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Reissue of the classic tale of espionage set in Cold War Europe, where the world’s greatest circus acrobat must break into an impenetrable fortress, from the acclaimed master of action and suspense.
Bruno Wildermann of the Wrinfield Circus is the world’s greatest trapeze artist, a clairvoyant with near-supernatural powers and an implacable enemy of the East European regime that arrested his family and murdered his wife.
The CIA needs such a man, and recruits Bruno for an impossible raid - on the impreganble Lubylan fortress, where his family his held.
Under cover of a circus tour, Bruno prepares to return to his homeland. But before the journey even begins a murderer strikes twice. Somewhere in the circus there is a communist agent with orders to stop Bruno at any cost…
imagine the fun I’ve had taking the cardiographs of customs official after customs official.’ ‘Whatever will they think of next.’ Bruno left, walked along the corridors of the now-swaying train, picked up Maria from her compartment, took her along to his own, unlocked the handleless door and ushered her inside. Bruno said: ‘Shall we have some music? Romantic, to fit the occasion? Then one of my incomparable dry martinis to celebrate – if that is the word – my descent into human bondage. And –
certain buoyancy to the spirits: it was just after dawn, a bleak and bitter dawn with snow swirling down from the darkly lowering clouds. Some hundred yards from the siding Harper, who was sitting in the right-hand corner, rubbed the steamy window, peered out and up, then touched Bruno on the arm. ‘Never seen anything like it. What on earth is that?’ ‘I can’t see from here.’ ‘On top of those buildings. Bushes, shrubs – good heavens, they’ve even got trees growing up there.’ ‘Roof gardens.
him unceremoniously by the right wrist, pulled it away from his head and twisted sharply, an action that gave rise to a sudden yelp of pain from the man but no reaction from the few other customers, who were presumably accustomed to such diversions to the point of boredom. Nestled in the man’s hand was a tiny metal earphone attached to a wire. Bruno followed the wire to a small metal box, hardly larger than the average cigarette lighter, which was tucked away in a breast pocket. Bruno put those
white-moustached gentleman of about seventy. He and Harper were at one end of the room where Bruno, still on the stretcher, lay on a trestle table. Harper said: ‘Dr Hachid, if you would care to carry out your own personal examination – ’ Dr Hachid smiled sadly. ‘I hardly think that will be necessary.’ He looked at one of the associate directors, a man by the name of Armstrong. ‘You have seen death before?’ Armstrong nodded. ‘Touch his forehead.’ Armstrong hesitated, advanced, laid his hand on
one who was frozen stiff. As soon as the guard had turned the corner into the main street – he did not have the appearance of one who was about to glance back suspiciously over his shoulder – Bruno marched his captive down to the line of parked trucks: once safely abreast of these they were hidden from the sight of anyone on the other side of the lane. Pushing the man in front of him, Bruno moved out cautiously between the third and fourth parked trucks and glanced to his right. A second guard