Zusatztext Rimington's plot! as one should expect from a former head of MI5! bristles with subterfuge and splices in allusions to Litvinenko's poisoning to give Illegal Action a contemporary feel. . . . Carlyle! in her third outing! has depth and tenacity. The Financial Times A former director general of MI5 in the '90s! Rimington fills her brainy page-turner with authentic details. Entertainment Weekly Rimington fashions an exciting final confrontation to her story. The Washington Post The psychological curiosity and attention to detail that has made Rimington a top spy also distinguishes her as an author. People An ideal beach read for the upcoming vacation season. . . . Elements of the old-fashioned spy novelsudden twists and characters with hidden agendascombine with James Patterson's secret to success. Booklist Informationen zum Autor Stella Rimington joined MI5 in 1965 and during her thirty-year career she worked in all the main fields of the Service's responsibilities counter-subversion, counter-espionage, and counter-terrorismand successively became Director of all three branches. Appointed Director-General of MI5 in 1992, she was the first woman to hold the post and the first Director-General whose name was publicly announced on appointment. Following her retirement from MI5 in 1996, she became a Non-Executive Director of Marks and Spencer and published her autobiography, Open Secret, in the UK. She is the author of Secret Asset and At Risk . Klappentext The fiercely intelligent, ambitious MI5 officer Liz Carlyle returns in a spy novel of arresting psychological complexity and unflagging suspense. In the most recent installment in the Liz Carlyle series, Liz has been transferred to counter-espionagethe hub of MI5 operations during the Cold War. Her mission: protect Nikita Brunovsky, an increasingly vocal opponent of Vladimir Putin, who has been targeted for assassination and is seeking refuge in the UK. The Foreign Office is adamant about forestalling a crime that could become a full-blown international incident. So Liz goes undercover, attaching herself to Brunovsky's retinue: racing against the clock to determine who betrayed him and suddenly facing a wholly unexpected second taskunmasking a Russian operative working undercover alongside her. Leseprobe 1 November For once Alvin Jackson had made the wrong choice.Usually he had an unerring eye for a soft target. It wasn't about size-once a man built like a nightclub bouncer had cried when Jackson showed him the knife. No, it was something less tangible, a kind of passivity that Jackson could sniff out, the way a sniffer dog smells contraband.Not that he expected much resistance from anyone in this part of London. He stood against the iron railings in one of the squares that run off the side streets below Kensington High Street. The night was moonless, and a mass of grey cloud hung over the city like a dirty blanket. Earlier in the evening it had rained: now the tyres of passing cars hissed as they splashed through the puddles, and the pavements were the colour of dark sodden sponges. Jackson had picked a corner where two of the street lights were out. He'd already checked carefully for patrolling policemen and traffic wardens. There weren't any.The woman walking towards Jackson along the opposite pavement was well into her thirties-not young enough to be foolish and too affluent to be streetwise. She wore a smartly cut black overcoat, her hair was coiffed back, doubtless from a fancy salon, and her heels went clack-clack-clack on the pavement. There was a bag hooked over her right shoulder, one of those trendy leather bags with floppy handles. That's where her purse would be, Jackson decided.He waited against the railings until she was about fifteen feet away, then sauntered casually across the road and stood on the pavement, blocki...

#8220;Rimington’s plot, as one should expect from a former head of MI5, bristles with subterfuge and splices in allusions to Litvinenko’s poisoning to give Illegal Action **a contemporary feel. . . . Carlyle, in her third outing, has depth and tenacity.”—The Financial Times“A former director general of MI5 in the ‘90s, Rimington fills her brainy page-turner with authentic details.” —Entertainment Weekly“Rimington fashions an exciting final confrontation to her story.” —The Washington Post“The psychological curiosity and attention to detail that has made Rimington a top spy also distinguishes her as an author.”—People“An ideal beach read for the upcoming vacation season. . . . Elements of the old-fashioned spy novel–sudden twists and characters with hidden agendas–combine with James Patterson’s secret to success.”—Booklist

Autorentext

Stella Rimington

Klappentext

The fiercely intelligent, ambitious MI5 officer Liz Carlyle returns in a spy novel of arresting psychological complexity and unflagging suspense.

In the most recent installment in the Liz Carlyle series, Liz has been transferred to counter-espionage—the hub of MI5 operations during the Cold War. Her mission: protect Nikita Brunovsky, an increasingly vocal opponent of Vladimir Putin, who has been targeted for assassination and is seeking refuge in the UK. The Foreign Office is adamant about forestalling a crime that could become a full-blown international incident. So Liz goes undercover, attaching herself to Brunovsky's retinue: racing against the clock to determine who betrayed him and suddenly facing a wholly unexpected second task—unmasking a Russian operative working undercover alongside her.

Leseprobe
1 November For once Alvin Jackson had made the wrong choice.Usually he had an unerring eye for a soft target. It wasn't about size-once a man built like a nightclub bouncer had cried when Jackson showed him the knife. No, it was something less tangible, a kind of passivity that Jackson could sniff out, the way a sniffer dog smells contraband.Not that he expected much resistance from anyone in this part of London. He stood against the iron railings in one of the squares that run off the side streets below Kensington High Street. The night was moonless, and a mass of grey cloud hung over the city like a dirty blanket. Earlier in the evening it had rained: now the tyres of passing cars hissed as they splashed through the puddles, and the pavements were the colour of dark sodden sponges. Jackson had picked a corner where two of the street lights were out. He'd already checked carefully for patrolling policemen and traffic wardens. There weren't any.The woman walking towards Jackson along the opposite pavement was well into her thirties-not young enough to be foolish and too affluent to be streetwise. She wore a smartly cut black overcoat, her hair was coiffed back, doubtless from a fancy salon, and her heels went clack-clack-clack on the pavement. There was a bag hooked over her right shoulder, one of those trendy leather bags with floppy handles. That's where her purse would be, Jackson decided.He waited against the railings until she was about fifteen feet away, then sauntered casually across the road and stood on the pavement, blocking her path.She stopped, and he was pleased to see she looked a little startled. "Hello," he said softly, and her eyes widened slightly. She had a delicate, pretty face, he thought. "I like your bag," he said now, pointing at it with one extended arm."Thank you," she said crisply, which surprised him, since most of the women were too scared to speak. Funny how reactions differed. Maybe she was foreign.With his other hand he showed her the knife. It was a seven-inch blade, with a sweeping crescent curve that ended in a honed point. The Americans called them Bowie knives-Jackson liked the name. He said, "Give me the bag."The woman didn't pa…