As a former C.I.A. agent, the author knows how mercenaries work: in the shadows. But how did a notorious former British officer, Tim Spicer, come to coordinate the second-largest army in Iraq—the tens of thousands of private security contractors?
Last spring, in Los Angeles, I met with a producer and a screenwriter who were trolling for a good story to turn into a movie—specifically, a story about a pair of colorful adventurers, maybe mercenaries, who get into serious trouble seeking a fortune in Africa. I wasn’t much help. I had spent little time in Africa—only a couple of brief trips to Nigeria and Liberia during my time in the C.I.A. But I promised them I’d ask around when I got to London, a city with more colorful adventurers per block than anywhere else in the world.
I knew my share of them: rogue oil traders, art forgers, exiled presidents, disgraced journalists, arms dealers. There was also the Jordanian prince who had once offered to smuggle me into Ramadi, in Iraq’s anarchic Anbar Province, in exchange for 100 sheep. People like these are pretty much the currency of C.I.A. agents.
There are few denials these days, if any, that in most Western countries a cultural war rages, characterized by an intense and sometimes very personal disagreement involving politicians, intellectuals, activists and an assortment of ideologues. This war, or rather these wars, have been raging for some time already, at least since the Second World War. Their origins can be traced back to the intellectual legacy of a little-known Italian communist who lived in the first half of the twentieth century.
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Afrikanerbevryding kan in die kuberruim begin en uiteindelik na die fisieke territorium van Suid-Afrika oorspoel.