The Palestinian Terrorist and Me
The Federal agent, a black-haired, middle-aged Virginian, stared at me for a while before asking, “Have you ever considered becoming an informant for the F.B.I.?”
We were in a large conference room on the second floor of the old U.S. Mission in Berlin. He sat at the end of a long, blond-wood conference table, scribbling on a legal pad and sipping coffee from a plastic foam cup. To his left was his partner, a taciturn man in his early 30s. ...
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