The Foreign Service Journal, September 2011

torists. The silence had given Vance time to think, but he hadn’t been able to. It was only with the smack of the duffel bag on the dusty asphalt, like a muffled alarm clock, that his brain again kicked in. His diplomatic pass- port, along with the negatives, was still in the Suburban’s glove compartment. Vance panicked, the possibilities thundering through his brain like water over Victoria Falls. The hijack- ers were not military, not professional. Perhaps they would miss the negatives. He quickly dismissed that comforting thought; even rank amateur thieves would recognize the value of a United States diplomatic passport —and once they brought it to the black market, the negatives would surely be found, as well. Those negatives would cause tremendous embarrassment to the United States government, to say nothing of ending Vance’s career. Vance did not want to go back to Colorado in shame, a prodigal son who never even spent his share of the inheritance. Contemplating that grim prospect, he felt adrenaline surging through him, pushing against the con- fines of his body, urging him to move. Just then a shout came from the Suburban. One of the hijackers stepped down from the passenger seat, and motioned for Vance to come forward. The leader of the hijackers looked livid, sitting in the driver’s seat and jig- gling the key uselessly in the ignition. Vance slid into the front passenger seat. “Why is it not starting! Why can I not start it?” he shouted. The ques- tions were fired at Vance like bullets. They may as well have come from the muzzle of the Kalashnikov in the man’s lap. Vance turned his attention away from the glove compartment and tried to look calm. The leader had an ugly scar zigzagging from just below his left eye to the edge of his lips. Vance thought that the scar probably made the man look even more terrifying if he smiled. “And why can I not take out the key from the ignition, Mzungu?” he spat. His use of ‘mzungu’ was firmly grounded in derision. Apparently this was one hijacker who preferred not to deal with foreigners. A poor business decision, in Vance’s opinion, because mzungu undoubtedly offered bigger prizes than most locals. Vance instantly saw the problem: the Suburban would not start unless the automatic transmission was set in ‘park.’ Vance had left it in drive when he killed the engine, and now the key would neither turn, nor come out. Which gave him an idea. “It won’t start because it’s not in S E P T E M B E R 2 0 1 1 / F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L 41