Funeral in Berlin
Len Deighton
Language: English
Pages: 320
ISBN: 0586045805
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
A ferociously cool Cold War thriller from the author of The Ipcress File.
Len Deighton’s third novel has become a classic, as compelling and suspenseful now as when it first exploded on to the bestseller lists.
In Berlin, where neither side of the wall is safe, Colonel Stok of Red Army Security is prepared to sell an important Russian scientist to the West – for a price. British intelligence are willing to pay, providing their own top secret agent is in Berlin to act as go-between. But it soon becomes apparent that behind the facade of an elaborate mock funeral lies a game of deadly manoeuvres and ruthless tactics. A game in which the blood-stained legacy of Nazi Germany is enmeshed in the intricate moves of cold war espionage…
LEN DEIGHTON Len Deighton was born in 1929. He worked as a railway clerk before doing his National Service in the RAF as a photographer attached to the Special Investigation Branch. After his discharge in 1949, he went to art school – first to the St Martin’s School of Art, and then to the Royal College of Art on a scholarship. His mother was a professional cook and he grew up with an interest in cookery – a subject he was later to make his own in an animated strip for the Observer and in two
moved three Bartok LPs and sank into a mutilated chair. Hallam turned on the tap in the disguised sink and there was a chugging sound like a bronchial road-drill. He rinsed the cups and wiped them on a tea-cloth that depicted the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace in primary colours. There was a clink as he set the cups into their ordained saucers. ‘Don’t tell me. You’ve come about the Semitsa business’, he said to the gas meter as he poured boiling water on to the Darjeeling. ‘You like
and meadow flowers.’ ‘Yes,’ I said. Dawlish shrugged in embarrassment. ‘Good of you,’ he said and suddenly busied himself with work on his desk top. 29 Players who relish violence, aggression and movement often depend upon the Spanish Game. Further to your query. The number plate you mention is that of Dr Ernst Mohr who is under a four-year surveillance. (Future queries should refer to him as Thrush.) Your (London) records will show a detailed account. Briefly: height 6' 1"/Weight:
that in this damned god-forsaken country, where everyone is filling out small rectangular forms in triplicate, there is never any god-damned paper in the WC?’ Without smiling the old man said, ‘Because someone has filled it out in triplicate.’ ‘Affirmative,’ said Harvey. He let the weight of his fist bring it down on the table with a thump that made the dishes jump. ‘That’s right.’ And having solved the problem he put his head on his hands and went to sleep. The old man looked at him and said,
age,’ said Jean and she picked up the Semitsa file and walked towards the door. ‘I’m not being horrible Edmond Dorf,’ I said a little louder. ‘You don’t have to shout,’ said Jean, ‘and I’m afraid the travel vouchers and tickets are ordered. Berlin has been told to expect Edmond Dorf. If you want it changed now you must do it yourself unless I leave the Semitsa work.’ Jean was my secretary, really it was her job to do as I told her. ‘OK,’ I said. She said, ‘Let me be the first to congratulate