This is a cross-post from a Rabbit’s Eye-View of the Hyperborean North.
Sitting with my lawyer in Beirut last week, the meeting was interrupted by a call from one of his clients in Paris.
After an interminable conversation in Arabic, the lawyer handed the phone to me.
“It’s an honour to talk to you, comrade Galloway. This is Commander Carlos, the political prisoner in Paris,” he said.
As I began to calibrate just how many lights were now going on in the secret services of half a dozen countries, I felt the need to sit down.