The Spanish Gambit
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From Stephen Hunter, whose first two novels established him as a master of the espionage thriller, comes a richly detailed, spellbinding tale of international intrigue set against the cataclysm of the Spanish Civil War.
nights." Levitsky said nothing. "It's just like the West, Ivanch. It's for treasure, for loot. There's no difference. I hate it." "Shbh!" Levitsky hissed, grabbing his hand tightly. "I hate it," the boy said. And then David Harold Allen Sampson began to weep. "You must control yourself," said Levitsky hoarsely. "You must pay the price. You must sacrifice. It is not enough to be willing to die for your beliefs. That's a fool's sacrifice. You must be willing to kill for them, too. To free
of strength or guile. I simply adhere to my beliefs exactly, and they give me a foundation that careerist scum can never shatter." "Oh, I'll break you, Comrade Levitsky. I'll split you for Moscow, don't doubt it. Time, after all, is all on my side. Time, and the considerable skills of Comrade Bolodin here." "Your vanity, Glasanov, will kill you sooner than my idealism will kill me." "The ribs," said Glasanov. "But not too bad yet." Lenny went to the old man, hit him hard, once, in the ribs,
quickly and quietly with a discussion, then-" Bolodin stood at an oblique angle to Levitsky, his face impassive, his eyes hooded, almost blank. He had not looked at Levitsky at all. He was looking instead at the older man called Carlos. "I am Comrade Carlos Brea, of the executive committee of the Party of Marxist Unification, and I will not-" "Comrade Brea, your reputation proceeds you. Surely you can understand the point of a few mild security precautions. We mean nobody any harm; we mean
who he was, and what he was, and he didn't like that one bit. It was her eyes, those sleepy, calm, knowing gray green eyes, and the way she stood, so ladylike and refined, and the way she listened so intently. She seemed to work for their English-language newspaper, The Spanish Revolution, which they sent out, and it meant she knew everybody. One night, Glasanov had them do a crash job on some guy named Carlos. They picked him up at the Grand Oriente and the girl was there. Lenny hung back. He
"Of course, darling. May we visit you tomorrow?" We! Flon-y wished he could say simply no, damn you, and be done with it. But he heard himself saying yes, yes, of course, it would be great fun, and as she wheeled him around, he saw Sampson across the street, watching. It took a day or so, but at last Sampson managed it. He applied for permission with the Republican Propaganda apartment to do a profile of wounded Englishmen fighting valiantly on the side of Justice, and the office itself