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El reino del irreverente y sarcástico Jackson Lamb está en Londres y se llama Casa de la Ciénaga, un vertedero al que van a parar los miembros de los servicios secretos que han cometido un error, ya sea olvidar un documento en un tren, despistarse en una ronda de vigilancia o volverse poco fiables a causa del alcohol. Sus colegas los denominan «caballos lentos», son los parientes pobres del espionaje británico y todos comparten las ganas de salir de allí a cualquier precio y volver a la acción.
De este extravagante grupo de proscritos, el más desengañado es River Cartwright, que se pasa el día transcribiendo conversaciones interceptadas de teléfonos móviles. Sin embargo, cuando se produce el secuestro de un joven y los autores amenazan con decapitarlo en directo por internet, River ve en este acto una oportunidad para redimirse. ¿La víctima es quien parece ser? ¿Y qué relación guardan los secuestradores con ese periodista caído en desgracia que los caballos lentos investigan? Mientras suena el tictac que nos acerca al plazo establecido para la ejecución, River descubre que cada uno de los implicados tiene intereses ocultos, y si los caballos lentos no espabilan, el eco del crimen se difundirá por todo el mundo.
384 pages, Kindle Edition
First published June 1, 2010
Half of the future is buried in the past.
Suits and joes was an age-old opposition, but the game had changed in the last ten years, and intelligence was a business like any other.
That was the true purpose of Slough House. It was a way of losing people without having to get rid of them, sidestepping legal hassle and tribunal threats.
They'd been thrown together by fate and poor judgements, and had never operated as a team before.
Lamb didn't look any different, was still a soft fat rude bastard, still dressed like he'd been thrown through a charity shop window, but ... Lamb was a joe.
If Moscow rules meant watch your back, London rules meant cover your arse. Moscow rules had been written in the streets, but London rules were devised in the corridors of Westminster, and the short version read: someone always pays. Make sure it isn't you.
"he'd have been melted down for glue."
‘Yeah, that's right. So you discover the heroes inside yourselves.’ He paused. ‘Look. I don't normally say this stuff, but I want to tell you something.’ He took a drag on his cigarette. ‘You're fucking useless, the lot of you.’