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In Moscow, a sheaf of military secrets changes hands. If it arrives at its destination, and if its import is understood, the consequences could be cataclysmic. Along the way it has an explosive impact on the lives of three people: a Soviet physicist burdened with secrets; a beautiful young Russian woman to whom the papers are entrusted; and Barley Blair, a bewildered English publisher pressed into service by British Intelligence to ferret out the document's source. A magnificent story of love, betrayal, and courage, The Russia House catches history in the act. For as the Iron Curtain begins to rust and crumble, Blair is left to sound a battle cry that may fall on deaf ears.
431 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published May 22, 1989
Spying is waiting.
Spying is worrying.
Spying is being yourself but more so.
In the new climate, doing nothing was itself an act of opposition. Because by doing nothing, we change nothing. And by changing nothing we hang on to what we understand, even if it is the bars of our own jail.
[Ned] shrugged. "When did the [Cold War] ever end? Turn on your television set, what do you see? The leaders of both sides hugging each other. Tears in their eyes... Hooray, it's all over! Bollocks. Listen to the insiders and you realize the picture hasn't altered by a brush-stroke."
"And if I turn my television set off? What will I see then?"
"You'll see us. Hiding behind our grey screens. Telling each other we keep the peace."
I sometimes think that is the difference between American spies and our own. Americans, with their frank enjoyment of power and money, flaunt their luck. They lack the instinct to dissemble that comes so naturally to us British.
His subject was jazz... The great ones were always outlaws, he maintained. Jazz was nothing if not protest. Even its own rules had to be broken by the real improvisers.
