(Three Years Ago; Kenya)
He'd disappeared into the back alleys of Mombasa, working on the arms smuggling case. He'd picked up quite a bit of Swahili - he was just good at languages - and the other local language was English, so that was no problem.
The Navy had tracked the terrorists this far from the Madrid train bombings, and the trail had gone cold; that's when they'd decided to send him in. So far, he'd only heard rumors, nothing he was comfortable enough to report. Sure, there was arms dealers, just like any third-world port (and a good deal of the first-world ones as well), but East Africa had a long history of traders, legal and otherwise. He just hadn't yet hit on who was trading with Al-Qaeda.
This particular warehouse was promising, though, considering that the crates he could see from the window were labeled 'Karachi'. Sure, there were things - including the shirt he was currently wearing - made in Pakistan, but there were a lot of terrorists there too.
Suddenly, he heard footsteps behind him. He turned slowly, aware that turning quickly would make it seem that he was guilty of something; if he turned slowly, and was questioned, he could simply claim to be lost. Or something.
The thing behind him, though... wasn't human. Nor was the thing behind it. One looked vaguely human, but its face was distorted and it has gleaming yellow-gold eyes and fangs. The other... looked like it had stepped out of a horror movie.
The yellow-eyed creature lunged forward, and he stepped into a fighting stance. It came at him, and he heard a whistling-rushing noise past his ear as he blocked a punch - painfully - and used its momentum to try to flip the monster past him, as a Judo master had once shown him.
It didn't work, and he heard the whistle-rush again as the thing simply stumbled and turned to swat at him again. This time, he stepped back, and it stepped into the fight and grabbed him by one shoulder.
Suddenly, he heard a voice, British as the day was long... that sounded like a teenage girl, somewhere behind him. By the distance and the echo, he'd guess two-thirds of a block. "I need you on the far side."
He wasn't about to look a mysterious gift horse in the mouth, so he wrenched his shoulder getting loose of the monster's iron grip, and ducked under its arm. He wasn't about to run away from a fight, but 'far side', that he could do. He brought his head and shoulders back up, and prepared to throw a puch at the side of the thing's head, but as it turned its face into the punch, he heard that odd whistle-rush sound again, followed by a sickening sound he'd almost heard before; almost like a high-speed version of a small blade penetrating flesh.
The monster's face froze in shock for just the moment it took his punch to land, but instead of recoiling from the impact, its body turned to ash and his fist passed right through its head, scattering ash across his knuckles, up his arm, and across the alley.
He turned to look where the second monster had been, and saw a body laying on the ground; it was blue and green, and had black fluid running from its eye sockets. Which was probably due to the fact that both eyes had been punctured by Honest-to-God arrows.
Shrugging, he turned to look at his rescuer. From the voice, he wasn't surprised when he saw a young girl, probably sixteen or seventeen, and the quiver of arrows over her shoulder, as well as what looked like an English longbow he'd once seen on the History Channel.
"What were those... things?" He asked.
"Do you really want to know that?"
"Yes, I think I do. And who you are."
"Then you'd better come with me." The girl turned, and started walking. He followed, quick-stepping the first two blocks to catch up with her. Under the scant moonlight, he could see that she was naturally pale, but heavily tanned at the moment, just like many Europeans in East Africa. He visually inspected the quiver and the bow (which she was carrying in her left hand), and then he spoke.
"Where are we going?"
"Sineya." She pointed just ahead. "It's a small village just outside the city."
At the other end of the street, he found out what she was pointing at. It was a motorcycle. She unstrung the bow and slid it into a carrying case attached to the bike's frame, straddled it, and started the engine. Twisting around on her seat, she asked, "Are you coming?"
He shrugged, and climbed on behind her. Snuggling up against her back, with the quiver between them, he could see that she had strong shoulder muscles, and apparently lightning reflexes as she dodged bad stretches of pavement with jerking motions that almost sent him flying sideways off the bike.
After about forty minutes, they were out of the city, and she picked up speed; in another twenty, they cruised into a tiny village, with no more than fifteen buildings. She stopped in front of the largest - apparently a church or meeting hall, still under construction. Oddly, although it was nearly midnight, he could hear a single hammer overhead. It had no doors, but a smaller hut was actually located inside of it.
She knocked gently upon the door fitted into the hut, and a voice - with a heartily welcome American accent - answered from above. "Elizabeth, who's your... friend?"
He looked up. "Name's Callen."
"Xander. Welcome to Sineya. I'll be right down."