The atmosphere in the conference room suddenly became tense, like a bowstring being stretched.
Levin glanced at Vincent, then at Ms. M. He preferred a straightforward, forceful resolution, but Ms. M's earlier words had undermined his confidence.
No one knew exactly how Song Heping had taken down the F15I.
The intelligence claimed it was a SAM-6, but Levin never believed it.
Ms. M maintained a stoic expression, her mind rapidly calculating the political cost and possible room for compromise.
The CIA intelligence officers present stared blankly, like part of the background.
A long, suffocating silence...
Only the occasional soft "click" of the brass cigar cutter in Vincent's fingers pierced everyone's nerves.
