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Breaking the Seal


No matter what happens, you don’t break the seal. The Suburban maneuvers the uneven streets of the capital. We sport body armor beneath loose-fitting, long-sleeved shirts that camouflage the silhouettes of handguns. Rifles, muzzles down, are braced between seats and doors. He’s bare-headed, mid-twenties, a European in tight jeans. He lopes past the Iranian Embassy, oblivious to the armed guards to his left and the American women inching through traffic to his right. The fresh-faced analyst leans over the front seat between the savvy Afghan-American driver and the world-weary blonde riding shotgun. There’s consensus. We’d break the seal for that.

No matter what happens, you don’t break the seal.

The Suburban maneuvers the uneven streets of the capital. We sport body armor beneath loose-fitting, long-sleeved shirts that camouflage the silhouette of handguns. Rifles, muzzles down, are braced between seats and doors.

He’s bare-headed, mid-twenties, a European in tight jeans. He lopes past the Iranian Embassy, oblivious to the armed guards to his left and the American women inching through traffic to his right.

The fresh-faced analyst leans over the front seat between the savvy Afghan-American driver and the cynical blonde riding shotgun.

There’s consensus. We’d break the seal for that.

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