A soldier in olive fatigues pulled Hope Masters into a corrugated metal trailer, locked the door and dropped the key on the floor. He reeked of chewing tobacco and beer.
"?Como se llama?" he asked Masters, who barely understands Spanish.
He moved closer, backing her into a corner of the checkpoint guard station at the edge of Sipopo, outside the capital of Equatorial Guinea. There were no chairs, only a grubby woolen blanket on a shipping pallet and a bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling. There was no doorknob on the inside.
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