I am standing on a stranded oil tanker. There is no war anymore. The war is over. Still, the ship will not move. No one wants to insure it.

The captain hands me a sheet of paper. Across the top, in red, it says: SUPPLY CHAIN RISK. There is a Pentagon stamp in the corner. I tell him the contract was rejected. He says that is exactly the problem.

I climb down into the hold. A screen is waiting there, lit by a thousand coordinates. I cannot tell whether they are targets or families. I search for PULIMANTI and it appears forty-two times, all of it clustered in Lazio. The icons spread over the coordinates until the two maps become the same wound.