he investigator in Syria had made the drive perhaps a hundred times,
always in the same battered truck, never with any cargo. It was forty
miles to the border, through eleven rebel checkpoints, where the
soldiers had come to think of him as a local, a lawyer whose wartime
misfortunes included a commute on their section of the road. Sometimes
he brought them snacks or water, and he made sure to thank them for
protecting civilians like himself. Now, on a summer afternoon, he loaded
the truck with more than a hundred thousand captured Syrian government
documents, which had been buried in pits and hidden in caves and
abandoned homes.
http://bit.ly/1NqHEi2http://bit.ly/1NqHEi2+--
Peterk
Dallas, Tx
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“If only there were a massive entity that I were forced to fund to tell
me how I should live my life, since I’m so obviously incapable of
deciding for myself.” M. Hashimoto
