Man in the Middle
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For newly promoted Army lieutenant colonel Sean Drummond, his latest assignment starts off simply enough: find out if the death of one of D.C.'s most influential defense officials was murder or suicide. Most investigators would call it a cut-and-dried case, but nothing is ever that simple.
Teamed with Bian Tran, the attractive Army Military Police officer investigating the case, Drummond is about to embark on a journey that takes him from the labyrinthine channels of American intelligence to the killing rooms of Iraq. None of it will be more difficult than navigating the shadowy minds and motivations of his enemies and so-called colleagues.
What Drummond uncovers will make him question everything he believes in. Because the more he digs, the more he learns about the key players-American and Middle Eastern-in a war that rages bloodier every day. A war where betrayal is a daily occurrence and makes him ask: Are my loyalties to my superiors or to the American soldiers battling for their lives?
locked eyes for a moment. She said, “The Iraqi people are scheduled to have their first election in January. This is a critical milestone to victory in this war, a necessary step for bringing our troops home. Mahmoud Charabi—maybe you read this in the papers—is a leading contender for future prime minister.” “And that’s why he needs to be investigated. What if he’s elected, and what if he’s working for Iran, and what if he’s behind the murder of Cliff Daniels? That won’t be good for America,
Sean. A choice between taking bin Pacha out of circulation with the chance of learning what he knows or losing him altogether.” We walked for a distance in silence. A solitary runner in battle dress trousers and brown desert boots, off to our left, was jogging laps around a building on the airfield, and he drew both of our eyes. His brown Army T-shirt was soaked with dark sweat, his chest heaved with exertion, and he continued to place one foot in front of another, running in endless circles. He
he got his hair cut, shopped for his groceries, bought his hooch, and she even followed him on a date with one of his mistresses. Then, after a week, in one of the Pentagon cafeterias she fell into a chair at his table, struck up a conversation, and asked him out. What followed was a blow-by-blow account of where and when they went, and what they did. I wasn’t sure why she felt it necessary to include all this detail, but maybe the explanation would come later. Interestingly, she never wrote that
the news reports, and Phyllis, who had been on the inside, had a firsthand view of the decisions that led to war, and now she was confirming the reportage. Phyllis continued, “Don surmised that Daniels prodded or drove Charabi into the arms of Iranian intelligence.” She looked at me. “What do you think about that?” “Inter canem et lupum,” I replied. For Bian’s benefit, Phyllis translated my Latin: “Between the dog and the wolf. The more up-to-date expression is that he placed him between a
know we can’t transport six prisoners out of here.” “How many?” “One.” I regarded him a moment. “Two,” he said. “That’s it.” In any interrogation, it always helps to have a few prisoners to play off each other. Two was fine. He pointed a finger at his watch. “Ten minutes. I hope you have a magic key to find your guy.” “And you’re using up precious time.” He said, “Well . . . one other thing. They were searched. But you’d better keep a weapon on them, unless you’d rather we slap cuffs on