The desk lamp threw long shadows on the cinderblock walls of the office.“You know, the Arabs think by doing this, with my feet like this, I’m saying you’re like the dirt on which I walk.” Borovsky grinned. “They would say it was an insult, Noah, that I’m saying you’re less than dirt.”Landau, still on the telephone, glared at Borovsky in the hopes that the look alone would shut the man up. It seemed to work, but not until Borovsky had barked another of his laughs. He didn’t move his feet, however, until Landau was off the phone.“That was your new friend at SIS?” Borovsky asked.“Crocker, yes.”“They’re going to do it?”“They’ve already started. Their agent arrived in San’a’ Saturday night.”Borovsky’s face seemed to grow even narrower as he pondered this. “We have no intelligence that Faud’s even left that fucking desert he hides in as yet. And fuck only knows if el-Sayd is on the move.”Landau didn’t speak.Borovsky shook his head. “They don’t have a date.
What do You think about A Gentleman's Game (2008)?
