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"I still can't believe this is really happening," Henry said, leaning back in his seat and staring out the window of the private jet. Blue skies, white clouds—it looked like a painting.
Sure, the aircraft wasn't one of those ultra-luxurious Gulfstreams, but it was a far cry from some rattling old propeller plane. Comfortable enough to make you forget you were flying into chaos.
Across from him, Bryan Mills, the head of their security detail, stretched his legs and said, "Count your blessings. The place we're headed actually has a proper cement runway. If it didn't, we'd be bouncing around in a prop plane, and trust me—you'd feel every damn bump like you were on a rollercoaster from hell."
Henry gave him a sidelong look. "Do I strike you as the kind of guy who gets on a plane and starts giggling like a kid on his first trip to Disneyland?
"No, what's blowing my mind is how the UN staff are acting like they're on strings pulled by President Barre of Somalia. They said we wouldn't change the itinerary, and by God, we're sticking to it. No matter how bad things get.
"They even sent a whole unit of peacekeepers to escort the other group. And let's be honest—sending in that squad is more about optics than protection. I'm not saying those guys are useless, but there's only so many you can spare. If anything goes wrong, all they can do is throw themselves between the UN and a bad day."
Bryan didn't reply. He didn't have to. Henry's rant wasn't aimed at him.
"And that dictator," Henry added, "he probably thinks we're going to swoop in like superheroes and clean up his civil war for him. Might as well hand us Qurans and call us prophets."
What Henry didn't say out loud was the thought nagging in the back of his head: Maybe the real reason Somalia's descending into chaos is because of us—because we're here.
There were eight people on board: Audrey Hepburn, Henry, Bryan's four-man team, a lone female flight attendant, and the pilot tucked away in the cockpit.
With such a small group, Bryan had opted to charter a small private jet. The UN picked up the tab. The destination airport was already briefed, with rental cars and a local official waiting.
Henry glanced around and asked, "So who exactly decided we're going here?"
Across the cabin, Audrey glanced up from her seat, a soft smile tugging at her lips. She didn't call him out, but if she hadn't already known about Henry's invulnerability, she might've believed he was actually nervous. He played the timid assistant well.
Still, she played along. "It was a group decision. We chose a location in the southern region of Somalia—furthest from the northern conflict zones. We figured distance equals safety."
Henry scoffed silently. That kind of logic was exactly the problem. These people still thought the world worked on old rules. That if you kept the trouble isolated, it would just stay put. No one wanted to accept that chaos had a way of spreading like wildfire.
In truth, no one had learned the lessons that would come years later with the Arab Spring.
They were still living in a fantasy where American military might solved everything.
Henry, of course, had no authority to change plans. Hell, he didn't even have the right to suggest alternatives. He could only drop hints to Audrey in private or quietly grumble to himself.
But in the end, she was the employer. He was just the help.
As the plane began its descent, they passed through thick clouds, revealing a wide swath of African savannah below. The view stretched out endlessly, golden and wild.
Henry's enhanced vision zoomed in, catching sight of a massive herd of zebras running across the plains. He blinked, then said with disbelief, "We're supposed to find a children's center out here?"
Bryan explained, "We'll be landing at a small airstrip. From there, it's about a half-day drive to a village. That's where the UN has a children's aid facility."
Bernie, the team's grizzled old vet, added, "Officially, it's for housing and caring for orphaned children. But where the funding actually goes? Let's just say the books are probably more fiction than fact."
Bryan shot him a glare. Audrey wasn't exactly thrilled by that kind of cynicism.
Bernie caught the look and added, "Still, the place is legit. Clean, organized—actually better than most. That's why it made the shortlist and eventually became our fallback site."
As they chatted, the plane touched down smoothly. The Italian pilot handled the landing like a pro—hardly a bump.
The airstrip was a small, open-air one. It had staff, sure, but animals could be seen meandering across the tarmac like it was just another trail.
Once the plane taxied to a stop, two unattended Land Rover Range Rovers sat nearby, waiting.
Bryan and his men were the first out. They formed a loose semicircle at the base of the stairs, eyes scanning the surroundings in practiced sync. Henry followed soon after, pausing only to offer his arm to Audrey as she stepped down.
Henry gestured to the nearby SUVs. "Are those ours?"
Sam and Mark moved in to check the vehicles. Bryan answered, "I looked into the terrain before we left. The roads out there are practically nonexistent—more like trails through grassland. A standard sedan wouldn't last ten minutes."
He motioned toward the vehicles. "For this kind of ground, off-roaders are the only way to go. But if we want any comfort at all, an SUV is the best compromise. These Rangies are as good as it gets out here."
Henry raised a brow. Nice vehicles. Must've had CIA strings pulled somewhere to get these on standby.
He didn't say it out loud. No point drawing attention to their black-ops sugar daddies.
Bryan turned back to Audrey. "Apologies for the bumpy ride ahead, ma'am. These next couple of days won't exactly be luxury travel."
Audrey smiled gently. "No need to apologize. I've ridden in worse. Compared to some of the off-road vehicles I've seen, a Range Rover feels downright civilized."
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