Chester’s voice carried easily to the back of the van, but Hannah wished that it didn’t.
“He what?” She turned from the dimly lit city to face forward. She couldn’t have heard right.
“He went to Palais de la Nation, the Presidential Palace, five days ago to protest the president’s latest abuses. He was also hoping to convince the president to ease ties with the Chinese…they account for over fifty percent of DRC export trade. Hell, they built the bleeding palace with a Chinese loan. Wait until you see it, it’s a hundred meters longer than the White House including the East and West Wings. No long breezeways either, it’s a monster.”
He went through describing what he knew of it: the open grounds, sitting on a grassy promontory pushing out into a curve of the Congo River, wrapping the pres
