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Lorna saved me from blowing everything when I got back to New York last week. That son of a bitch Brimmer had sent me out to South Yemen. I didn’t object to that. I’ve been in Libya, Chad, Lebanon, Zaire, Tanzania, the Sudan. Politics? No interest. I train soldiers, I’m worth my hire. That’s that. But in Yemen—” Moore’s sudden anger almost choked him. “In Yemen, I wasn’t instructing a bunch of camel drivers in how to handle grenades and antitank guns. I was given a bunch of goddamned know-it-all terrorists yapping about ideals with murder in their eyes. Couldn’t quit, either, unless I wanted to be found behind cargo containers at the docks with my throat slit—that happened to one guy I knew who tried to bug out.”
    Renwick’s spine went tense. “Where did the terrorists come from? Who paid their way?”
    Moore shrugged his shoulders. “Must have come from ten, twelve, fifteen countries—Europe, South America, the Mideast— you name them, I had them. And the weapons sold by Exports Consolidated didn’t come direct. Re-routed through other countries. Rockets, the newest explosives, top-secret detonators and electronic devices, army supplies we don’t sell anyone.”
    “Illegal trafficking in weapons and military equipment,” Renwick said softly. Then Brimmer must be using false or cover agreements in sales abroad; falsified accounts, too, in the purchasing of supplies, and bribery. A mess of corruption wherever Brimmer moved. “Get me a sample of one page of his business ledger—”
    “That’s only the half of it,” Moore interrupted, either determined to tell things his way or unwilling to involve Lorna in supplying proof of Brimmer’s flourishing conspiracy. He rushed on, and Renwick kept silent. “That super-secret equipment was beyond me or anyone else in Yemen. Brimmer is sending in an expert this week from California—fifty thousand dollars for him out of a two-hundred-thousand fee for Brimmer with compliments of Yemen’s big friend in North Africa.” Moore paused, well pleased with the effect he was producing. “So I came back from Yemen ready to tell Brimmer to go shove it. Lorna met me at Kennedy, warned me to ease off. For now. That was what she was doing, going along, arousing no suspicion in Brimmer or anyone at the office. But she had had it. Like me. Too dangerous if Brimmer thought we were backing out. We knew too much.”
    “What changed her? She must have known all along about the sale of illegal arms and secret payoffs. If,” Renwick added, “she is as important to Brimmer as you say she is.”
    “She keeps the records—the private ones. Not the books that are handled by the accountants and shown to the income-tax boys. She’s important, all right.” He was proud of his Lorna.
    “What changed her?”
    “A list that Brimmer made. The Klingfeld people insisted on it, passed him some information, too. He didn’t like the idea, Lorna said, but he swallowed it. Couldn’t refuse his new partners, could he? He might lose more than his business.”
    “Did Lorna see that list?”
    “Yes. Later, she made a copy—photographed it. Took a chance after office hours when Brimmer was in Washington. He has a lot of friends there. Good old Mitch Brimmer, everyone’s pal.”
    “That list—what’s it about?” If it jolted Lorna into revolt, it had to be something that scared her. And Lorna didn’t sound like a woman who would be easily scared out of an oversized salary and all the comforts of New York.
    “Names. Nine names. Men who are dangerous. Too interested in Exports Consolidated. Asking questions, looking for answers. They could blow Brimmer’s operation sky-high.”
    “And what does he plan for them?” Renwick sounded cool, kept his voice detached.
    “His Minus List, he calls it. That’s his kind of joke. You see, he already had a Plus List—had it for the last five years.”
    Patience, Renwick warned himself. Moore’s evasive, embarrassed. Don’t rush