It was the wife that killed him!
I kid. The book is one twisty-ass mofo, and I don't want to spoil it. But I do want to spoil Scott Turow's Presumed Innocent
, and just have.
In terms of sheer plotting, this rivals a couple of my favorite spy thrillers -- I kept recalling the phenomenal Soul of Viktor Tronko
by David Quammen (yes, that Quammen), another espionage novel steeped in postmodern concerns about identity and narrative without losing the bite and snarl of history or realpolitik
. Steinhauer's novel ... well, I'm still stewing over its impact, and I read it in a 24-hour stretch, and I stayed up late last night to finish it. Those are signifiers of great readerly pleasure -- you take it from there.