Author's note. I spent time this past summer in Kenya. Had to use it in the story. Thanks for indulging me. Action next chapter - promise. I don't own Chuck.

Stepping onto the runway at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport in Nairobi, Kenya, Sarah led the the team to the terminal for recent arrivals. Security in emerging world countries wasn't nearly as tight as in the States. That, and the fact that they just stepped off of a rather impressive private jet, allowed them to sail right through immigration by simply flashing their fake passports. In doing so, they passed a very long line of passengers from various commercial airliners waiting to have their retina scanned, fingerprints taken and entry visas stamped.

Travelling down the brown carpeted hallway, signs directed them to the arrivals gate. Velvet ropes created a corridor around which thronged dozens of Kenyans waiting to pick up friends, relatives and business associates. Most of the men wore simple suit jackets and slacks, while the women wore brightly colored dresses. Some held cardboard signs labeled in black magic marker with last names of passengers they surely wouldn't recognize.

After making their way through the opening at the end of the ropes, the team could get a better look at the arrivals area. They came out at the center of a long wide hallway that looked much like the malls back in the states. The center exit was only about twenty feet in front of them. To their right and left, the hallway stretched a good sixty to seventy feet each way. Storefronts for convenience stores, currency exchanges, cell phone providers and magazine stands lined either side of the hallway.

"Our transportation should be standing by, I'll look for him," Sarah said.

"Great. I'm going to head over to the ATM and get some local currency," Morgan accompanied Chuck to get money, leaving Casey standing by himself. He walked over to the nearest convenience store an appeared to window shop. He was, in reality, watching the people behind and around him with the aid of the reflective glass.

Chuck slid a Carmichael Industries Platinum card into the slot of the automatic teller machine located near the center entrance. As he waited for the prompt to enter a pin, he looked to his left and got his first glimpse of Nairobi. Four large palm trees were evenly spaced across a parking lot filled with cars and vans - most more than ten years old, with the occasional shiny new Honda or Toyota dotted throughout. So far everything, the lot, the terminal, the arrivals area, were all much smaller than he anticipated. A series of beeps from the teller machine returned his attention to the screen in front of him. "Card Declined" flashed repeatedly on the small green screen.

"What? I don't understand?" Chuck turned a helpless look on Morgan.

"Chuck, buddy. If times have been tough, you should have said something. You've left me pretty flush as co-owner and manager of the Buy More. I certainly could have spotted you some cash if you and Sarah were having trouble."

"But that's just it, we pay that card off every month. I... I don't..."

"Come on Chuck, it's me, Morgan. You probably don't remember, but it wasn't that long ago I was in your same situation. I know all I would have had to do was ask and you would have helped me out as well. Here move over."

Morgan inserted his plastic, a rewards card with the image of a certain cartoon mouse emblazoned on it, and punched in his code. "There we go buddy. Now, how much do we want?"

"Well, what are our choices?"

"Whoa, Chuck... 1,000, 2,000, 4,000, 6,000 or 8,000. Hey, I know I said I'd help, but I think 8,000 anythings is going to break the Bank of Morgan," Morgan reached for the 'cancel' button.

"Morgan, it's okay," Chuck reached out to stop his hand. "I think the exchange rate is something like 80 to 1 here."

"Oh, so it's only like a thousand dollars? Okay. Hmm, that's still a little steep."

"Try 100 buddy," Chuck pressed the button and 8,000 KES counted out below. "Don't worry, Carmichael Industries will get you back as soon as I can figure out what is going on with this account."

"No hurry dude. Hey, there's Sarah. I'll go get Casey."

Sarah was standing outside of a white Toyota van, much like the ones typically used on safari. It was the size of a standard Toyota mini-van, but the roof latched in six places and could be lifted off and secured by four poles. This way passengers on safari could stand up and get a 360 degree view of the landscape as their driver took them into the bush. Two Kenyans stood outside the van talking with Sarah. One man, Chuck assumed he was the driver, wore a red windbreaker with a blue polo underneath and khaki slacks. The other man wore a dark blue business suit with a light blue shirt buttoned all the way up and no tie. The jacket looked like it was about a size too big and hung slightly off the tall slender Kenyan's frame. As he walked over to the van, the Kenyan in the suit flashed him a wide enthusiastic smile revealing bright white teeth. Handshake turned to hung, "Hello my brother. It is so nice to see you. My name is Jonathan, and I will be the one leading you around for the next week or so."

"Jonathan, nice to meet you. I am Charles Carmichael, I teach fifth grade and MacArthur Elementary school."

"Ah, yes, yes. It is so very nice to have you here in Kenya. Have you ever been to my country before?"

"My first time."

"Well, it is very beautiful. You will love it here. I think I see your other two friends coming this way." Morgan and Casey walked up to the van. Each was greeted with the same flash of bright white teeth and the same warm hug. While Morgan seemed to embrace the embrace, Casey, predictably, stiffened.

"This is Andrew, he will be our driver. Is the rest of your luggage still in the airport?" Jonathan asked.

"Nope, this is it," each person had one black college style backpack. "We like to travel light," Sarah said.

"Ah, very well, very well. Okay. Well, you must be fatigued from the trip. If you would like, we could take you the retreat so you could unpack and freshen up a bit."

"That won't be necessary. We are very eager to begin working with your children and teachers. Do you think we could go right to the Salvation Army?" Sarah asked.

"Ah, very well. Yes. That can be arranged. I will have to call to make sure the teachers know we are coming."

Everyone boarded the mini-van and Andrew had them out on the expressway in minutes as Jonathan spoke in Swahili on his cell phone. The airport is just south and east of the center of the city. The expressway they were on would take them west, while staying south of the city center. As it was Monday morning by the time they arrived (with time zones they lost a day) the highway was clogged with morning traffic. For nearly twenty minutes the van crawled at 5 mph.

"Is traffic always this bad?" Chuck asked.

"Yes, it is quite bad in the mornings. Many people are on their way to work. We should be to the Salvation Army by 8am.

"Chuck, Morgan, do you see those vans with the writing on the side?" Sarah pointed to a mini-van just a little smaller than the one they were in that was filled with close to fifteen people. As a matter of fact, the more they looked around, the more of these vans they saw. Most were brightly decorated and many had Bible verses painted on the hood or doors. "Those are Matatus - Kenyan buses. If you get lost or stranded just hop in one of these. Most of the drivers speak some English."

"Careful though," Jonathan said, "even though they are all supposed to have seat belts and speed regulators, many operators have found ways around these rules."

As long as they were on the expressway, Nairobi looked much like any other city. It wasn't until they were off the expressway and onto the smaller streets that surrounded the city center that Nairobi began to take on a more unique character. Along the sides of the road vendors had hand crafted small wooden stands selling cell phones, roasted corn, clothing and, of course, cola. About every half mile a bright red stand with white lettering advertised the carbonated beverage. The further out of the city they got, the more stands lined the road. Men walked down the side of the road pushing wooden carts. These carts, like wheel barrows but with a flat bed instead of steep sides, lined both sides of the road: some empty, some filled with lumber and still others with five gallon yellow plastic containers for water.

Every quarter mile or so in the ditches on the side of the road, a pile of garbage would smolder. The air was filled with this burning smell. Not unpleasant necessarily, more like charcoal than garbage, but nevertheless this burning smell pervaded.

As they got a little further out they passed a number of furniture stores, their handcrafted furniture sitting along the side of the road out front of the workshop. Men, some elderly and others quite young, worked out in front of the shop, shaping natural woods into beautiful bed frames, dressers and wardrobes.

The side road they turned onto was horribly maintained. Giant potholes, some almost five feet around and one foot deep, forced the driver to take the van deep into the shoulder. The forty-five degree tip of the van apparently preferable to losing a tire or bottoming out the suspension in the enormous craters that dotted the road. More than once, the driver would go all the way over to the shoulder on the opposite side of the road (left in this case, as they drive on the right) to make his way without unnecessary damages.

The road rose to the crest of a hill. As they reached the top they could finally see Kibera. The entire slum ranged in front of them, set on the side of a gentle slope. Below hundreds of thousands of people went about their lives raising children, looking for work, sweeping the dirt in front of the house with homemade straw brooms.

On either side of the road directly in front of them lay a giant trash dump. "This dump is too large to burn so some children from the slums dig around in the garbage looking for something they can eat or clean up and resell," Jonathan said. As the bus drove deeper into Kibera, many of the children looked up from their foraging. Some waved while others just went back to work.

Just past the garbage dump they entered what looked like a small town. Ten by ten buildings packed right next to each other, most of them made of corrugated tin or wood. Butcher shops, produce stands, cell phone stores and plenty of charcoal dealers advertising their goods filled the small storefronts. Chuck noticed a sign for a hotel, and couldn't help to wonder what a hotel room in a ten by ten foot building would look like.

"Just up ahead we will turn down a dirt road. Then we will be in Kibera proper," Jonathan said. A narrow road, just barely wide enough for the van, became visible between two businesses. At this turn, the road went from paved to heavily rutted dirt with a deep ditch that ran down both sides. Many homes and businesses had crude wooden planks set across the miniature rivers of water and waste to make for easier access to their stores. Here, smaller versions of the roadside garbage fires of the outskirts of Nairobi sent wisps of smoke into the air.

"We have to be very careful here," Andrew, the driver, spoke. "When people see the van, they immediately think it is full of rich Europeans. They will push their children in front of the van as it goes by and wail and demand you pay them so their child can receive treatment from a doctor. If I go very slowly and watch very carefully, this is not possible."

As the van continued slowly deeper into Kibera, many residents stared in through the windows. For others, the presence of the van merited nothing more than a brief look up and then they simply carried on with their day. After taking two different forks in the road, the van came up to the gates for the Salvation Army camp.

Two guards stood outside the gate. They were unarmed, but carried themselves as men chosen to protect a very valuable commodity. Unlike the crowded nature of the rest of the slum, the area inside of these gates was actually quite spacious. A large courtyard, shaded by a large tree, provided ample room to park the van. A barracks for workers was located in the far left corner. Nearer to them, and also on the left, was the church. This would be the focus of their mission. The breach point would have to occur here.

Straight ahead of them, in a blue roofed building labeled "Community Hall" the newcomers could hear children singing at the top of their lungs. The four walked down to the hall and looked in through the bars on the windows to see two young Kenyan men leading praise songs before a room of nearly 150 children ranging in age from two to fifteen. The room was alive with bouncing heads, bright smiles and the choreography provided by the two leaders. Sarah turned to Chuck and watched him watch the children with the smile spreading slowly across his face. She couldn't help by smile at the joy of the children as well.

"This is sweet and all, but Morgan and I are going to scout the wall and see if there is a clear way in or out," Casey growled.

"Here, take this," Chuck handed Casey his iPhone. "We should be plenty close enough to pinpoint Alex and the chip. We'll be over in a few minutes. For now, we are going to work our cover."

Morgan and Casey walked over to the workers' barracks and tried to move inconspicuously along the wall. It became clear that getting in would be no problem. Over the years, the barrier between the two camps had developed a series of gaps. Most large enough for even John Casey to slide through.

Casey fired up the Alex App and waited for a signal. Nothing. It was possible they arrived here before her captors. Casey and Morgan chose a place in the shade alongside the church and sat down.

Jonathan walked up to Chuck and Sarah. "Where did your two friends go? Wouldn't they like to meet the children?"

"Like to? Try to keep them away! They're both crazy about kids. It's just that the plane ride has take a little out of them, so they thought it best to get out of the sun and relax so they can be fresh once the singing is over," Chuck said.

"That sounds like a very good idea. Would you two like to go inside and meet the children?"

"Certainly," Sarah smiled to Jonathan.

The hall was about fifteen feet wide and twenty-five feet long. The song was finished and the children all sat down. Rows of benches accommodated them, although some of the older children held the younger children on their laps. Jonathan motioned to the four empty chairs at the front of the room. "Please, have a seat." Then to the children, "Hello children."

"Hello Mr. Jonathan," the children responded in unison.

"We have very special guests here today from America. Do you all know where America is?" Jonathan asked.

"Yes," again in unison, with a few stragglers.

"And do you know who the President of America is?"

"Barack Obama," again in unison.

Sarah leaned over to Chuck and said, "He's Kenyan. Very popular here."

"Well, Charles and Sarah are both from America too. Can you welcome them?"

At once all of the children began to wave and offer their enthusiastic greetings to the couple.

Jonathan came over to Chuck. "Charles, would you like to introduce yourself to the children?"

"Sure." Chuck got up. "Hello guys. My name is Charles Carmichael, but you can all call me Chuck."

"Hello Chuck."

"I live in Chicago, which is right in the middle of the United States. I am very excited to be in your country and to meet all of you." He waved and went back to sit down as Sarah got up.

"Hello children, I'm Sarah."

"Hello Sarah."

"Chuck here is my husband, and he and I have one beautiful daughter named Emma. We heard your beautiful singing from outside the window and we wanted to come in and learn some of your songs. Do you think you could teach us a song?" Chuck knew what kind of heart beat inside his wife. He knew how much she had given to have Emma, to be a wife to him. He also knew how difficult it was for her to go from hardened spy to loving mother. To see her in front of this room, she simply beamed. Here, with these innocent, impoverished children, Sarah could let her guard down completely.

A single little girl in the second row, maybe about seven years old, raised her hand. Her dress, yellow with white ruffles, looked freshly washed and heavily worn. Her hands and feet were dusty, but not dirty. "Yes honey," Sarah pointed to her.

"I can teach you a song."

"I would love that sweetie. What is your name?"

"Margaret," she said - more to the ground than to Sarah.

"That is a beautiful name for a very beautiful little girl. If I come sit by you, will you help me learn the song?" Sarah couldn't stop smiling.

"Yes." As Sarah sat on then bench next to Margaret, Kevin, one of the two young men who led the group began to teach them another song, complete with hand motions. Margaret paid special attention to Sarah, moving her hands for her if she fell out of sync.

Then they all stood and tired out their new song. The music rose to the ceiling, flooded out the windows and seemed to fill the entire compound. During the choruses, some of the older girls would fill in with harmonies to accentuate the melody. As the song came to an end, the room erupted in applause. Margaret hugged Sarah tightly.

"Okay children," Kevin said. "It is time for the morning meal. The older children will please remain here as the younger children are excused to line up."

Very quickly, but without hardly any pushing and shoving, the children ran out the front door and lined up in front of a door near the rear of the hall. Chuck and Sarah followed them outside. An older girl stood at the front of the line with a pitcher of water. As each child made his or her way to the front of the line, she poured water on their hands so they could wash up. Then each child received a different colored plastic mug full of hot porridge. They took the cup and found a place in the grass under the large tree to have their breakfast.

Once the younger children had been served, the older children came out of the hall and went to a spigot out back of the hall to wash their hands before also getting in line for a cup of porridge.

Afterward there were games, jump rope, singing and dancing. Casey and Morgan, sitting some ways off against the church, were targeted by five little boys. The walked over and pulled them up off the ground. They had fashioned a makeshift soccer ball out of an old bag and some tape. Morgan looked at Casey, threw his hands up in a shrug and started playing soccer with the boys. Reluctantly, Casey joined. In five minutes the hulking NSA agent was completely absorbed in the game. It ended with Morgan tripped, fell and took Casey with him. All of the boys piled on laughing.

After close to an hour of games, singing and dancing in the shady courtyard, the children were ushered back into the hall for more lessons.

Just then, the iPhone Casey held began to beep.