Free Body of Lies by David Ignatius

arrange an appointment. The message was: We deliver. Now you deliver.
    Hani's secretary was waiting for Ferris at the front door and escorted him upstairs. Ferris walked past a bright mural on the first floor depicting the young king and his family, and then up a grand stairway. It was a bit like a fancy hotel lobby, decorated in lustrous teak and polished chrome. The elegant interior would have surprised most Jordanians, who imagined the intelligence headquarters as a Kafkaesque prison. But GID officers historically had treated themselves to the good life, sometimes to excess. One of Hani's predecessors had gone to prison after it was alleged that he been steering contracts to friends who, in their gratitude, had been depositing large sums in a secret bank account.
    Ferris was escorted to the office of Hani's genial deputy, who proffered tea and made small talk. The director would be free in a few minutes, he said. Eventually an aide announced that the great man was ready, and Ferris was marched down the hall to a large office decorated with pictures of the young king and his father. Hani rose from his desk and strode toward the American.
    "Salaam aleikum, Hani Pasha!" said Ferris. The American leaned toward the Jordanian and kissed him on both cheeks. Hani seemed amused at the show of respect. He took a puff of the cigarette in his hand and blew a perfect smoke ring in Ferris's direction.
    "You are most welcome, Roger. We are sure you must be an Arab. You have such good manners. That is why we like you so much."
    "I'm not an Arab. Just an American who can speak the language."
    "Perhaps a little bit, long ago." Hani smiled. "A grandmother. A distant grandfather. I know it. I am never wrong."
    "This time you are." Ferris smiled amiably. He never talked about his background. The agency frowned on giving away too many details, but it wasn't just that. Ferris didn't think his personal life was anyone else's business.
    " Y'allah! Come sit down." Hani motioned for him to sit on the couch. He looked especially like Dean Martin this morning. He was dressed in a tweed jacket, an open-neck shirt and an elegant new pair of suede loafers he must have bought on a recent trip to London.
    "You look well," said Ferris. It was true. The man was in the bloom of good health. He must have treated himself to a very high-class hooker in Berlin as a reward for his exploits.
    "How is your leg, my dear? You were limping in Berlin. You tried to hide it, but I could see. I hope you are healed. I worry about you."
    "I'm fine. All the better for seeing you, Hani Pasha."
    "I got back yesterday from Germany. An excellent country, but they do not have an intelligence service. I don't think they ever realized I was there. When I got home, my people told me you wanted to see me. Right away!" Hani raised his eyebrows.
    "It's Milan. The Europeans are going crazy. The White House is going crazy. And everybody's screaming at us."
    "And at me." Hani threw up his hands. "I have put off liaison meetings with the Italians, French and British this morning, so that I could see you. Everyone wants results tomorrow. I think they do not understand intelligence very well. It is not a microwave oven. Ed Hoffman understands. He knows that what is done quickly is not done well."
    "Your Berlin operation definitely got Mr. Hoffman's attention. He asked me to congratulate you. I think he was very impressed." Ferris stopped. He was on the verge of lying.
    "Tell Ed that I am grateful for his praise. Someone else, I would think it was just flattery, because he wants something." He offered a thin smile, which rippled his lips like a shark's fin breaking water.
    "We want to move fast on this, Hani Pasha. As you can imagine, Mr. Hoffman has lots of questions about the man we met in Berlin, Mustafa Karami."
    "Oh yes, I can imagine."
    "Specifically, Mr. Hoffman wanted to know how your second meeting went." Ferris didn't want to seem pushy, getting to the point so quickly, but you never