34I’d been holding my breath. It escaped me in a gusty sigh. “Please,” I said. “Please begin.”
I listened closely, but I was on edge, my senses alert for any sign of the hit team. The story evolved with nerve-wracking slowness, in a jumble of English and Danish. Bjørn hadn’t given his mother a coherent explanation. He’d dropped hints, out of context and out of order. They were data fragments rather than solid facts and I had to piece them together. I couldn’t risk forcing the conclusion. Instead of looking only for what I expected to find, I had to try different combinations and arrangements. Finally, it made sense.
During Davey Chaka’s most recent tour of duty in Africa, he’d found American-made shoulder-held antiaircraft missiles in Pax Moderna’s arsenal. Chaka was technically adept an
