Robert Perisic books

Our Man in Iraq

“Go and see what’s up,” Sanja whined, butting me with her elbow. I opened my eyes. A glance at the clock: seven thirty in the morning. It was Milka, it couldn’t have been anyone else. “It’s nothing—it’ll stop,” I whispered. And sure enough, it rang and rang a bit more and then stopped. I sank bac...