Read Online All the Old Knives by Olen Steinhauer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Olen Steinhauer
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sometimes think that Iâm the one whoâs been given the responsibility of carrying the anger heâs not strong enough to shoulder.
It may not be fair, but over the past year Iâve grown to truly hate Sally. Occasionally, I even broach the subject with Bill, cornering him in a subtle imitation of her aggression, so that he will sit in one place and listen. He does, but then begins to tell me stories of her history. Her mother, for instance, a glowering monster of a role model who tortured Sally all her life. Sallyâs first husband, Max, he of the literally backhanded rebuttals. But I remain unmoved. I am not of the childhood-trauma camp. Weâve all had hard times. My parents wrapped their Subaru around an electrical pole when I was fourteen. Things happen. The only thing that matters is how we deal with the now. Either we face the difficult moral decisions with ever-stronger responses, or we do not. This is what separates the mensch from the asshole. Full stop.
In my virtual in-box, among the detritus of diplomatic spam, I find a flash from Langley to Vick, duly forwarded to the rest of the staff with a request to meet in his office at nine thirty. Itâs from Damascus station, a terse summary of a conversation with a source theyâve christened TRIPWIRE.
Source TRIPWIRE: Expect within next 72 hours an airline-related event on flight heading to Austria or Germany. Departure port uncertainâDamascus, Beirut, Amman possibilities. Group: Aslim Taslam, though the primary actors likely recruits from outside Somalia. Likelihood: HIGH.
Iâm not an expert on the myriad Islamist cells that salt and pepper the planet, but Aslim Taslam has made headlines in recent years. Former members of Somaliaâs Al-Shabaab, they split off from the group over an ideological dispute (some reports suggested it had to do with the use of drug money to finance operations), and under their new name they approached Ansar Al-Islam, the Sunni organization formerly in Iraq, now based in Iran, for assistance. Perhaps prodded by the Iranian government, Ansar Al-Islam has given Aslim Taslam financial and logistical support, sharing networks and operational planners. With growing anxiety, Langley has watched from a distance, noting heightened cooperation between what would otherwise be antagonistic terrorist groups. In the past year, Aslim Taslam has been responsible for deaths and explosions in Rome, Nairobi, and Mogadishu. The group is on its way up.
Since Bill still hasnât arrived, at nine thirty I join the other three in Vickâs large-windowed office. Thereâs Leslie MacGovern, whose title, collection management officer, belies the fact that sheâs the modest brains behind Vickâs rule. In her grandmother glasses, she laughs a lot, usually at Vickâs jokes but sometimes at herself. Sheâs been with him longer than any of us, and has mastered the art of feigning stupidity while passing on her real thoughts in secret. Of all of us, sheâs the one who excels at making Vick look good.
Ernst Pul is our naturalized spy. Born in Graz, at age ten he was brought by his academic parents to Atlanta, Georgia, a move that twisted his accent into an odd blend: down-home Austrian. He wears Swiss bankerâs suits and an Austrian haughtiness that three decades as a southerner havenât shaken. His peculiarities work well here, charming our opposite numbers in the Bundesamt für Verfassungsschutz, which is why heâs our direct go-between with the Austrians.
Off to the side, under a black raincloud, sits Owen Lassiter of codes and ciphers. Perpetually dismal, he blinks a lot, as if heâs just visiting from a dark world of ones and zeroes, or blips and beeps, like a raver stumbling into the morning light. Iâd like to like OwenâI think most of us wouldâbut he makes it difficult.
Itâs not the kind of crowd I would choose on my own, and at moments like this I wish I
It may not be fair, but over the past year Iâve grown to truly hate Sally. Occasionally, I even broach the subject with Bill, cornering him in a subtle imitation of her aggression, so that he will sit in one place and listen. He does, but then begins to tell me stories of her history. Her mother, for instance, a glowering monster of a role model who tortured Sally all her life. Sallyâs first husband, Max, he of the literally backhanded rebuttals. But I remain unmoved. I am not of the childhood-trauma camp. Weâve all had hard times. My parents wrapped their Subaru around an electrical pole when I was fourteen. Things happen. The only thing that matters is how we deal with the now. Either we face the difficult moral decisions with ever-stronger responses, or we do not. This is what separates the mensch from the asshole. Full stop.
In my virtual in-box, among the detritus of diplomatic spam, I find a flash from Langley to Vick, duly forwarded to the rest of the staff with a request to meet in his office at nine thirty. Itâs from Damascus station, a terse summary of a conversation with a source theyâve christened TRIPWIRE.
Source TRIPWIRE: Expect within next 72 hours an airline-related event on flight heading to Austria or Germany. Departure port uncertainâDamascus, Beirut, Amman possibilities. Group: Aslim Taslam, though the primary actors likely recruits from outside Somalia. Likelihood: HIGH.
Iâm not an expert on the myriad Islamist cells that salt and pepper the planet, but Aslim Taslam has made headlines in recent years. Former members of Somaliaâs Al-Shabaab, they split off from the group over an ideological dispute (some reports suggested it had to do with the use of drug money to finance operations), and under their new name they approached Ansar Al-Islam, the Sunni organization formerly in Iraq, now based in Iran, for assistance. Perhaps prodded by the Iranian government, Ansar Al-Islam has given Aslim Taslam financial and logistical support, sharing networks and operational planners. With growing anxiety, Langley has watched from a distance, noting heightened cooperation between what would otherwise be antagonistic terrorist groups. In the past year, Aslim Taslam has been responsible for deaths and explosions in Rome, Nairobi, and Mogadishu. The group is on its way up.
Since Bill still hasnât arrived, at nine thirty I join the other three in Vickâs large-windowed office. Thereâs Leslie MacGovern, whose title, collection management officer, belies the fact that sheâs the modest brains behind Vickâs rule. In her grandmother glasses, she laughs a lot, usually at Vickâs jokes but sometimes at herself. Sheâs been with him longer than any of us, and has mastered the art of feigning stupidity while passing on her real thoughts in secret. Of all of us, sheâs the one who excels at making Vick look good.
Ernst Pul is our naturalized spy. Born in Graz, at age ten he was brought by his academic parents to Atlanta, Georgia, a move that twisted his accent into an odd blend: down-home Austrian. He wears Swiss bankerâs suits and an Austrian haughtiness that three decades as a southerner havenât shaken. His peculiarities work well here, charming our opposite numbers in the Bundesamt für Verfassungsschutz, which is why heâs our direct go-between with the Austrians.
Off to the side, under a black raincloud, sits Owen Lassiter of codes and ciphers. Perpetually dismal, he blinks a lot, as if heâs just visiting from a dark world of ones and zeroes, or blips and beeps, like a raver stumbling into the morning light. Iâd like to like OwenâI think most of us wouldâbut he makes it difficult.
Itâs not the kind of crowd I would choose on my own, and at moments like this I wish I
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