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More from my favourite book
Henderson, George V.,(2002), Spy Not, The Publisher, Niagara Falls.
"Lacy had made a mistake and had been eaten by sharks by accident. I don't think so Tim."
Here's the first part, if you missed it
Page 10
Who would he send? There wasn't anyone, well, of course there was. Granny gave an audible sigh. 'If I take someone from something else.'
...
The Queen was in Africa and that meant he had lost people to compensate elsewhere. hen, of course, there was the blowup in Brazil that had tied up more agents for how long, he couldn't tell.
...
No one wanted to spy anymore, that was the trouble. With the dear old Russians gone there was no major threat, everyone knew the drug lords were too big, the local toughs too small.
Page 11
The brainer who had come up with the plan to advertise postings for MI 6 in the London Times should be deballed and boiled in Grannies opinion. Oh! from a marketing stand point, the concept was brilliant, the story picked up in the media in every country in the world.
...
It was flawless. Of course what it dragged up was something else. Granny remembered exhaustive months of vetting malingering, psychotic nuts. Bring me your eager masses eager to spy. Everyone from the elderly and disabled to witless and stupid.
Page 12
Granny picked up the golf ball, which sat on a small Egyotian obelisk, and handled the small white sphere. The ball was lucky. Stater's hole in one. A horrible shot that the wind had taken on the twelfth at Veering and deposited in the hole after a purely miraculous run across the green. Granny smiled as he remembered the crack of his number one Penick , 325 feet to the green, a bad shot gaining legs and the wind, with its height, just enough. His heart soared up with the shot over the roughs, a thing of beauty. The staggering moment when it went in. The elation! There are no words to define a hole in one. The pats on the back. The drinks until drunk. What a day!
The ball reminded him of something else. What about the Virgins! Yes, Sidingham a monster of a course on the northeastern tip of Tortola...
The course was a Mecca, a Holy grail to golfs' challenge seekers adn busy all year round. It had two positives, one the owner was adamantly Queen and country and two, the marketing of this gold mine, which it didn't need, was done by one of his couriers. One Michael D'Iverville McFurson , a Canadian from Niagara Falls, Ontario.
Jolly O'! A small business man with a clean cover and someone who at least knew the ground if not a great deal about field work.
"Lacy had made a mistake and had been eaten by sharks by accident. I don't think so Tim."
Here's the first part, if you missed it
Page 10
Who would he send? There wasn't anyone, well, of course there was. Granny gave an audible sigh. 'If I take someone from something else.'
...
The Queen was in Africa and that meant he had lost people to compensate elsewhere. hen, of course, there was the blowup in Brazil that had tied up more agents for how long, he couldn't tell.
...
No one wanted to spy anymore, that was the trouble. With the dear old Russians gone there was no major threat, everyone knew the drug lords were too big, the local toughs too small.
Page 11
The brainer who had come up with the plan to advertise postings for MI 6 in the London Times should be deballed and boiled in Grannies opinion. Oh! from a marketing stand point, the concept was brilliant, the story picked up in the media in every country in the world.
...
It was flawless. Of course what it dragged up was something else. Granny remembered exhaustive months of vetting malingering, psychotic nuts. Bring me your eager masses eager to spy. Everyone from the elderly and disabled to witless and stupid.
Page 12
Granny picked up the golf ball, which sat on a small Egyotian obelisk, and handled the small white sphere. The ball was lucky. Stater's hole in one. A horrible shot that the wind had taken on the twelfth at Veering and deposited in the hole after a purely miraculous run across the green. Granny smiled as he remembered the crack of his number one Penick , 325 feet to the green, a bad shot gaining legs and the wind, with its height, just enough. His heart soared up with the shot over the roughs, a thing of beauty. The staggering moment when it went in. The elation! There are no words to define a hole in one. The pats on the back. The drinks until drunk. What a day!
The ball reminded him of something else. What about the Virgins! Yes, Sidingham a monster of a course on the northeastern tip of Tortola...
The course was a Mecca, a Holy grail to golfs' challenge seekers adn busy all year round. It had two positives, one the owner was adamantly Queen and country and two, the marketing of this gold mine, which it didn't need, was done by one of his couriers. One Michael D'Iverville McFurson , a Canadian from Niagara Falls, Ontario.
Jolly O'! A small business man with a clean cover and someone who at least knew the ground if not a great deal about field work.
[Error: Irreparable invalid markup ('<yes,>') in entry. Owner must fix manually. Raw contents below.]
Henderson, George V.,(2002), <u>Spy Not</u>, The Publisher, Niagara Falls.
"Lacy had made a mistake and had been eaten by sharks by accident. I don't think so Tim."
<a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/trishkit/46432.html#cutid1" target="_blank">Here's the first part, if you missed it</a>
<lj-cut text="Holding out for a hero">
Page 10
Who would he send? There wasn't anyone, well, of course there was. Granny gave an audible sigh. 'If I take someone from something else.'
...
The Queen was in Africa and that meant he had lost people to compensate elsewhere. hen, of course, there was the blowup in Brazil that had tied up more agents for how long, he couldn't tell.
...
No one wanted to spy anymore, that was the trouble. With the dear old Russians gone there was no major threat, everyone knew the drug lords were too big, the local toughs too small.
Page 11
The brainer who had come up with the plan to advertise postings for MI 6 in the London Times should be deballed and boiled in Grannies opinion. Oh! from a marketing stand point, the concept was brilliant, the story picked up in the media in every country in the world.
...
It was flawless. Of course what it dragged up was something else. Granny remembered exhaustive months of vetting malingering, psychotic nuts. Bring me your eager masses eager to spy. Everyone from the elderly and disabled to witless and stupid.
Page 12
</lj-cut>
<lj-cut text="Because what spy story is complete without a golfing yarn?">
Granny picked up the golf ball, which sat on a small Egyotian obelisk, and handled the small white sphere. The ball was lucky. Stater's hole in one. A horrible shot that the wind had taken on the twelfth at Veering and deposited in the hole after a purely miraculous run across the green. Granny smiled as he remembered the crack of his number one Penick , 325 feet to the green, a bad shot gaining legs and the wind, with its height, just enough. His heart soared up with the shot over the roughs, a thing of beauty. The staggering moment when it went in. The elation! There are no words to define a hole in one. The pats on the back. The drinks until drunk. What a day!
The ball reminded him of something else. What about the Virgins! Yes, Sidingham a monster of a course on the northeastern tip of Tortola...
The course was a Mecca, a Holy grail to golfs' challenge seekers adn busy all year round. It had two positives, one the owner was adamantly Queen and country and two, the marketing of this gold mine, which it didn't need, was done by one of his couriers. One Michael D'Iverville McFurson , a Canadian from Niagara Falls, Ontario.</lj-cut>
<lj-cut text="Talk about damning with faint praise">
Jolly O'! A small business man with a clean cover and someone who at least knew the ground if not a great deal about field work.
</lj-cut>
<lj-cut text="Enter Our Hero">
<yes, we have now switched to the first person>
Page 15
Just for the record, I'm a good marketer and Granny uses that ability periodically to get locations for my many trips.
...
Lots to do, I would tell the wife I was off to Cleveland. No secrets, just I didn't want to worry her. I'd tell her about the Virgiins on my return, as a needed side trip. THe wife was always on about money and making sure that clients paid travel expenses. Travel and financing are standard with the Firm (Secret Service). With other cutsomers I had already signed travel expenses were required. Sometimes, however, I had to invest my own funds into business trips and that was when the fat hit the fire. Weweren't wealthy. the house was middle class and needed work. The kids, one almost in University cost lots and we didn't have much put aside. So she had the right to worry. I had lots of life insurance, on this job it was required. i didn't tell her what I was worth straight out. She probably would have bumped me off herself, the sweet old thing.
...
Being a spy does not make you superior, it just makes you different. I drove the Civic over to the local post office.
...
Page 17
People looking into my little white car would see what. Well at forty-eight, a dark-haired man very little gray. A rounded face with kind brown eyes and a prominent nose. The mouth is slash like and gives the face toughness, perhaps experience helps here. The cheekbones are high, there is native blood in the faimily, these compliment a cleft chin.
Dressed in a Brook's Brothers' Gray suit (There is an outlet mall in Niagara Falls, New York. It was the last of a line and on sale. A white cotton shirt with a wine red tie designed with blue plumbs. Blue wool socks and black Nunn & bush loafers finished the design.
</lj-cut>
<lj-cut text="And now back to our story...">
Page 23
One of three were going to happen or perhaps had happened. One, the competition had left. That would, make sense if they had tortured Lacy or more humanely given hima truth shot. They would know what he was and presume that there would be others. Two, the competition couldn't move or Lacy had died before he talked. The opposition would depend on the fact that we didn;t know much and that we wouldn't find out enough to trouble them before whatever was planned would happen. Three, Lacy had made a mistake and had been eaten by sharks by accident. I don't think so Tim.
</lj-cut>
<lj-cut text="No, we haven't forgotten the turtles">
Page 24
Who else would be blowing up turtles to start with.? Treasure hunters, stupid ones might to find a wreck or uncover it.
</lj-cut>
And yes, I have found a sex scene. I'll post it if my brain ever recovers from the horror.
"Lacy had made a mistake and had been eaten by sharks by accident. I don't think so Tim."
<a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/trishkit/46432.html#cutid1" target="_blank">Here's the first part, if you missed it</a>
<lj-cut text="Holding out for a hero">
Page 10
Who would he send? There wasn't anyone, well, of course there was. Granny gave an audible sigh. 'If I take someone from something else.'
...
The Queen was in Africa and that meant he had lost people to compensate elsewhere. hen, of course, there was the blowup in Brazil that had tied up more agents for how long, he couldn't tell.
...
No one wanted to spy anymore, that was the trouble. With the dear old Russians gone there was no major threat, everyone knew the drug lords were too big, the local toughs too small.
Page 11
The brainer who had come up with the plan to advertise postings for MI 6 in the London Times should be deballed and boiled in Grannies opinion. Oh! from a marketing stand point, the concept was brilliant, the story picked up in the media in every country in the world.
...
It was flawless. Of course what it dragged up was something else. Granny remembered exhaustive months of vetting malingering, psychotic nuts. Bring me your eager masses eager to spy. Everyone from the elderly and disabled to witless and stupid.
Page 12
</lj-cut>
<lj-cut text="Because what spy story is complete without a golfing yarn?">
Granny picked up the golf ball, which sat on a small Egyotian obelisk, and handled the small white sphere. The ball was lucky. Stater's hole in one. A horrible shot that the wind had taken on the twelfth at Veering and deposited in the hole after a purely miraculous run across the green. Granny smiled as he remembered the crack of his number one Penick , 325 feet to the green, a bad shot gaining legs and the wind, with its height, just enough. His heart soared up with the shot over the roughs, a thing of beauty. The staggering moment when it went in. The elation! There are no words to define a hole in one. The pats on the back. The drinks until drunk. What a day!
The ball reminded him of something else. What about the Virgins! Yes, Sidingham a monster of a course on the northeastern tip of Tortola...
The course was a Mecca, a Holy grail to golfs' challenge seekers adn busy all year round. It had two positives, one the owner was adamantly Queen and country and two, the marketing of this gold mine, which it didn't need, was done by one of his couriers. One Michael D'Iverville McFurson , a Canadian from Niagara Falls, Ontario.</lj-cut>
<lj-cut text="Talk about damning with faint praise">
Jolly O'! A small business man with a clean cover and someone who at least knew the ground if not a great deal about field work.
</lj-cut>
<lj-cut text="Enter Our Hero">
<yes, we have now switched to the first person>
Page 15
Just for the record, I'm a good marketer and Granny uses that ability periodically to get locations for my many trips.
...
Lots to do, I would tell the wife I was off to Cleveland. No secrets, just I didn't want to worry her. I'd tell her about the Virgiins on my return, as a needed side trip. THe wife was always on about money and making sure that clients paid travel expenses. Travel and financing are standard with the Firm (Secret Service). With other cutsomers I had already signed travel expenses were required. Sometimes, however, I had to invest my own funds into business trips and that was when the fat hit the fire. Weweren't wealthy. the house was middle class and needed work. The kids, one almost in University cost lots and we didn't have much put aside. So she had the right to worry. I had lots of life insurance, on this job it was required. i didn't tell her what I was worth straight out. She probably would have bumped me off herself, the sweet old thing.
...
Being a spy does not make you superior, it just makes you different. I drove the Civic over to the local post office.
...
Page 17
People looking into my little white car would see what. Well at forty-eight, a dark-haired man very little gray. A rounded face with kind brown eyes and a prominent nose. The mouth is slash like and gives the face toughness, perhaps experience helps here. The cheekbones are high, there is native blood in the faimily, these compliment a cleft chin.
Dressed in a Brook's Brothers' Gray suit (There is an outlet mall in Niagara Falls, New York. It was the last of a line and on sale. A white cotton shirt with a wine red tie designed with blue plumbs. Blue wool socks and black Nunn & bush loafers finished the design.
</lj-cut>
<lj-cut text="And now back to our story...">
Page 23
One of three were going to happen or perhaps had happened. One, the competition had left. That would, make sense if they had tortured Lacy or more humanely given hima truth shot. They would know what he was and presume that there would be others. Two, the competition couldn't move or Lacy had died before he talked. The opposition would depend on the fact that we didn;t know much and that we wouldn't find out enough to trouble them before whatever was planned would happen. Three, Lacy had made a mistake and had been eaten by sharks by accident. I don't think so Tim.
</lj-cut>
<lj-cut text="No, we haven't forgotten the turtles">
Page 24
Who else would be blowing up turtles to start with.? Treasure hunters, stupid ones might to find a wreck or uncover it.
</lj-cut>
And yes, I have found a sex scene. I'll post it if my brain ever recovers from the horror.
no subject
Yes, those walnuts are really quite troubling.
no subject