On the afternoon before our departure, I throw a big party in Lucas’s back yard, inviting all of my cafe’s customers and anyone else who wants to come. Using the remaining food supplies, I make a variety of hors d’oeuvres and, with Lucas, Eduardo, and Diego’s help, set up a couple of barbecue stations where I grill steaks, burgers, and lamb chops. Manning the grills is hot, sweaty work, but I feel elated as guard after guard comes up to me to say goodbye and express his gratitude for the gourmet meals.
“We’re going to miss you here,” one of the guards says gruffly. “Seriously, your cafe was the best food I’ve eaten.”
“Thank you.” I beam at him, then turn to smile at another guard who says something similar to me in Spanish. Most of these men are ex-soldiers of some kind, tough, scarred k
