"Jack in the Box" is a provocative and entertaining thriller about the continuing value of counter-intelligence in a time when a disproportionate share of federal resources has been shifted away from that into counter-terrorism efforts. I liked main character Sam Waterman and found his recruitment back into "the game" following early retirement plausible. The plot -- involving moles in high places -- also seems plausible. Thankfully, it moves along at a faster clip than events in John LeCarre's cold war thrillers ever did.
Former reporter John Weisman apparently knows a lot about CIA tradecraft. He also has a knack for working real people like former FBI director Louis Freeh, former ambassador Pamela Harriman, and still-with-us Russian bogeyman Vladimir Putin into the edges of his narrative.
One of the few weaknesses in this book is Weisman's tendency to black out some of the nouns in his own prose, ostensibly for the protection of operational security as practiced by clandestine services. In the same vein, Weisman sometimes indulges in acronym soup just because he can. For example, Sam's situational awareness of people in his environment who might be watching him covertly is finely tuned, but I didn't buy the conceit that compared Sam's "alien spotting" to "forward-looking infrared" (FLIR) technology; FLIR is hardware most often associated with troops and equipment on night missions. There are better ways to say that an operative is keenly observant, so I chalked FLIR up to Weisman being undisciplined with his insider's knowledge. Similarly, some of the foreshadowing is less than subtle: when Waterman spots a beautiful women watching him in a Paris restaurant, you know his lunch won't end the way he and his companion intended it to.
All that said, my quibbles with the novel are minor. It's an exhilarating read.