I run my finger against the dresser mirror as I pretend to fix my hair. Min Zin told me that a one-way mirror has no space between your fingernail and its reflection. This one seems fine. But I turn to Daryl with a tinge of mischief.

I meet Jim for drinks. I look him in the eye and I lie. “Yeah right, I bet they just told you to say that,” he says. I start to cry. “I wish,” I say. He seems taken aback. He’s never seen me cry. He comforts me. Believes me. But I’m not crying to make him believe. I’m crying because I’ve lost the last friend who knows my truth.

Dean buys pirated video games set in the same region he was deployed to back in Afghanistan. I know he misses it. I know how good he was at it. I know he gave it up to be with me. I want to tell him I’m sorry he’s stuck in this remote prison of silence, far away from his colleagues and watering holes and adrenaline-soaked purpose. But I can’t say a

We’re not used to roaming this city freely. It doesn’t feel as good as I’d imagined. When the minder is with us, the threat has a form. Without him, it becomes a nebulous, all-powerful force. Empty doorways and shapes among the shadows.

Each week, I write my required essay and trudge to my tutorial—a one-on-one session with this or that brilliant and eccentric professor, beginning with the offer of sherry and snuff and ending with the strong suspicion that nothing we’ve just discussed applies to the real world.

After he leaves, I fold the document into pleats, like the geisha fans we used to make in elementary school. Then I set the accordion on its end atop the toilet bowl water and light it on fire. It’s an old Russia House trick to keep the smoke to a minimum and contain the ash. When our agreement is converted to floating black flakes, I flush and set

The fear injects my thoughts with venom. Beltway BS. No wonder we’re losing this war. Bunch of risk-averse desk jockeys calling the shots. The taxi jerks to a stop at an intersection, and I look up. The plastic back of the driver’s seat is covered in graffiti. Most of it is in Urdu. Some is in Arabic. One creased sticker off to the side is in Engli

He’s referring to Operation Merlin, a botched effort from a few years back that’s just been leaked to the press. In a bid to entrap the Iranians into building a nuclear weapon in contravention of the ban, we apparently arranged for an asset to pass them plans for a contraband firing mechanism, sneakily—or so we thought—adapted to render the system

We’re under constant surveillance, pitted against one another, tested well beyond our limits. Sleazy instructors grope the female students in the name of preparing them for harassment in the field. Aging instructors shout at any student who uses the Internet or, God forbid, a cell phone. Division chiefs from Langley go undercover as instructors to