"I’d not have been able to contain myself," he said ruefully, staring out the window and getting a sort of mischievous-boy look on his face as he imagined (she guessed) going across that Xiamen street and walking up to Apartment 505 and gutting Abdallah Jones with a knife. "Ah, that fucking bastard." He turned his eyes back to her. "So. You think he’s on Mindanao."