Spy Hook

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Len Deighton. Spy Hook

Cover designer’s note

Spy Hook

Copyright

Introduction

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If you enjoyed Spy Hook, check out these other great Len Deighton titles

About the Author

By Len Deighton

About the Publisher

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When considering how I might illustrate the cover of the first part of this second trilogy of spy novels, where the KGB loom large, I thought that the sickle part of the Communist symbol (representing unity of peasants and workers) would make the perfect visual analogy for a hook. In use since 1917/18, the Hammer and Sickle became the official symbol of the Communist party in 1922.

Some years ago, I photographed a graffiti image of the emblem on a wall in Italy. As the surface seemed to lack the rough texture that I was after, my wife – who can work wonders on the computer – superimposed the communist motif over one of my photographs that I had taken of the Berlin Wall from the eastern side at the time of its downfall. (I also took the opportunity to join the jubilant crowd in standing atop the wall.)

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She let go of the wheel to pound a fist against my leg as if making sure I was really and truly flesh and blood. Did she realize what mixed feelings I had about moving out of the house in Marylebone? Not just because Marylebone was convenient and central but also because it was the first house I’d ever bought, albeit with the aid of a still outstanding mortgage that the bank only agreed to because of the intervention of my prosperous father-in-law. Well, Duke Street wasn’t lost for ever. It was leased to four American bachelors with jobs in the City. Bankers. They were paying a handsome rent that not only covered the mortgage but gave me a house in the suburbs and some small change to face the expenses of looking after two motherless children.

Gloria was in her element since moving in to the new place. She didn’t see it as a rather shabby semi-detached suburban house with its peeling stucco and truncated front garden and a side entrance that had been overlaid with concrete to make a place to park a car. For Gloria this was her chance to make me see how indispensable she was. It was her chance to get us away from the shadow of my wife Fiona. Number thirteen Balaklava Road was going to be our little nest, the place into which we settled down to live happily ever after, the way they do in the fairy stories that she was reading not so very long ago.

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