‘If one day I am shipwrecked,” he whispered, “and a typhoon breaks my sails, bury my body near the sea in Venezuela.” The words comforted him.
Omar met Celio Natá's flat gaze. The man was the Black Knife: the Ngäbe-Buglé’s secret weapon. A one-man strike force.
What did he need a grandfather for, anyway? He had a wonderful life. In fact, his life was so good it sometimes frightened him.
The driver whistled. “Waow. You some big politico? So watchu gonna do about the foreigners snatchin’ our jobs? The Chinos?”
I appreciated Safaa's defense of my honor, but I was busy trying to understand Farah Anwar’s strange reactions and bizarre statements. Wasn’t this what she wanted?...
El Demonio came ahead grinning nonchalantly and whirling his stick through the air, completely unafraid of any opposition I might mount.
Nothing about this mission had gone as planned. I’d imagined I would sneak in, find Anna, sneak out, and leave with Niko. But it’s said that...
There was no way I could challenge the security forces on that island and survive. Our plan, therefore, was based entirely on stealth.
People walked in every direction, tarp-covered carts sold street food, young men washed windshields with dirty bucket water, well-dressed black women performed manicures in makeshift booths,...
I put a hand over my eyes, shutting out the bright sunlight. I felt like crying or shouting. No, I told myself. Pray instead. Pray. Allah...