Free Body of Lies by David Ignatius Page B

cooperate?"
    "Because it's my operation. You will share the take. But you need to let me run it the way I want. Because...let us be honest, my dear, because you have no choice." Hani smiled. Ferris found him irresistibly charming, even when he was saying things that would make Ferris's life difficult.
    "Hoffman won't be happy," said Ferris.
    " Ma'alesh . Too bad. He'll get over it. Who loves the Americans more than me?"
    "Langley is paying a lot of bills around here."
    "Is that a threat, my dear Ferris? How delightful. You are becoming a real chief of station now. Just don't make the same mistake as your predecessor, or we will have to throw you out, too."
    The Jordanian smiled; the eyes sparkled with perfect confidence. Nobody wanted to talk about the transgressions of his predecessor, Francis Alderson, but nobody seemed to have forgotten them, either. Hani patted Ferris on the back. "You are representing the big boys at Langley. I understand that. But you are only showing your weakness when you threaten me in this way, so do not raise this subject again. And tell your division chief that if he so much as mentions money when he visits, he will regret it. We do not need to talk about this anymore, do we?"
    "No," said Ferris. "But I can't predict how Mr. Hoffman will react."
    "He'll be fine. You are at war. You have to trust your friends. Drink your tea."
     
    F ERRIS WENT HOME that night to his apartment in Shmeisani. It was on the top floor of a building owned by a retired Palestinian engineer, with a nice view of the milk-white city and the hills beyond. Ferris walked to the balcony. It was early evening, and he could see the play of shadows across the hills of Amman. He poured himself a glass of vodka and sat on his terrace, staring toward the faint twinkle of light that was Jerusalem. He liked being alone, normally--returning to the warm emptiness of a solitary apartment. People need safe houses in real life, but not all the time, and for Ferris, not that night.
    Ferris thought briefly of his wife. Gretchen sent him love letters that mixed romantic passages she might have cribbed from Cosmo with descriptions of life in the Office of Legal Counsel. She had a compartment for everything--sex, law, politics--and she was adept at all of them. He wanted to think fondly of Gretchen, but the image of her just drifted out of his mind. Ferris couldn't hold on to it anymore. The Crazy Glue had come unstuck, and now her spirit presence floated away over the hilltops of Amman, back to America and her big oak desk at the Justice Department. Ferris realized that he didn't care if she was having sex with someone else. Perhaps that was a sign that he was already unfaithful himself, in his heart.
     
    I NTO THE EMPTY space in Roger Ferris's life had fallen a woman named Alice Melville. They had met three weeks ago in Amman. Ferris had liked her instantly, and he had removed his wedding ring before taking her to dinner, something he had never done before. He asked her home afterward. "Don't push your luck," she had said. When Ferris got a glum look, she kissed him on the cheek and whispered, "I take that back. Do push your luck. But not tonight."
    He liked Alice partly because she was so different from his wife. Gretchen was a person for whom life's important questions were settled. Alice gave the sense that the basics were still up for discussion. She worked with Palestinian refugees and spoke about the suffering of the Arabs with great passion. Ferris's colleagues in the station would have instantly mistrusted her if they had met her, which Ferris was determined they would not. Most of all, Alice was mysterious. With Gretchen, everything was right there, cash on the table--brains, beauty, ambition. Alice was more elusive; Ferris sensed that she was like the Arabs--beneath her seeming openness was a deeper guile, and she never told you everything she knew.
    Alice had sent Ferris a letter just before he left for Berlin. It was a continuation