Years ago, Valeria had met a man. She had saved him from death, and in return he helped her find her family. She never learned his name, seeing as how he was German and knew no English, no Spanish, and no language other than German. Not to mention, he'd been on the other side of the war that had been raging when she saved him.

That was 21 years ago. Valeria was 37 now, and she was in desperate need of help. She'd been ambushed, and so she called the only man she knew could help her.

All of her men were dead, but she still had a few connections in Guatemala and Cuba. After a few hours, Valeria heard the sound of a motor. Then a motorcycle pulled up, and a familiar but older face revealed itself from under the helmet as he removed it and shook his head slightly.

"I learned English. Get on." The man from so long ago said. Valeria didn't hesitate to walk forward and straddle the bike behind him, arms wrapping around his waist. He started the bike and started down the road.

"Cuba!" Valeria shouted over the noise of the engine.

"I know that already!" He replied.

Silence settled between them before Valeria gently squeezed his waist and spoke, "I never did catch your name." She knew the reason for that was when she met him for the first time (saving his life) he had a head injury from the blunt end of a rifle.