“What year did we snatch the president of the Congo's airplane?” Nick Popovich asks. Outside, chilly rain soaks the pastures of his rolling Indiana country estate. From a pond with a gushing fountain, waterfowl honk faintly. An assistant rifles through records as Popovich assures me cheerfully, “We're not going back to central Africa soon. There's still a death warrant out for me.” Driving to Valparaiso on a two-lane blacktop, ...
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