All the Old Knives by Olen Steinhauer

Published by Minotaur Books on March 10, 2015

All the Old Knives tells a compelling story. It is a simpler story than the plots found in many spy novels. The central idea is the traditional fare of spy novels -- a mole in the CIA has given information to the enemy and the reader is challenged to discover the mole's identity -- but the focus of this relatively short novel is on just two characters engaged in an intricate dance, probing each other over a quiet dinner. Having cut away the complexity of plot that often attends such stories, Olen Steinhauer is free to focus on the complexity of two primary characters, each of whom is haunted by the past.

Information received from a Gitmo prisoner in 2012 suggests that a traitor within the American embassy assisted a terrorist attack at the Vienna airport six years earlier. The improbable accusation sends Henry Pelham scurrying off to interview people who might have relevant information, including Celia Favreau, a former lover who left the CIA and is now married with children. Pelham meets her in Carmel, "a perfect place to live if you want to be someone other than you once were." Pelham is prepared to end her life, if necessary.

This sounds like a plot that's been done before but Steinhauer makes it seem fresh. The theme of betrayal is common to books about espionage but the best ones use betrayal to teach a lesson. The lesson here is that betrayal, whether by individuals or governments, will almost always come back around to bite you in the backside. Steinhauer illustrates that lesson in a story that is tight, tense, and convincing. All the Old Knives doesn't have the breadth of the best spy fiction and the ending is a bit weak, but it is nevertheless a worthy read.

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Last Days of the Condor by James Grady

Published by Forge Books on February 17, 2015

James Grady introduced the Condor in 1974. The Condor should be enjoying a quiet retirement but life as a thriller hero isn't that simple.

Homeland Security is keeping an eye on Vin, the heavily medicated man formerly known as Condor, a CIA agent put to pasture with a variety of stress-related mental health diagnoses. Although Vin's keepers see him as a "crazy old burnout," Vin correctly suspects that he's being followed by people who are not known to his keepers. One of the two agents tasked with checking up on Vin, Faye Dozier, believes his concerns have merit. The other doesn't give a hoot (although he uses a more colorful word than hoot).

Vin finds himself the object of a rather ingenious plot that plays out during the last three-quarters of the novel. The ultimate mystery -- who is trying to kill Condor? -- is brilliantly and chillingly resolved. Chilling, because what Grady imagines could well be real or could soon become the new reality of "homeland security."

Grady writes in an urgent style that wastes no words, yet his characterizations are surprisingly complete. Condor is the central character but Faye is equally important. She carries physical and emotional scars from an incident in which she messed up (which is why she's assigned to low level surveillance of has-been terrorists and crazy old burnouts). As you might expect of a spy, she has trust issues, but her impermissible involvement with a Congressional lawyer is helping her cope with them. Or not.

Last Days of the Condor is crafted with the assurance of a veteran writer who is at home with his characters and with the changing world. Grady plays with technology and data in ways that are mind-boggling. Apart from being an excellent action novel with a strong plot, Last Days of the Condor is smart, sophisticated, appropriately cynical, and utterly convincing. Last Days doesn't quite have the depth of the very best espionage novels but it works perfectly as a fast-moving thriller that is spiced with tradecraft. It provides an intelligent view of the intelligence game that is thoroughly entertaining.

RECOMMENDED

The November Man by Bill Granger

First published in 1986; published digitally by Grand Central Publishing on July 29, 2014

A good spy novel should have intrigue and suspense and characters who wrestle with internal conflicts. It should recognize the moral ambiguity inherent in espionage. Most importantly, it should hold a reader's rapt attention from the first scene to the last. The November Man does all that. First published in 1986 and the first in a series, a digital edition of The November Man is being re-released to coincide with the release of a movie of the same name.

Alexa, a KGB assassin, has been ordered to kill the agent known as November despite his offer to defect to the Soviet Union. November, whose real name is Devereaux, thinks he is safe because he left the trade, erased himself from the world, and is living a nondescript life in Switzerland with the woman he loves and a boy he rescued. Whether Devereaux will be forced to return to the trade, and what that will mean to his relationship with Rita, is a question that alternately torments and intrigues him.

Hanley, director of operations for the Section that employed November, has apparently suffered a breakdown. Contrary to regulations, Hanley has been calling November over unsecured lines, babbling about "Nutcracker" and saying "there are no spies" over and over. Hanley's meaning is unclear (even to November), but Hanley's boss eavesdrops, pronounces Hanley a threat to national security, and sends him to an institution for wayward government employees where heavy medication and electric fences assure his docile silence. Hanley's loyal colleague, Lydia Neumann, seems to be the only person who takes his side.

Who is November and why do so many people want him dead? How do the Russians know so much about him? Has he been betrayed by his former employer? For the first half of the novel, all we know with certainty is that November used to be a spy, one of the last of a vanishing breed. The novel introduces us to several others in and on the periphery of the spy game, all of whom are strong characters.

A part (but only a part) of "there are no spies" refers to the replacement of human operatives with signals intelligence, satellite surveillance, and other forms of spying that do not involve sending humans into the field. One of the novel's themes is the argument that humans interacting with humans can learn critical information that satellites cannot, and can give meaning and context to electronically gathered information that would otherwise be lost.

The spare elegance of Granger's prose and the emotional truth he gives to his characters makes The November Man stand out in the world of espionage fiction. If the plot is not as twisty and complex as some other spy novels might produce, it has the virtue of being tight, credible, and meaningful.

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The Ipcress File by Len Deighton

First published in 1962

The nameless hero of Len Deighton's early novels (known in the movie versions as Harry Palmer, The Ipcress File alludes only to the name Harry) is constantly fretting about his expense account and quarreling over back pay. He's a spy who doesn't appreciate being treated as a civil servant. His irreverent attitude pervades the early novels, which have a much lighter tone than Deighton's later, more substantial work.

Although The Ipcress File (1962) is the first of the Harry novels, it seems less dated than Billion Dollar Brain (1966). Harry is diverted from his current project -- tracking the elusive Jay -- to visit an atoll with other members of the British and American intelligence communities. Harry is blamed for an act of sabotage, accused of being a Hungarian double agent, imprisoned and tortured, all the while wondering about the identity of the real traitor, the person who set him up. Of course, the intricate (if convoluted) plot eventually works its way back to the evil Jay, adding more problems to Harry's beleaguered life.

To call the brainwashing scheme that underlies the plot of The Ipcress File farfetched would be to understate, but the novel is enjoyable despite the demand it makes on the reader to suspend disbelief. Had the tone been less tongue-in-cheek, the unlikely scheme would have been a more serious flaw, but the plot isn't meant to be taken seriously. The Ipcress File is a fun, energetic blend of intellect and action. The characters are the kind of well-educated Brits who can quote Milton from memory. Dialog is snappy and Harry has a dry, understated sense of humor that makes him a pleasure to know. Taken in the right spirit, The Ipcress File is a successful, if not particularly memorable, spy novel. Readers looking for serious spy novels by a talented author in his prime should investigate Deighton's Bernard Samson books.

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Prague Fatale by Philip Kerr

First published in the UK in 2011; published in the US in hardcover by Marian Wood/Putnam in 2012 and in paperback by Penguin in 2013

Noir is dark by definition, but Bernie Gunther is at his gloomiest in Prague Fatale. He's coping with the ugly events that marked him in earlier novels. It is 1941 and Bernie is back in Berlin. After harrowing experiences in Belorussia, feeling that he is merely "a blur" of the man he once was, Bernie entertains thoughts of suicide. When he looks at the mangled body of a man hit by a train, he sees himself. He is inspired to live only by the knowledge that so many Jews with so much less have soldiered on.

The mangled body is that of Geert Vranken, who came to Germany from Holland in search of employment. That his death was neither an accident nor suicide is clear from the multiple stab wounds that cover his torso. Bernie makes little progress in the death investigation until he saves a beautiful woman named Arianne Tauber from a mugging. Arianne eventually tells Bernie an intriguing story about an envelope she was hired to deliver that has now gone missing. The information causes Bernie to investigate the death of a Czech spy before he is summoned to Prague by General Heydrich, in whose pocket Bernie unwillingly resides. At that point Prague Fatale turns into a locked room murder mystery, giving Bernie a chance to exercise his considerable detective skills.

Because Prague Fatale is a murder mystery linked with a spy mystery, the plot is even more intricate than is common in the Bernie Gunther novels. The mystery's resolution isn't entirely unexpected but the setup is clever. A plot twist at the end is too often foreshadowed to be truly surprising, but it is nonetheless satisfying. A final twist seemed to be tacked on as an afterthought. The Nazi intolerance of (and hypocrisy toward) homosexuality is one of the novel's better themes, given that gay men are among the forgotten victims of Nazi tyranny.

By now, Bernie Gunther fans are so used to the character that his understandably bitter complaints about his life are taking on a broken record quality. He gives voice to his fears of what the Nazis are doing to him, and to Germany, so often that it becomes a numbing mantra. Prague Fatale would have been a tighter novel without the frequent repetition of Bernie's angst. Still, that's a relatively minor quibble. Bernie Gunther is who he is (as he often tells us), and that's what makes these novels so absorbing.

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