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Spycatcher - Wright, Peter; Greengrass, Paul
book is out-of-stock
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Wright, Peter; Greengrass, Paul:
Spycatcher - Paperback

1988, ISBN: 9780440201328

ID: 199579354

New York, NY, U.S.A.: Pageant Books, 1988. Mass Market Paperback. Very Good. New York, NY, U.S.A.: Pageant Books, 1988. Very Good. New York, NY, U.S.A.: Pageant Books, 1988. Very Good. A nation divided, turns on itsself with brutal, primitive cruelty, unleashing the ghastly mutations of blistering chemical warfare that leaves a desolate wasteland where the United States once flourished. Menaced by roaming bands of scavengers, alone and lonely on a remote West Virginia farm, Nina and her aunt battle to carve a marginal existence from the ashes of an annihilated civilization. Suddenly Neena's missing uncle arrives out of the north, shattering their uneasy peace with his haunting memories, his worldly ways and violent passions. Against her will, the woman-child, Neena, is forced to choose her destiny in the shape of two men. One, handsome and vital, teaches her hatred and fear; the other, horribly transformed by the chemical change, lays bare the it intricacies of the human heart . Will Neena bow to the demands of kin in blood, or brave the gentle path, sowing fresh seeds of hope in a savage future No one can second-guess? ISBN 0-517-00643-x <br/><br/>moved <br/><br/>, Pageant Books, 1988, New York, U.S.A.: Dell Pub Co, 1988. Mass Market Paperback. Good/No Jacket as Issued. New York, U.S.A.: Dell Pub Co, 1988. Good/No Jacket as Issued. New York, U.S.A.: Dell Pub Co, 1988. Good/No Jacket as Issued. Prologue FOR YEARS I HAD WONDERED WHAT THE LAST DAY WOULD BE LIKE. In January 1976 after two decades in the top echelons of the British Security Service, M15, it was time to rejoin the real world. I emerged for the final time from Euston Road tube station. The winter sun shone brightly as I made my way down Gower Street toward Trafalgar Square. Fifty yards on I turned into the unmarked entrance to an anonymous office block. Tucked be­tween an art college and a hospital stood the unlikely headquar­ters of British Counterespionage. I showed my pass to the policeman standing discreetly in the reception alcove and took one of the specially programmed lifts which carry senior officers to the sixth-floor inner sanctum. I walked silently down the corridor to my room next to the Direc­tor-General's suite. The offices were quiet. Far below I could hear the rumble of tube trains carrying commuters to the West End. I unlocked my door. In front of me stood the essential tools of the intelligence officer's trade-a desk, two telephones, one scrambled for outside calls, and to one side a large green metal safe with an oversized combination lock on the front. I hung up my coat and began mechanically to arrange my affairs. Having seen too many retired officers at cocktail parties loitering for scraps of news and gossip, I wanted to make a clean break. I was determined to make a new life for myself breeding horses out in Australia. I turned the dials on the locks and swung open the heavy safe door. In front was a mass of Registry files stamped Top Secret, and behind them a neat stack of small combination boxes. Files: over the years I had drawn thousands. Now these were the last. Routine agent reports circulated routinely to me, the latest re­ports of the Computer Working Party, the latest analyses of Pro­visional IRA strength. Files always need answers. I had none to give. The Russian Diplomat's file had been sent to me by a younger officer. Did I recognize him? Not really. It was a double­agent case which had been running off and on for years. Did I have any ideas? Not really. When you join the Service each case looks different. When you leave they all seem the same. I care­fully initialed off the files and arranged for my secretary to take them to the Registry. After lunch I set to work on the combination boxes, pulling them out from the back of the safe one by one. The first con­tained technical details of microphones and radio receivers-rem­nants of my time in the 1950s as MI5's first scientific officer. I arranged for the contents to be sent over to the Technical De­partment. An hour later the head of the Department came over to thank me. He was very much the modem government scien­tist: neat, cautious, and constantly in search of money. "They were just odd things I kept," I said. "I don't suppose you'll have much use for them. It'~ all satellites now, isn't it?" "Oh no," he replied. "I'll enjoy reading them." He looked a little embarrassed. He and I had never really got on. We came from different worlds. I was a glue, sticks, and rubber-band impro­viser from the war; he was a defense contractor. We shook hands and I went back to sorting out my safe. The remaining boxes held papers gathered after I joined the Counterespionage Department in 1964, when the search for spies in British Intelligence was at its most intense. The handwritten notes and typed aides-memoire were packed with the universal currency of spying-lists of suspects and details of accusations, betrayals, and verdicts. Here, in the endless paper chase which began so clearly but ended in mystery, lay the threads of my career. Eventually my secretary came in and handed me two blue books. "Your diaries," she said, and together we shredded them lnto the burn bag beside my desk until it was time for the final ritual. ISBN 0-440-20132-2 12mo - over 6¾" - 7¾" tall. <br/><br/> <br/><br/>, Dell Pub Co, 1988

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Spycatcher - Wright, Peter; Greengrass, Paul
book is out-of-stock
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Wright, Peter; Greengrass, Paul:
Spycatcher - Paperback

1993, ISBN: 9780440201328

ID: 199574812

New York, NY, U.S.A.: Bantam Books, 1993. Mass Market Paperback. Very Good/No Jacket as Issued. New York, NY, U.S.A.: Bantam Books, 1993. Very Good/No Jacket as Issued. CLIO HIRSH As a child, she always felt overshadowed hy her more glamorous cousin, Grace. Now, desperate for a life for removed from her aristocratic cousin, this clever, rebellious young woman will choose a bohemian life in literary London. But when a ' passionate love ends in the worst sort of betrayal. it's Grace who willopen new doors .... LADY GRACE STRETTON- The pampered daughter of an earl, she discovered her fatal power over men . at a render age. But,a torrid affair will change the course of her life forever, leading her to tragedy, unexpected opportunity, and one final chance to make amends to the woman she loves-sand hatesmore than any other. Sweeping from the halls of Oxford to the Houses of Parliament, from the decadent cabarets of pre-war Berlin through the horror of Hitler's Third Reich. All My Sins Remembered is Rosie Thomas's masterpiece: a deeply affecting story rich wirh the hopes and dreams that make women sisters under the skin-and the jealousieand secrets that can tear them a art. ISBN 0-553-56368-8 <br/><br/>04-03-16, Bantam Books, 1993, New York, U.S.A.: Dell Pub Co, 1988. Mass Market Paperback. Good/No Jacket as Issued. New York, U.S.A.: Dell Pub Co, 1988. Good/No Jacket as Issued. New York, U.S.A.: Dell Pub Co, 1988. Good/No Jacket as Issued. Prologue FOR YEARS I HAD WONDERED WHAT THE LAST DAY WOULD BE LIKE. In January 1976 after two decades in the top echelons of the British Security Service, M15, it was time to rejoin the real world. I emerged for the final time from Euston Road tube station. The winter sun shone brightly as I made my way down Gower Street toward Trafalgar Square. Fifty yards on I turned into the unmarked entrance to an anonymous office block. Tucked be­tween an art college and a hospital stood the unlikely headquar­ters of British Counterespionage. I showed my pass to the policeman standing discreetly in the reception alcove and took one of the specially programmed lifts which carry senior officers to the sixth-floor inner sanctum. I walked silently down the corridor to my room next to the Direc­tor-General's suite. The offices were quiet. Far below I could hear the rumble of tube trains carrying commuters to the West End. I unlocked my door. In front of me stood the essential tools of the intelligence officer's trade-a desk, two telephones, one scrambled for outside calls, and to one side a large green metal safe with an oversized combination lock on the front. I hung up my coat and began mechanically to arrange my affairs. Having seen too many retired officers at cocktail parties loitering for scraps of news and gossip, I wanted to make a clean break. I was determined to make a new life for myself breeding horses out in Australia. I turned the dials on the locks and swung open the heavy safe door. In front was a mass of Registry files stamped Top Secret, and behind them a neat stack of small combination boxes. Files: over the years I had drawn thousands. Now these were the last. Routine agent reports circulated routinely to me, the latest re­ports of the Computer Working Party, the latest analyses of Pro­visional IRA strength. Files always need answers. I had none to give. The Russian Diplomat's file had been sent to me by a younger officer. Did I recognize him? Not really. It was a double­agent case which had been running off and on for years. Did I have any ideas? Not really. When you join the Service each case looks different. When you leave they all seem the same. I care­fully initialed off the files and arranged for my secretary to take them to the Registry. After lunch I set to work on the combination boxes, pulling them out from the back of the safe one by one. The first con­tained technical details of microphones and radio receivers-rem­nants of my time in the 1950s as MI5's first scientific officer. I arranged for the contents to be sent over to the Technical De­partment. An hour later the head of the Department came over to thank me. He was very much the modem government scien­tist: neat, cautious, and constantly in search of money. "They were just odd things I kept," I said. "I don't suppose you'll have much use for them. It'~ all satellites now, isn't it?" "Oh no," he replied. "I'll enjoy reading them." He looked a little embarrassed. He and I had never really got on. We came from different worlds. I was a glue, sticks, and rubber-band impro­viser from the war; he was a defense contractor. We shook hands and I went back to sorting out my safe. The remaining boxes held papers gathered after I joined the Counterespionage Department in 1964, when the search for spies in British Intelligence was at its most intense. The handwritten notes and typed aides-memoire were packed with the universal currency of spying-lists of suspects and details of accusations, betrayals, and verdicts. Here, in the endless paper chase which began so clearly but ended in mystery, lay the threads of my career. Eventually my secretary came in and handed me two blue books. "Your diaries," she said, and together we shredded them lnto the burn bag beside my desk until it was time for the final ritual. ISBN 0-440-20132-2 12mo - over 6¾" - 7¾" tall. <br/><br/> <br/><br/>, Dell Pub Co, 1988

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D and C Books, D and C Books
Shipping costs: EUR 28.34
Details...
(*) Book out-of-stock means that the book is currently not available at any of the associated platforms we search.
Spycatcher - Wright, Peter; Greengrass, Paul
book is out-of-stock
(*)
Wright, Peter; Greengrass, Paul:
Spycatcher - Paperback

1988, ISBN: 9780440201328

ID: 17462902

New York: Vintage Books/Randopm House, 1979. Later PB Printing, number line ends in 4. Telephone number written on half-title page, Edges of wraps are lightly curled and rubbed, else about Very Good Condition, in wraps. 347 pages, index, illustrated with photos by David W. Dunlap. "...brings New York to vivid life...excellent street maps and original photos...indispensable for everyone who wants to know the city.". Trade Paperback. Very Good. Illus. by David W. Dunlap. 8vo - over 7¾" - 9¾" tall., Vintage Books/Randopm House, 1979, New York, U.S.A.: Dell Pub Co, 1988. Mass Market Paperback. Good/No Jacket as Issued. New York, U.S.A.: Dell Pub Co, 1988. Good/No Jacket as Issued. New York, U.S.A.: Dell Pub Co, 1988. Good/No Jacket as Issued. Prologue FOR YEARS I HAD WONDERED WHAT THE LAST DAY WOULD BE LIKE. In January 1976 after two decades in the top echelons of the British Security Service, M15, it was time to rejoin the real world. I emerged for the final time from Euston Road tube station. The winter sun shone brightly as I made my way down Gower Street toward Trafalgar Square. Fifty yards on I turned into the unmarked entrance to an anonymous office block. Tucked be­tween an art college and a hospital stood the unlikely headquar­ters of British Counterespionage. I showed my pass to the policeman standing discreetly in the reception alcove and took one of the specially programmed lifts which carry senior officers to the sixth-floor inner sanctum. I walked silently down the corridor to my room next to the Direc­tor-General's suite. The offices were quiet. Far below I could hear the rumble of tube trains carrying commuters to the West End. I unlocked my door. In front of me stood the essential tools of the intelligence officer's trade-a desk, two telephones, one scrambled for outside calls, and to one side a large green metal safe with an oversized combination lock on the front. I hung up my coat and began mechanically to arrange my affairs. Having seen too many retired officers at cocktail parties loitering for scraps of news and gossip, I wanted to make a clean break. I was determined to make a new life for myself breeding horses out in Australia. I turned the dials on the locks and swung open the heavy safe door. In front was a mass of Registry files stamped Top Secret, and behind them a neat stack of small combination boxes. Files: over the years I had drawn thousands. Now these were the last. Routine agent reports circulated routinely to me, the latest re­ports of the Computer Working Party, the latest analyses of Pro­visional IRA strength. Files always need answers. I had none to give. The Russian Diplomat's file had been sent to me by a younger officer. Did I recognize him? Not really. It was a double­agent case which had been running off and on for years. Did I have any ideas? Not really. When you join the Service each case looks different. When you leave they all seem the same. I care­fully initialed off the files and arranged for my secretary to take them to the Registry. After lunch I set to work on the combination boxes, pulling them out from the back of the safe one by one. The first con­tained technical details of microphones and radio receivers-rem­nants of my time in the 1950s as MI5's first scientific officer. I arranged for the contents to be sent over to the Technical De­partment. An hour later the head of the Department came over to thank me. He was very much the modem government scien­tist: neat, cautious, and constantly in search of money. "They were just odd things I kept," I said. "I don't suppose you'll have much use for them. It'~ all satellites now, isn't it?" "Oh no," he replied. "I'll enjoy reading them." He looked a little embarrassed. He and I had never really got on. We came from different worlds. I was a glue, sticks, and rubber-band impro­viser from the war; he was a defense contractor. We shook hands and I went back to sorting out my safe. The remaining boxes held papers gathered after I joined the Counterespionage Department in 1964, when the search for spies in British Intelligence was at its most intense. The handwritten notes and typed aides-memoire were packed with the universal currency of spying-lists of suspects and details of accusations, betrayals, and verdicts. Here, in the endless paper chase which began so clearly but ended in mystery, lay the threads of my career. Eventually my secretary came in and handed me two blue books. "Your diaries," she said, and together we shredded them lnto the burn bag beside my desk until it was time for the final ritual. ISBN 0-440-20132-2 12mo - over 6¾" - 7¾" tall. <br/><br/> <br/><br/>, Dell Pub Co, 1988

Used Book Biblio.com
Prosper Poorman, Bookseller, D and C Books
Shipping costs: EUR 27.44
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Spycatcher - Wright, Peter; Greengrass, Paul
book is out-of-stock
(*)
Wright, Peter; Greengrass, Paul:
Spycatcher - Paperback

1988, ISBN: 9780440201328

ID: 199580277

New York, U.S.A.: Dell Pub Co, 1988. Mass Market Paperback. Good/No Jacket as Issued. New York, U.S.A.: Dell Pub Co, 1988. Good/No Jacket as Issued. New York, U.S.A.: Dell Pub Co, 1988. Good/No Jacket as Issued. Prologue FOR YEARS I HAD WONDERED WHAT THE LAST DAY WOULD BE LIKE. In January 1976 after two decades in the top echelons of the British Security Service, M15, it was time to rejoin the real world. I emerged for the final time from Euston Road tube station. The winter sun shone brightly as I made my way down Gower Street toward Trafalgar Square. Fifty yards on I turned into the unmarked entrance to an anonymous office block. Tucked be­tween an art college and a hospital stood the unlikely headquar­ters of British Counterespionage. I showed my pass to the policeman standing discreetly in the reception alcove and took one of the specially programmed lifts which carry senior officers to the sixth-floor inner sanctum. I walked silently down the corridor to my room next to the Direc­tor-General's suite. The offices were quiet. Far below I could hear the rumble of tube trains carrying commuters to the West End. I unlocked my door. In front of me stood the essential tools of the intelligence officer's trade-a desk, two telephones, one scrambled for outside calls, and to one side a large green metal safe with an oversized combination lock on the front. I hung up my coat and began mechanically to arrange my affairs. Having seen too many retired officers at cocktail parties loitering for scraps of news and gossip, I wanted to make a clean break. I was determined to make a new life for myself breeding horses out in Australia. I turned the dials on the locks and swung open the heavy safe door. In front was a mass of Registry files stamped Top Secret, and behind them a neat stack of small combination boxes. Files: over the years I had drawn thousands. Now these were the last. Routine agent reports circulated routinely to me, the latest re­ports of the Computer Working Party, the latest analyses of Pro­visional IRA strength. Files always need answers. I had none to give. The Russian Diplomat's file had been sent to me by a younger officer. Did I recognize him? Not really. It was a double­agent case which had been running off and on for years. Did I have any ideas? Not really. When you join the Service each case looks different. When you leave they all seem the same. I care­fully initialed off the files and arranged for my secretary to take them to the Registry. After lunch I set to work on the combination boxes, pulling them out from the back of the safe one by one. The first con­tained technical details of microphones and radio receivers-rem­nants of my time in the 1950s as MI5's first scientific officer. I arranged for the contents to be sent over to the Technical De­partment. An hour later the head of the Department came over to thank me. He was very much the modem government scien­tist: neat, cautious, and constantly in search of money. "They were just odd things I kept," I said. "I don't suppose you'll have much use for them. It'~ all satellites now, isn't it?" "Oh no," he replied. "I'll enjoy reading them." He looked a little embarrassed. He and I had never really got on. We came from different worlds. I was a glue, sticks, and rubber-band impro­viser from the war; he was a defense contractor. We shook hands and I went back to sorting out my safe. The remaining boxes held papers gathered after I joined the Counterespionage Department in 1964, when the search for spies in British Intelligence was at its most intense. The handwritten notes and typed aides-memoire were packed with the universal currency of spying-lists of suspects and details of accusations, betrayals, and verdicts. Here, in the endless paper chase which began so clearly but ended in mystery, lay the threads of my career. Eventually my secretary came in and handed me two blue books. "Your diaries," she said, and together we shredded them lnto the burn bag beside my desk until it was time for the final ritual. ISBN 0-440-20132-2 12mo - over 6¾" - 7¾" tall. <br/><br/> <br/><br/>, Dell Pub Co, 1988

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D and C Books
Shipping costs: EUR 27.03
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Spy Catcher: The Candid Autobiography of a Senior Intelligence Officer - Wright, Peter
book is out-of-stock
(*)
Wright, Peter:
Spy Catcher: The Candid Autobiography of a Senior Intelligence Officer - Paperback

1988, ISBN: 9780440201328

ID: 565756925

Dell Publishing. Used; Acceptable. Standard used condition with creased spine and other minor flaws; bookstore stock; not individually described. Not ex-library, no writing or highlighting, may have owner's names or marks on endpages (per bookstore trade policy). Please email for an exact description. . 1988. MASS MARKET PAPERBACK., Dell Publishing, 1988

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Details of the book
SpyCatcher: The Candid Autobiography of a Senior Intelligence Officer
Author:

Peter Wright, Paul Greengrass

Title:

SpyCatcher: The Candid Autobiography of a Senior Intelligence Officer

ISBN:

Details of the book - SpyCatcher: The Candid Autobiography of a Senior Intelligence Officer


EAN (ISBN-13): 9780440201328
ISBN (ISBN-10): 0440201322
Hardcover
Paperback
Publishing year: 1988
Publisher: Dell Publishing Company

Book in our database since 13.06.2007 09:34:46
Book found last time on 19.05.2017 08:51:42
ISBN/EAN: 0440201322

ISBN - alternate spelling:
0-440-20132-2, 978-0-440-20132-8


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