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asked.
    â€œI’d like to run the engine,” Geedi said. “If it fires up and stays running, I don’t know what else to check.”
    â€œYou the man.”
    Geedi dug into a pocket and found a wet wipe in a paper pouch. He tore open the pouch, unfolded the wipe, and washed his hands as best he could. The flight mechanic stood in line for a bowl of the rice and milk, and he chatted pleasantly in Somali with other people in the line. After he received his bowl, he stood next to Parson and dipped a plastic spoon into the food.
    As Geedi ate, Parson asked, “Is this a typical meal around here?”
    â€œIt is if they’re lucky enough to have rice and milk at the same time,” Geedi said.
    Gold moved to the other side of the room and made a call on her satellite phone. Checking with the UN office in New York, Parson assumed. She looked like a woman in her element—chatting easily with local hires one moment, and in the next moment parlaying with high officials across oceans. Whatever she did, she made it look natural: from holding her own in a firefight—which Parson had seen more than once—to negotiating the bureaucracy of the UN.
    The call lasted about ten minutes. When that call ended, Gold punched in another number and made another call, then another. Parson couldn’t hear the conversations, but he guessed something was up. Eventually, she turned off the phone and returned to Parson and his crew.
    â€œCan I ask a favor?” Gold said. “Could I hitch a ride back to Djibouti with you guys?”
    â€œOf course,” Parson said. “You know you can fly with me any day. What’s happening?”
    â€œWe’re getting a special guest. Carolyn Stewart is coming to shoot a documentary. They want us to meet her in Djibouti and escort her around Somalia.”
    Parson knew the name. An A-list actress, Carolyn Stewart had appeared in several top-grossing films over the past few years. In
Arlington
, she’d played the wife of a soldier killed in Iraq. In
With Extreme Prejudice
, she’d played an Air Force drone sensor operator torn by conflicting emotions about her job. Reasonably hot, by Parson’s reckoning. Mid-thirties, long red hair, nice figure.
    Though Parson couldn’t remember the details, he knew Stewart also had a second career as a documentary filmmaker. Maybe a bit like Kevin Bacon’s side project as a musician, or Angelina Jolie’s deal as a UN special envoy. Stewart was a bit too liberal for Parson’s taste, though. She had a thing about animal rights and vegetarianism. But if she wanted to draw attention to the plight of Somalis, Parson couldn’t fault her for that. To him, it made a lot more sense to worry about human beings than calves destined for veal.
    â€œTrès bien,”
Chartier said. “My girlfriend will be jealous.”
    â€œYou mean your girlfriends, plural?” Parson said.
    â€œOui.”
    Gold shook her head and smiled. “Do you think you guys can concentrate on flying, with her in the airplane?”
    â€œNope,” Parson said.
    â€œAbsolutely not,” Chartier said.
    â€œNo way,” Geedi added.
    â€œAll right,” Gold said. “Try to inspire a little more confidence when she gets on board.”
    All in all, Parson thought, an interesting twist for this mission. He hadn’t met many celebrities, and it could be fun to fly one around for a few days. He’d just avoid talking politics—usually a good policy with anybody, let alone a VIP.
    But the mood turned serious when Gold told her Somali coworkers about Stewart’s visit. She spoke in English and Arabic, and then the Somalis talked to one another in their own language. They didn’t seem happy about meeting an American movie star. Parson kept hearing one word over and over:
khatar
.
    â€œWhat’s
khatar
?” Parson asked.
    â€œDangerous,” Geedi said.

4.
    O nce again, Hussein found