Download The Spanish Game (Alec Milius) by Charles Cumming PDF

By Charles Cumming

The simplest of the recent iteration of British secret agent writers taking on the place le Carre and Deighton left off. -- Observer (London) at the Spanish Game "The serpentine twists and the unflaggingly reasonable suspense depart you breathless, yet spellbound." -- day-by-day Mail (London) at the Spanish Game "Tautly written, cleverly plotted...reminded me strongly of the early books of John le Carre." -- Robert Harris, writer of The Ghost, on A secret agent via Nature Six years in the past, Alec Milius used to be published by way of MI6 after a disasterous operation.  His global shattered, Milius has been residing in Madrid, trying to placed his former existence as a secret agent at the back of him,  and quitely rebuild his life.  yet all his plans come crashing down whilst the pinnacle of a separatist flow is going lacking, and Milius is lured again into the area of espionage, the brutal global of lies and desperation. This time, although, Milius is compelled to paintings on my own - with out back-up, no help, and nobody to avoid wasting him may still anything get it wrong.  And in an operation like this, anything is bound to head wrong.  Horribly flawed.

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Extra resources for The Spanish Game (Alec Milius)

Sample text

Two sets of suitably oppressed peoples for a Basque to mull over. ’ He looks gratifyingly intrigued. ’ ‘That’s right. County Wicklow. A farm near Bray. ’ Mum is actually Cornish, born and bred, but ETA and the IRA have always had very close ties, shared networks, collective goals. About a year ago a general in the Spanish army was killed by a bicycle bomb, a technique ETA were believed to have acquired from the Irish. ‘Only Dublin,’ Arenaza replies, offering me a cigarette which I decline. It’s a South American brand – Belmont – which I have seen only once before.

She needs to cool it or Saul will cotton on. In an attempt to change the subject, I say that I once saw Pedro Almodóvar drinking in the bar, sitting at a table not too far from where we are standing. It’s a lie – a friend saw him – but enough to interest Saul. ‘Really? ’ ‘Qué’ Sofía says, her English momentarily confused. ’ And, thankfully, the misunderstanding engenders the conversation I had hoped for: Saul’s lifelong distaste for Almodóvar’s movies perfectly at odds with Sofía’s loyal, madrileñian obsession.

What possible harm could come from him knowing? ‘Your little exchange in Spanish? That was about Pedro Almodóvar? ’ ‘Of course not. ’ I seem to possess a default personality set to perfidy and misinformation. Not for one moment has it occurred to me to tell Saul the truth, but my relationship with Sofía is one of the few things out here that gives me any pleasure, and I don’t want him trampling on it with his decency and his common sense. ’ ‘I think so…’ ‘Well, it turns out he was pretty good. ’ I raise my voice above the music.

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