Spies of the Balkans: A Novel (Night Soldiers Book 11)

They were, without saying much, pleased to see each other; the closer war came, the more conspiracy was a powerful form of friendship.

that stage of inebriation where he loved the world,

he was a certain kind of smart and sophisticated German who’d found, in the black uniform and death’s-head insignia, a way to indulge a taste for evil.

Almost a stage presence, this officer, who stood ramrod straight, had a splendid cavalry mustache, and lacked only the monocle.

“Elias,” he said, “I’m just a policeman.” He didn’t say, “just a simple policeman,” but even so Elias heard the simple, which meant that Zannis had pushed the proper button, because the word made him a worker, a worker of the world who would, in some misty future, unite.