Thriller Novels

"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."

"There was a short pause, illuminated by the vision of Ricki Tarr and his Moscow Centre mistress kneeling side by side in the rear pew of a Baptist church in Hong Kong."

"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."

"“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.”"

"“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.’”"

"“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.”"

"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."

"“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.”"

"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."

"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.”"

"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."

"Jim Prideaux arrived on a Friday in a rainstorm. The rain rolled like gun-smoke down the brown combes of the Quantocks, then raced across the empty cricket fields into the sandstone of the crumbling facades …Of the whole school only little Bill Roach actually saw Jim arrive, saw the steam belching from the Alvis' bonnet as it wheezed its way down the pitted drive…"

"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."

"“Before California, we have to get into trouble. Then out of it.” Marlon shrugged. “But that is what we do.” Csongor nodded. “That is what we do.”"

"This was probably rooted in a belief that had been inculcated to him from the get-go: that there was an objective reality, which all people worth talking to could observe and understand, and that there was no point in arguing about anything that could be so observed and so understood. When a thunderstorm was headed your way across the prairie, you took the washing down from the line and closed the windows. It wasn’t necessary to have a meeting about it. The sales force didn’t need to get involved."

"Richard envisioned the aged wizard wading through swamps, trudging doggedly across deserts, scaling mountain ranges, and walking through forests. Kind of like he was doing. Egdod, of course, carried a wizard’s staff, just a simple stick, no fancy carvings or jewels. Just like what Richard was carrying now. Richard found something hugely enjoyable about the fact that, at the same moment, both he and Egdod were wandering alone across their respective worlds, seeing everything close up in a way that they rarely had a chance to. Getting back in touch with the terrains from which they had sprung, autochthonously, early in their lives."

"Except for the part about his niece being held hostage and he himself being the captive of murderous jihadists, this was the best vacation Richard had had in ten years. The only vacation, in truth. … He was seriously thinking that, if he survived this, he might try to launch a new venture: a vacation services provider for wealthy, hardworking people that would work by showing up at their homes without warning and abducting them."

"James had also been playing T’Rain. Csongor was interested to note that James’s character seemed to be tromping around in an environment very similar to the Torgai Foothills. As a matter of fact, the mountain peak in the background looked awfully familiar; James’s character was within a few kilometers of Marlon’s. “You’re following us,” he said, “in two worlds at the same time.”"

"Northward from Spokane the businesses and dwellings stopped feeling like farms and began feeling like outposts. Decidedly eccentric signage began to show up: billboards inveighing against the United Nations, and hand-lettered jeremiads about the existential threat posed by the federal budget deficit. But of course Olivia just noticed those things because she was looking for them; it was mostly fast-food joints and convenience stores like anywhere else in America."

"It came to him then that he was overthinking this. This was a shoot-out. Nothing could be simpler. But he was making it too complicated by trying to use his wits to work the angles."

"“Is this a real blue-collar bar or a simulacrum thereof?” “Both. It started out as a pure simulacrum, a few years ago, when it was hip for twentysomethings to move down here and dress in Carhartts and Utilikilts. And then the economy crashed, and the hip people discovered that they were, in actual point of fact, blue collar, and probably always would be. So you’ve got guys here who run lathes. But they have colored Mohawks and college degrees, and they program the lathes in computer languages. I was trying to come up with a name for them. Cerulean-collar workers, maybe.”"

"“Welcome to the GWOJ.” “GWOJ?” “Global War on Jones.”"

"“The Troll is really smart. And fast. I’ve watched him take down a few wandering bad guys. And the kids in his posse are every bit as formidable.” “Ever make a raccoon trap?” “No,” C-plus said. “I was told they carried rabies, and I couldn’t see why it would be desirable to catch one.”"

"“You’re reading [Sokolov] all wrong,” Olivia said. They all just gazed at her, hoping she’d say more. “He’s a gentleman,” she explained, for want of any better way to put it. “Oh. Why didn’t you just say so?” said Uncle Meng."

"Jones began to draw up a shopping list. “Cooking oil…mosquito repellent…matches…cordless drill…” “Tampons,” Zula called out. “What brand?” Jones asked without skipping a beat. “Lite, Regular, Super, Ultra?” “You’ve actually had a girlfriend?” “Anything else, as long as I’m in the pink-and-pastel aisle…or can I get back to planning atrocities?” “Knock yourself out.”"

"One way to be strong was to be knowledgeable. In so many areas, it was not possible to be knowledgeable without getting a Ph.D. and doing a postdoc. Guns and hunting provided an out for men who wanted to be know-it-alls but who couldn’t afford to spend the first three decades of their lives getting up to speed on quantum mechanics or oncology."

"This was part of Corporation 9592’s strategy; they had hired psychologists, invested millions in a project to sabotage movies—yes, the entire medium of cinema—to get their customers/players/addicts into a state of mind where they simply could not focus on a two-hour-long chunk of filmed entertainment without alarm bells going off in their medullas telling them that they needed to log on to T’Rain and see what they were missing."

"“The American national security apparatus is very large and unfathomably complex,” was all that Uncle Meng would say. “It has many departments and subunits that, one supposes, would not survive a top-to-bottom overhaul. This feeds on itself as individual actors, despairing of ever being able to make sense of it all, create their own little ad hoc bits that become institutionalized as money flows toward them. Those who are good at playing the political game are drawn inward to Washington. Those who are not end up sitting in hotel lobbies in places like Manila, waiting for people like you.”"

"“I notice you’re not referring to him as ‘the little fucker’ anymore,” said Corvallis. “Okay, okay, he stopped being a little fucker when he raised an army of twelve hundred high-level characters and deployed them in battle array around his projected route of advance,” Richard admitted. “I have to admit I was wondering why he was taking so long to move away from that cave. I didn’t reckon that he was going to set the whole thing up like Sherman’s march to the sea.” “Did you notice his leapfrogging cavalry screens?” “Yes, I fucking noticed them.”"

"Uncle Richard, …This is my first damsel-in-distress letter, so I hope I am striking the right tone…"

"Since her immigration status had become impossible to make sense of, Olivia was met, at the top of the jetway, by a man in a uniform and a man in a suit. She had always read of people being “whisked through” certain formalities, but this was the first time she had ever been personally whisked and she had to admit that it had its charms. Particularly when you were hungover and bleeding."

"“Costello has been after Jones for a long time,” Olivia guessed. “He takes pride in his work, or used to. Jones got the better of him more than once…” “He is just your type,” Uncle Meng said gently. “Please do try not to fuck him.” “How come it’s okay for James Bond?”"

"Seamus had a Boston accent that could scrape the rust from a manhole cover."

"None of Seamus’ crew gave her more than a glance and a nod. They were intensely focused on their laptops: some sort of pitched battle. “Fuckers are trying to flank us on the left!” “Disengaging from the Witch King and pivoting to get your back.” …Fierce clicking and typing, punctuated by roaring, anguished laughter, as (Olivia guessed) each man’s character died in the game world. Planted around the dining area were plastic dolls: troll- or elf-like fantasy characters…Marked on the underside of each was the logo of Corporation 9592. So that answered the question she’d been afraid to ask, for fear of seeming like the stupidest person in the whole world: Are you playing T’Rain?"

"“I’m sorry I touched your doll,” Olivia said. “I had no idea how important Thorakks was to you.” Silence, as none of the men knew how to cope with her tactical use of the word “doll.” “Wow, how do you rate having a doll made of your personal character?” “It’s called an action figure.”"

"There was a common saying in the biz/tech world that “A's hire A's, and B's hire C's,” the point being that as long as you continued to recruit only the very best people, they would attract others, but as soon as you let your standards slip, the second-raters would begin to sign up third-raters to act as their minions and advance their agendas."

"Far from wanting to pull a gun and shoot the man, Csongor now wanted to stand here and ask him questions all day. It was such a pleasure to be around someone who actually knew what the hell was going on."

"Half a dozen teenagers, boys and girls, were huddled together around the remains of a campfire. As Sokolov approached, one of them rose and staggered down the beach until he felt he had gone far enough to fish out his penis and urinate without giving offense to any female members of his party who might be awake. Sokolov approved of this. He was still pissing, with the enviable vigor of the young, as Sokolov approached within hailing distance. “What is this place?” Sokolov asked him. “This is Golden Gardens Park.” “What is name of city, please?” “Seattle.” “Thanks. Have nice day.” “You too. Take it easy, man.” “Is not my objective. Nice thing to say though. Enjoy piss.”"

"The channel through which these images had reached them was extremely confusing (decryption key pulled out of a dead man’s wallet by a Hungarian in the Philippines communicating with an American in Canada, the conversation taking place on an imaginary planet), and Olivia had to intervene and explain matters. And that was just the Seattle FBI part of it."

"Olivia cast an eye over the contents of his cart, wondering whether this was totally random stuff, to perfect his Walmart shopper disguise: 5.56-millimeter cartridges, a water purification device, jerky, bug repellent, roll of black plastic sheeting, batteries, camouflage binoculars.… It turned out that Sokolov really did want to buy all that stuff. Not because he envisioned any particular use for it. He just believed in stocking up on such things, on general principles, whenever an opportunity presented itself. He would fit in well here."

"“Seamus?” He looked up. Csongor was there, and Marlon, and Yuxia, all freshly showered and looking like the Xiamen branch of the Lynyrd Skynyrd Fan Club."

"Richard understood that the spryness he had been envying Yuxia for was at least partly an act, a willed refusal to show pain. Because she didn’t want men covering for her. Because chivalry sometimes came with a price."

"Csongor noticed Marlon craning his neck to get a sidelong view of the speedometer. Glancing down, he saw that he was going ninety. “It is not kilometers per hour,” Marlon informed him. “In the metric system, you are going at something like five thousand.”"

"“It’s nothing more than a great bloody cat!”"

"In Spetsnaz, it was a fixed doctrine that you should be in continual motion and most of that movement should take place at an altitude of considerably less than a meter. Standing there like an asshole looked good in cowboy movies but was not a viable tactic in a world filled with fully automatic weapons."

"“Why do they believe that?” “Because we are hackers,” Csongor said, “and they have seen movies.”"

"He had found an image of one of the big Western-style business hotels along the waterfront: one of those places where it was possible to be a white person without attracting one’s own personal Stonehenge of cataleptic, openmouthed gapers."

"“There is nearly always a chthonic link. The object-imbued-with-numinous-power tends to be of mineral origin: gold, perhaps mined from a special vein, or a jewel of extraordinary rarity, or a sword forged from a shooting star. The vast popularity attests to the power of these motifs to seize the reader’s attention, down at the level of the reptilian brain, even as the cerebrum is getting sick.”"

"This was always the hard part. If you knew what was normal to the enemy, then everything became easy: you could lull them to sleep by feeding them normal, and you could scare the hell out of them by suddenly taking normal away. But normal to Afghans and Chechens was so different from normal to Russians that it took a bit of work for a man like Sokolov to establish what it was."