Beirut, LebanonS
hake Davis stared out the window as the aircraft taxied toward a gate at Hafic Hariri International Airport feeling queasy and wishing he’d done a lot more sleeping and a little less drinking in Amman. After an obligatory phone call to Bayer for updates and a call to Mike to let him know he’d arrived in Jordan, Shake checked to see if there was anything from Chan on his service or in his email accounts. There wasn’t, so he ate at a café just off the Four Seasons lobby and then perched on a barstool drinking Amstel and wishing he wasn’t going back to Beirut in the morning. He’d thought a bellyful of booze might settle his nerves but the more he drank the more the images from an earlier time in that city kept crowding onto the flat-screen over the bar or onto the foamy head
