“Please hold,” I said.
“What was that?”
“Sorry. Please hold, sir.” I turned to Habre, who was shouting at someone in French. I waited for her to take a breath and said, “Belvie!”
“What are you doing, Redding?” Watford said.
“Liaising.” I cut the connection. “Belvie!”
Habre looked at me. The excess gravity dragged her face, making her look like anti-aging drugs had never been invented.
“It’s your choice,” I said.
She frowned.
“All those people yelling at each other, talking about this… they don’t matter.” I made my voice quiet but firm. “Watford’s so frustrated with Mvouba, he’s holding the whole station hostage. And Mvouba’s doing the same. You’re the one here, on the spot. Even Mvouba, he can’t tell you what to do. You’re the only one who has to live with what you choose.”
Habre
