| Notes |
Now that they had a fresh crisis, Flynn and Furlong formed an unlikely yin-yang duo. Flynn, who was intense, thin, and wiry-verging-on-gaunt, woke up every morning at 0430 for five-mile runs around the ISAF compound with McChrystal. Furlong was built like a former NCAA lineman gone to seed and was perpetually patting at a pack of Marlboros in the chest pocket of his rumpled shirtsleeves. Where Flynn was all confidence and edge—like a “rat on acid,” as one of his own staffers put it—Furlong had the desperate staccato delivery of a used-car salesman.
https://www.vanityfair.com/news/2019/03/the-inside-story-of-bowe-bergdahls-first-day-on-the-lam |