A Divided Spy: A gripping espionage thriller from the master of the modern spy novel
A Sunday Times top ten bestseller, perfect for fans of THE NIGHT MANAGER, from the winner of the CWA Ian Fleming Steel Dagger for Best Thriller of the Year and ‘the master of the modern spy thriller’ (Mail on Sunday).A NEW COLD WAR IS LOOMINGFormer MI6 officer Thomas Kell thought he was done with spying. Until the Russian agent he blames for the death of his girlfriend is spotted at a Red Sea resort – in dangerous company.ONE SPY WANTS REVENGETaking the law into his own hands, Kell embarks on a mission to recruit his rival. Only to find himself in a high-stakes game of cat and mouse in which it becomes increasingly difficult to know who is playing whom.THIS TIME IT’S PERSONALAs the mission reaches boiling point, rumours of a terrorist attack suggest a massacre on Britain soil is imminent. Kell is faced with an impossible choice. Loyalty to MI6 – or to his own conscience?
Читать A Divided Spy: A gripping espionage thriller from the master of the modern spy novel онлайн беплатно
Harper
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street,
London, SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2016
Copyright © Charles Cumming 2016
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2017
Cover photographs © Mark Owen/Trevillion Images (man, right); Tim Robinson/Arcangel Images (man, left and steps); Roy Bishop/Arcangel Images (London scene); Shutterstock.com (shoes)
Charles Cumming asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the authorâs imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780007467549
Ebook Edition © June 2016 ISBN: 9780007467532
Version: 2017-03-22
For Julia Wisdom
âWe are, I know not how, somewhat double in ourselves, so that what we believe we disbelieve, and cannot rid ourselves of what we condemn.â
Michel de Montaigne
âTruth doesnât always come from truthful men.â
James Salter
Put it all on red. Put it all on black.
Jim Martinelli stacked five thousand pounds of chips into two six-inch piles. He held each of the piles in the tips of his fingers. One of them was fractionally higher than the other, the other slightly crooked at the base. He stared at them. His whole future, the mountain of his debt, just twenty discs of plastic in a casino. Double the money and he could keep Chapman at bay. Lose it and he was finished.
Arms across the baize, a blur of hands as the players around him reached out to place their bets. The suit from Dubai putting single chips on eighteen through thirty-six, the other Arab putting a grand on red. The Chinese tourist to Martinelliâs left put a carpet of blue chips in the upper third, smothering the table with piles of five and six. Big wins for him tonight, big losses. Then he put twenty grand on ten and walked away from the table. Twenty thousand pounds on a one in thirty-five chance. Even in the worst times, in the craziest urges of the last two years, Martinelli had never been stupid enough to do something like that. Perhaps he wasnât as messed up as he thought. Maybe he still had things under control.
The wheel was spinning. Martinelli stayed out of the play. It didnât feel right; he wasnât getting a clear reading on the numbers. The Chinese tourist was hovering near the bar, now almost twenty feet away from the table. Martinelli tried to imagine what it must be like to have so much money that you could afford to blow twenty grand on a single moment of chance. Twenty grand was four monthsâ salary at the Passport Office, more than half of his debt to Chapman. Two wins in the next two rounds and he would be holding that kind of dough. Then he could cash out, go home, call Chapman. He could start to pay back what he owed.
The croupier was tidying up. Centring chips, straightening piles. In a low, firm voice he said: âNo further bets, please, gentlemen,â and turned towards the wheel.
The house always wins, Martinelli told himself. The house always wins â¦
The ball was beginning to slow. The Chinese tourist was still hovering near the bar, back turned to the play, his little chimney of twenty grand on ten. The ball dropped and began to jump in the channels, the quiet innocent clatter as it popped from box to box. Martinelli laid a private bet with himself. Red. Itâs going to be red
