'The Information Officer' by Mark Mills

Mills packs chewy period argot -- "The cockpit was a pilot's 'office,' and they never landed, they 'pancaked' " -- into his witty, rhythmic dialogue. And few writers at work today modulate pace so smoothly, even daringly. Time and again throughout "The Information Officer," Mills eases the throttle, decelerating enough to observe still-life silhouettes: a quartet of officers swigging sundowners and swapping congenial barbs; an intelligence operative cracking golf balls into the sea; two tentative lovers sharing a kiss beneath an orange tree. In the book's sensational final act, author and hero alike gun their motors, as Max bolts across the island astride a gasping motorcycle, the skies churning with Spitfires, bombs walloping the earth below.