What do you think?
Rate this book
361 pages, Kindle Edition
First published June 20, 2019
You could usually rely on the slow horses to make a bad situation worse.
For it has secrets: like every building in every city, Slough House is a neuron in an urban hippocampus, and retains the echo of all it's seen and heard. Memories have stained its walls and seeped into its stairwell; they reek of failure, and have been scrubbed from the public record, but they persist, and they're not for intruders' eyes.
... their enforced inertia, the mind-mushing sameness of their days, meant that any hint of action and they leaped at it, and damn the consequences.
A wilderness of mirrors, the land of spooks. Nothing you saw meant what it seemed, apart from those times when it did. Telling the two apart was the tricky bit. Knowing which was real, which the reflection.
'Two chicks,' Lars grumbled. 'What is this? Charlie's Angels?'
”We know Louisa was here,” he said. “We know she dumped her phone nearby...I think she got rid of it on purpose. She was going dark.”
“Which is protocol,” said J.K. Coe, “after hostile contact.”
“And she’s got her monkey wrench with her,” said Shirley. “Which means the hostiles might have suffered some contact themselves.”
Lamb broke wind loudly. Nobody moved. “Did I misfart? That’s your signal to leave.” They left.
So many different ways to die arising from the same mistake. That could almost be a mission statement. If not for the Service as a whole, at least for Slough House.
. . . which led, in turn, to the further discovery that Diana Taverner didn't always have to press a button to cause the glass walls of her office to frost over. Sometimes she could do it through sheer force of rage. - excerpt from 'Joe Country'.