I didn’t give a damn if it was in the middle of a war zone, I was going to that spa. I’d been there the month prior, before hostilities had broken out. Who ever knows what those little countries are going to do?
It had been relaxing, rejuvenating, refreshing — one of the last places in the world where you can get still highly trained piranhas to nibble off your thigh fat. I got the full French Colonist package.
There’s a certain feeling to a recently searched room. Suddenly, your possessions know more than you do, they’ve seen more than you have. Now your aftershave has secrets.
It’s impossible to hide the disturbance entirely. At Windom Falls, we don’t even try.
In the jetliner flying westward across the continent where at such a height the sun will have stopped setting to linger in the long in-curving grapefruit crescent of the horizon for what’ll seem like forever.
Sister Perpetua held the helmet for a long time, her hands shaking slightly and then handed it back to the rider and said in a whisper, “Who are you?”
Standing before her was a woman—not that the Lord can’t be a woman, Perpetua knew. But why did her face look so familiar?
You try not falling in love with a spy. They know everything about you without any of the small talk. They’ve seen your dossier, they’ve tapped your phone, they’ve killed and impersonated your best friend for two years to learn everything they possibly can about you from beneath a very convincing rubber mask. […]
Hiking through numerous minefields in the annexed Golan Heights of Israel but never stepping on any mines. This’ll be near death experience No. 6.