying the spy saga. "Hey," Karl said, "You want to tell me how you learned to speak English so well?"
Christian glanced at his grandfather, who nodded. So the old man knew English, but maybe chose not to speak it. There were a lot of those in third world countries, the ones who would only speak in their native tongue but understood every single word you said. Stupid Americans thought they were dealing with stupid peasants. Karl knew from experience those peasants were far more cunning than they were given credit for.
"I've gone to school in the States since I was five," Christian explained. "When I'm there I live with a family in Arkansas and go to a private school just outside Little Rock."
"Ah, so you're a Razorback fan," Karl concluded. "I'm more of a Crimson Tide fan myself."
Christian shook his head in what looked like exasperation. "Maybe if LSU got their stuff together they could knock Nick Saban off his high horse," Christian said.
That made Karl laugh. "You ain't so bad, kid. I'm sorry we ran into you like this."
Christian shrugged like it didn't matter. "I spend my holidays here with my grandfather." Christian shouldered his weapon and took a seat on the ground. "So now that we're all friends, would you like to tell me how you happened to crash land in the middle of Djibouti?"
Vince and Karl exchanged a questioning look. Karl wondered if Vince was thinking the same thing. Who would have thought a kid like Christian would be the one calling the shots? He was dressed in shabby clothes, like a thousand nameless nomads Karl had seen over the years, but his eyes were somehow clear like he understood the world better than the rest of them because of what he'd seen and experienced. If this was how Christian chose to spend his spring breaks, Karl bet he could teach a million spoiled American teenagers a lesson or two in toughness.
The Americans sat down across from Christian as the grandfather produced a large, clear water bottle and passed it to the men. They drank in deep swallows, relishing their first sips of fresh water in hours. Karl coughed after one particularly long swig, and his chest felt like it was on fire. He covered his mouth to stifle the cough, but he couldn't stop coughing.
"You
Karl took a chance and released his hold of the old man. Instead of running to the boy, the old man turned and nodded his appreciation, like Karl had just served him a cup of tea. More words were exchanged by the two dark-skinned companions. Then the kid asked, "Are you Americans?"
Vince nodded and waited. Experience proved that could either count for or against you. While some of the world loved Americans, there were just as many who would kill you just for being alive.
"Yes, we're Americans," Vince confirmed. He lowered his hands to his sides.
"You sure don't look like any Americans I've ever met," he countered.
It took Karl a moment to realize what the kid was talking about, and then he almost laughed when he realized what he and Vince actually looked like. They'd been running around in the muck wearing only their boxers and boots. The remainder of their clothes were tied around their necks. Yeah, they were a sight all right .
Karl smiled and the boy finally lowered his weapon.
"What are your names?" their captor asked.
"I'm Karl, and the ugly one over there is Vince."
He nodded and was smiling now like the whole thing was one big joke, although just a moment ago he'd been pointing a loaded weapon at two trespassers.
"My name is Christian," the boy disclosed, "And this is my grandfather. Am I correct in assuming that you're the two men that escaped the plane crash?"
The blunt question startled Karl. Vince looked at Karl who shrugged as if to counter, " What have we got to lose?"
"Where did you hear about the plane?" Vince asked.
"A little bird told me," Christian announced.
Karl could see that the boy was enjoying the spy saga. "Hey," Karl said, "You want to tell me how you learned to speak English so well?"
Christian glanced at his grandfather, who nodded. So the old man knew English, but maybe chose not to speak it. There were a lot of those in third world countries, the ones who would only speak in their native tongue but understood every single word you said. Stupid Americans thought they were dealing with stupid peasants. Karl knew from experience those peasants were far more cunning than they were given credit for.
"I've gone to school in the States since I was five," Christian explained. "When I'm there I live with a family in Arkansas and go to a private school just outside Little Rock."
"Ah, so you're a Razorback fan," Karl concluded. "I'm more of a Crimson Tide fan myself."
Christian shook his head in what looked like exasperation. "Maybe if LSU got their stuff together they could knock Nick Saban off his high horse," Christian said.
That made Karl laugh. "You ain't so bad, kid. I'm sorry we ran into you like this."
Christian shrugged like it didn't matter. "I spend my holidays here with my grandfather." Christian shouldered his weapon and took a seat on the ground. "So now that we're all friends, would you like to tell me how you happened to crash land in the middle of Djibouti?"
Vince and Karl exchanged a questioning look. Karl wondered if Vince was thinking the same thing. Who would have thought a kid like Christian would be the one calling the shots? He was dressed in shabby clothes, like a thousand nameless nomads Karl had seen over the years, but his eyes were somehow clear like he understood the world better than the rest of them because of what he'd seen and experienced. If this was how Christian chose to spend his spring breaks, Karl bet he could teach a million spoiled American teenagers a lesson or two in toughness.
The Americans sat down across from Christian as the grandfather produced a large, clear water bottle and passed it to the men. They drank in deep swallows, relishing their first sips of fresh water in hours. Karl coughed after one particularly long swig, and his chest felt like it was on fire. He covered his mouth to stifle the cough, but he couldn't stop coughing.
"You
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