The Smoke
2002 · Book · Tony Broadbent
BurglarsFictionIntelligence serviceRussiansFiction, suspenseFiction, espionage
“So there I was lying on the roof, seeing through my ears and taking in the sounds of the night, my face pressed against the damp soot-covered tiles, yellow-grey wisps of fog folding about me like cast-off mortuary shrouds.”
by Tony Broadbent