For everyone who’s ever wondered what it really takes to be a spy, legendary author Graham Greene ( The Third Man, The Quiet American ) and his brother Hugh have compiled this irresistible selection of fiction, memoir, and tricks of the trade straight from the all-time masters of espionage. Here is a perfectly safe way to discover the dangerous secrets many spies have died to learn.
Want to know how to hide a map of an enemy fort in a butterfly sketch? Wonder why James Bond himself advises always drinking vodka with pepper?
Who hasn’t fantasized about being a secret agent or been captivated by the mysterious lore of spycraft? From the words of William Blake, D. H. Lawrence, and Thomas Mann—all suspected of spying in three great wars—to classic espionage stories by Joseph Conrad, Rudyard Kipling, Eric Ambler, Ian Fleming, and Graham Greene himself, this fascinating compendium of all things spy makes the perfect companion for the armchair agent in all of us. If this book divulged any more secrets, it would’ve had to be written with invisible ink. (Find out how to make your own inside!)
From the Trade Paperback edition.
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|Title of Science Fiction eBook: The Spy's Bedside Book|
|Release Date: 02-23-2011|
|Allowed Countries (hover)|
|Publisher: Random House Publishing Group|
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|Parent title||The Spy's Bedside Book|
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The Spy's Bedside Book
I had just finished breakfast and was filling my pipe when I got Bullivant's telegram. It was at Furling, the big country house in Hampshire where I had come to convalesce after Loos, and Sandy, who was in the same case, was hunting for the marmalade. I flung him the flimsy with the blue strip pasted down on it, and he whistled.
"Hullo, Dick, you've got the battalion. Or maybe it's a staff billet. You'll be a blighted brass-hat, coming it heavy over the hard-working regimental officer. And to think of the language you've wasted on brass-hats in your time!"
I sat and thought for a bit, for that name "Bullivant" carried me back eighteen months to the hot summer before the war. I had not seen the man since, though I had read about him in the papers. For more than a year I had been a busy battalion officer, with no other thought than to hammer a lot of raw stuff into good soldiers. I had succeeded pretty well, and there was no prouder man on earth than Richard Hannay when he took his Lennox Highlanders over the parapets on that glorious and bloody 25th day of September. Loos was no picnic, and we had had some ugly bits of scrapping before that, but the worst bit of the campaign I had seen was a tea-party to the show I had been in with Bullivant before the war started.
The sight of his name on a telegram form seemed to change all my outlook on life. I had been hoping for the command of the battalion, and looking forward to being in at the finish with Brother Boche. But this message jerked my thoughts on to a new road. There might be other things in the war than straightforward fighting. Why on earth should the Foreign Office want to see an obscure ...