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256 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1991
I don't like it when a signal hits the board from the field and Croder or Shepley picks up the executive like a bloody pawn and puts him down in another square, when in point of fact the said executive can be working his way through a minefield in the dark with a pack of war-trained dogs on his tracks or cooped up in a plain van with a gun trained on him while he tries to get at his capsule before they put him under the light - I've been in both situations and a dozen like them, dear God, a hundred, and you get to resent those people back there in Whitehall, the red-tabs ensconced comfortably behind the firing line, doing their daily stint and going home to a nice hot shower while you're lying out there in a cellar in Zagreb with four days' filth on you and blood in your shoe.So, yeah - same old Hall. Unfortunately, this book also brings the same complaint I had with the last one I read, Quiller's Run. Both books are set in exotic locales - Run in Singapore, which I know well, and Bamboo in Tibet, which I've always wanted to visit - but then Hall doesn't really do anything with them. There's no real Tibetan flavor here other than it being cold, dusty and Buddhist; just like there was no real Singapore in the other, aside from it being hot, steamy and generic Southeast Asian. And I realize that's difficult when writing in the first person - it's hard for Quiller to suddenly stop running and get all descriptive...but still, somewhat of a missed opportunity, IMHO.