Thriller Novels

"Ocean Beach Pier is the biggest pier in California. A big capital T of concrete and steel jutting out into the Pacific Ocean, its central stem running for over sixteen hundred feet before its crosspiece branches out to the north and south an almost equal distance. If you decide to walk the entire pier, you're looking at a jaunt of about a mile and a half."

"It's winter in San Diego and cold outside. Okay, relatively cold. It's not Wisconsin or North Dakota—it's not the painful kind of cold where your engine won't turn over and your face feels like it's going to crack and crack and fall off, but anyplace in the Northern Hemisphere is at least chilly at 4:10 a.m. in January. Especially, Frank thinks as he gets into his Toyota pickup truck, when you're on the wrong side of sixty and it takes a little while for your blood to warm up in the morning."

"One of the nice things about living alone— maybe the only good thing about living alone, Frank thinks—is that you can play opera at 4:00 a.m. and not bother anyone. And the house is solid, with thick walls like they used to build in the old days, so Frank's early morning arias don't disturb the neighbors, either."

"There comes a time in a man’s life, he figured, the infamous midlife crisis, when a guy has to face the reality that what he has is all he’s going to get, and he needs to find his peace and his happiness in his life as it is."

"Life’s like a fat orange, Frank thinks. When you’re young, you squeeze it hard and fast, trying to get all the juice in a hurry. When you’re older, you squeeze it slowly, savouring every drop. Because, one, you don’t know how many drops you have left, and, two, the last drops are the sweetest."

"Each day seemed to last forever, Frank thinks as he watches a wave roll in and smack the pier. You'd get up before dawn, just like now, and work hard all day on the old man's tuna boat. But you'd get back by the middle of the afternoon; then it was off to meet your buddies at the beach. You'd surf until dark, laughing and talking shit out there in the lineup, goofing on one another, showing off for the bunnies watching you from the beach. Those were the longboard days, plenty of time and plenty of space. Days of "hanging ten" and "ho-dadding" and those fat Dick Dale guitar riffs and Beach Boys songs, and they were singing about your life, your sweet summer days on the beach."

"He’s hunted enough guys to know that their own heads can be their worst enemies. They start seeing things that aren’t there, then, worse, not seeing things that are. They worry and worry, and chew on their own insides, until, when you do track them down, they’re almost grateful. By this time, they’ve been killed so many times in their minds that the real thing is a relief."

"Is the Witchcraft committee led from below? From the middle or from the top? I rather like Karla's description of committees don't you? Is it Chinese? A committee is an animal with four back legs."

""If I couldn't get out, if there was any fumble after I'd met Stevcek, if I had to go underground, I must get the one word to him even if I had to go to Prague and chalk it on the Embassy door…Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor. Alleline was Tinker, Haydon was Tailor, Bland was Soldier and Toby Esterhase was Poorman. We dropped Sailor because it rhymed with Tailor. You were Beggarman," Jim said."

"“George, you been talking to the wrong guys.” “One of us has,” Smiley agreed pleasantly. “That's for sure.”"

"“So Karla is fireproof?" Guillam asked finally. "He can't be bought and he can't be beaten?” “Karla's pulled the Circus inside out; that much I understand, so do you,” Smiley said quietly. “Karla is not fireproof because he's a fanatic. And one day, if I have anything to do with it, that lack of moderation will be his downfall.”"

"“George is like a swift,” Ann had once told Haydon in his hearing. “He cuts down his body temperature till it's the same as the environment. Then he doesn't lose energy adjusting.”"

"“I want to put a thesis to you, Toby. A notion about what's going on. May I?...You don't have to speak at all,” Smiley said. “There's no risk to listening, is there?” “Maybe.”"

"“Secret services and their customers are like anyone else, I'm afraid. They value most what costs most, and Merlin costs a fortune. Ever bought a fake picture?” “I sold a couple once,” said Toby with a flashy, nervous smile, but no one laughed. “The more you pay for it, the less inclined you are to doubt it.”"

"Suddenly, Smiley sat up with a jolt. “We spoke,” wrote Alleline to the Minister, in a minute dated February 27th this year. “You agreed to submit a supplementary estimate to the Treasury for a London house to be carried on the Witchcraft budget.” He read it once, then again more slowly."

"“We blew up the photographs and there they were: two gallantry and four campaign. Aleks Polyakov was a war veteran and he'd never told a soul in seven years. Oh I was excited! ‘Toby,’ I said, ‘You just listen to me for a moment, you Hungarian poison dwarf. This is one of the occasions when ego has finally got the better of cover.’”"

"On the day the Berne police hit the villa and Guillam had to hop over the back wall, he found Toby at the Bellevue Hotel munching pâtisseries and watching the thé dansant. He listened to what Guillam had to say, paid his bill, tipped first the band-leader, then Franz the head porter…”If you ever want to get out of Switzerland in a hurry,” thought Guillam, “you pay your bills first.”"

"Sometimes as Tarr spoke an extraordinary stillness came over his body as if he were hearing his own voice played back to him."

"“I hate the real world, George. I like the Circus and all my lovely boys.” She took his hands. ”Polyakov,” he said quietly, pronouncing it in accordance with Tarr's instruction, “Aleksey Aleksandrovich Polyakov, Cultural Attaché, Soviet Embassy London. He's come alive again, just as you predicted.”"

"“Aleksey Aleksandrovich Polyakov was a six-cylinder Karla-trained hood if ever I saw one, and they wouldn't even listen to me!”"

"Witchcraft No. 4 was an immensely technical Soviet Foreign Service appreciation of the advantages and disadvantages of negotiating with a weakened American president. The conclusion, on balance, was that by throwing the President a bone for his own electorate, the Soviet Union could buy useful concessions."

"In due course Smiley noticed that the secret was out, and he was still mystified by the speed with which that had happened. He supposed Bill had boasted to someone, perhaps Bland. Ann had broken her own rules. Bill was Circus and he was Set — her word for family and ramifications. On either count he would be out of bounds."

"Now whole vistas of deceit opened before Guillam. His friends, his loves, even the Circus itself, joined and re-formed in endless patterns of intrigue. A line of Mendel's came back to him, dropped two nights ago as they drank beer in some glum suburban pub: “Cheer up, Peter, old son. Jesus Christ only had twelve, you know, and one of them was a double.”"

"I even put it to Control: we should take the opposition's cover stories more seriously, I said. The more identities a man has, the more they express the person they conceal."

"Closing the passenger door after him, Guillam had a sudden urge to wish Smiley good night or even good luck, so he leaned across the seat and lowered the window and drew in his breath to call. But Smiley was gone. He had never known anyone who could disappear so quickly in a crowd."

"“All power corrupts but some must govern and in that case Brother Lacon will reluctantly scramble to the top of the heap.”"

"There was tea on a tray: Guillam had prepared it, two cups. To safe houses belongs a certain standard of catering. Either you are pretending you live there, or that you are adept anywhere; or simply that you think of everything. In the trade, naturalness is an art, Guillam decided."

"Chapter 34"

"“Percy's door opens and somebody walks in. We'll call him Gerald, it's just a name…Perhaps he doesn't say anything till they're outside the building, because Gerald is very much a field man, he doesn't like to talk with walls and telephones around.""

""As to the identity of the source - well that's a big, big mystery at this stage, but so it should be. Forgive me if I'm a little wide of the mark here and there but I've only the file to go by." The mention of a file, the first indication that Smiley might be acting in some official capacity, produced in Esterhase a discernible response…an expression of shrewd familiarity, as if Toby was trying to indicate that he too had read the file, whatever file it was, and entirely shared Smiley's conclusions."

"“I'm surprised they didn't throw you out with the rest of us,” Smiley said, not very pleasantly. “You had all the qualifications: good at your work, loyal, discreet.”"

"From the outset of this meeting Smiley had assumed for the main a Buddha-like inscrutability…His hooded eyes had closed behind the thick lenses. His only fidget was to polish his glasses on the silk lining of his tie, and when he did this his eyes had a soaked, naked look which was embarrassing to those who caught him at it."

"Unlike Jim Prideaux, Mr. George Smiley was not naturally equipped for hurrying in the rain. Indeed, he might have been the final form for which Bill Roach was the prototype. Small, podgy and at best middle-aged, he was by appearance one of London's meek who do not inherit the earth."

"Bill Roach had a feeling he could not describe that Jim lived so precariously on the world's surface that he might at any time fall off into a void; for he feared that Jim was like himself, without a natural gravity to hold him on…Roach appointed himself Jim's regent-guardian…a stand-in replacing Jim's departed friend, whoever that friend might be."

"“I'd leave that coat on if I were you, George, old boy,” said an amiable voice. “We've got a long way to go.”…Their destination was the residence of Mr. Oliver Lacon of the Cabinet Office, a senior adviser to various mixed committees and a watch-dog of intelligence affairs…Whitehall's head prefect."

"The matter of Miss Aaronson's mail was more complex. There were two envelopes on the staffroom sideboard Thursday morning after chapel, one addressed to Jim and one to Miss Aaronson…At the door, Roach looked round. Jim was standing again, leaning back to open the morning's Daily Telegraph. The sideboard was empty. Both envelopes had gone. Had Jim written to Miss Aaronson and changed his mind? Proposing marriage, perhaps? Another thought came to Bill Roach…Was he so lonely that he wrote himself letters, and stole other people's as well?"

"“Are you enjoying retirement, George?” Lacon asked, as if blurting into the ear trumpet of a deaf aunt. “You don't miss the warmth of human contact? I rather would, I think.“"

"Smiley thought: Yes, with Ricki Tarr it could have happened. With Tarr, anything could have happened…In Brixton, they used to call him accident-prone."

"At Waterloo, from a reeking phone box, Guillam telephoned a number in Mitcham, Surrey, and spoke to Inspector Mendel, formerly of Special Branch, known to both Guillam and Smiley from other lives…He was a quirkish, loping tracker of a man, sharp-faced and sharp-eyed, and Guillam had a very precise picture of him just then, leaning over his policeman's notebook with his pencil poised."

"The door opened part way, held on a chain; a body swelled into the opening. Two shrewd eyes, wet like a baby's, appraised him, noted his briefcase and his spattered shoes, flickered upward to peer past his shoulder down the drive, then once more looked him over. Finally the white face broke into a charming smile, and Miss Connie Sachs, formerly queen of research at the Circus, registered her spontaneous joy."

"Connie began her story like a fairy-tale: “Once upon a time there was a defector called Stanley, way back in sixty-three,” and she applied to it the same spurious logic, part inspiration, part intellectual opportunism, born of a wonderful mind which had never grown up."

"Patiently Smiley waited for the speck of gold, for Connie was of an age where the only thing a man could give her was time."

"“It's all neon lights and Sodom. All over the world beastly people are making our time into nothing…It was a good time, a real time. Englishmen could be proud then. Let them be proud now.” “That's not quite up to me, Connie.” “Poor loves. Trained to Empire, trained to rule the waves. All gone. All taken away. Bye-bye world. You're the last, George, you and Bill… 'If it's bad, don't come back. Promise? I'm an old leopard and I'm too old to change my spots. I want to remember you all as you were. Lovely, lovely boys.”"

"“We're losing our livelihood. Our self-respect. We've had enough.” Alleline took back the report and jammed it under his arm. “And like everyone who's had enough,” said Control, as Alleline noisily left the room, “he wants more.”"

"“You're an educated sort of swine,' Roy Bland announced… “’An artist is a bloke who can hold two fundamentally opposing views and still function’: who dreamed that one up?” “Scott Fitzgerald,” Smiley replied. “Well, Fitzgerald knew a thing or two,” Bland affirmed. “And I'm definitely functioning, George. As a good socialist I'm going for the money. As a good capitalist, I'm sticking with the revolution, because if you can't beat it, spy on it.”"

"“Control's been toiling through personal dossiers of old Circus folk heroes, sniffing out the dirt, who was pink, who was a queen. Making a study of all our failures: and for why? Because we've got a success on our hands…Get away from him, George. Death's a bore. Cut the cord, move down a few floors. Join the proles.”"

"From not far away came Phil Porteous's purr: “The source is extremely secret, Peter. It may sound to you like ordinary flight information but it isn't that at all. It's ultra, ultra sensitive.” “Ah well, in that case I'll try to keep my mouth ultra shut,” said Guillam to Porteous, and while Porteous colored, Bill Haydon gave another schoolboy grin."

"“Why's it all so hot? What sort of plant can he be when we don't believe a word he says?” Alleline seemed to be torn between giving a satisfactory but indiscreet answer, or making a fool of himself."

"'It is the business of agent runners to turn themselves into legends,' Smiley began. “They do this first to impress their agents. Later they try it out on their colleagues and in my personal experience make rare asses of themselves in consequence.”"

"Roddy Martindale had no valid claim on Smiley either professionally or socially. He worked on the fleshy side of the Foreign Office and his job consisted of lunching visiting dignitaries whom no one else would have entertained in his woodshed."