Caught in a rip-tide and being dragged further out to sea, Mr. Brennan has hit the rocks and lost his ship. Floating with him, a hapless group of CIA and NSC Cold Warriors, all in way over their heads.

Having torn the sheets and smashed the hull, they bob in the waves. Lost is the wars they started far off over the horizon. Ukraine, Syria, who is to blame? Michigan, Wisconsin, Pennsylvania, too.

Now, they have seized some bloated fat guy they are trying to turn into a raft. Two-faced, venal opportunist, he waded out into the water, seeing an opportunity to make a buck off
the ship-wreck.

As they struggle, arms grappling and legs thrash,
their combined weight pulls them all down together into the ever-darkening . . . murk.