North of Port Selao
Today I left Port Selao to meet with an NGO from the next village. He claimed to have information for me. I had no idea what information, but when I arrived I found a note he’d left. He had packed up last night and fled the country. There would be no meeting. Unfortunately, I have lost a number of sources this way.
I decided I should head back to the relative safety of Port Selao, but first a quick meal. Atticus, my driver, directed me to a small café. As I crossed a back alley, I heard laughter. I peered through some bushes and spotted a mercenary sitting with a young prisoner about 25 years old. The young man had his hands shackled behind his back. I couldn’t make out exactly what was said, but both men were laughing, sharing a small joke.
The merc had his lunch laid out on the ground in front of him. He shared a sandwich with his prisoner, gave him water from his canteen. Then he checked his watch. He stood up and drew his pistol, raised it to the prisoner’s temple and shot him.
The man slumped to the ground, blood spreading into the dirt. The merc holstered his gun, grabbed the handcuffs off the dead man and started to leave.
Then he stopped and looked my way. Our eyes met and I braced myself. I could just now smell the gunpowder drifting my way and felt sure I was to be next. The merc licked his teeth cleaning the remnants of his meal. Then he spit and turned away. He never once looked back.
Was he UFLL? APR? I have no idea. But it makes no difference out here.