Download Spy Hook (Bernard Samson, Book 4) by Len Deighton PDF

By Len Deighton

The long-awaited reissue of the 1st a part of the vintage secret agent trilogy, HOOK, LINE and SINKER, while the Berlin Wall divided not only a urban yet an international. operating for the dept used to be like marriage is meant to be - ''til demise do us part' - however the division is de facto unlike that; and neither are many marriages, together with that of Bernard Samson. The cool and cynical box agent of the sport, SET and fit trilogy has grown older and wiser. yet issues haven't long past good for Samson: previous acquaintances usually are not as pleasant as they was once and co-workers are much less confiding than they as soon as have been. Now, beginning along with his challenge to Washington, lifestyles has turn into much more precarious for Bernard. Ignoring all warnings, pleasant, devious and differently, he pursues his personal research and, in California, meets with the largest shock of his lifestyles?

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Extra resources for Spy Hook (Bernard Samson, Book 4)

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Nicht die Frau in Spokane, die ihren Anwalt zu sprechen verlangte, die Frau, die alle mit den Morden belasten wollten. Schon wieder schniefend, lehnte Alvarez sich auf ihrem Stuhl zurück. Man jagte ihr nicht so leicht Angst ein, doch heute empfand sie eine Furcht, die sie von Herzen gern verleugnet hätte. Das Grauen lag vor ihr, in Form der farbigen Hochglanzfotos von den Opfern. Insgesamt fünf. Beziehungsweise fünf, von denen wir schon wissen, dachte sie und griff nach dem Foto von Theresa Kelper, dem ersten Opfer.

Wurden realer, deutlicher. Diese Schulhofrüpel hatten recht. Ihr Zustand war absonderlich. Jetzt folgte sie dem Weg bis zu ihrer Haustür und sah, dass sie halb offen stand. Im Haus war es kalt, denn die uralte Heizung war den arktischen Temperaturen nicht gewachsen, die der heulende Wind ins Haus trieb. Sie schloss die Tür hinter sich, schaltete das Licht an und schlüpfte aus ihren Stiefeln. Sie war überreizt. Kribbelig. Übernervös. Sie hängte ihren Mantel in den Garderobenschrank, warf ihren Morgenrock über und zog den Gürtel straff.

Sie kochte vor Zorn. Stinksauer war sie. Sie umfasste das Steuer ihres Jeeps so krampfhaft, dass ihre Knöchel weiß wurden, biss die Zähne fest zusammen und sah starr auf die Straße, als könnte ihr zornfunkelnder Blick das Bild des herzlosen Schweinehunds heraufbeschwören, der sie in diesen Zustand namenloser Wut versetzt hatte. �Mistkerl«, zischte sie. Die Reifen ihres Dienstwagens gerieten auf dem vereisten Abhang leicht ins Rutschen. Ihr Herz raste, ihre Wangen waren trotz der Minustemperaturen draußen gerötet.

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