Library Limelights 156

Robert K. Tanenbaum. Trap. New York: Gallery Books, 2015.

An old friend ... with, sadly, few moments of his previously enjoyed depth of characters and plot. New York DA Butch Karp faces the death of a friend in a fatal car bombing; corruption among civic and union officials is the major contributing element. Two disaffected young men are involved, but there's no mystery about who did what. The ugliness of racism runs freely through the story; Tanenbaum is actually giving an extended Holocaust history lecture. His own two sons are preparing for bar mitzvah as they become entangled with a kidnapper. His wife Marlene shoots to kill. But those are their very limited appearances, unlike earlier Karp-family-centred books.

Karp prosecutes a killer and nails the corrupt bad guys all in one trial. One questions why he didn't recuse himself, what with his family's involvement and witnesses accusing him of corruption. What's irritating and tiring is the repetitive straying from a brief beginning on the current day into descriptions of what happened yesterday. Or last week. Or last month. The trial itself particularly meanders back and forth, past and present, in this vein until one wonders why a more straightforward narrative was avoided, why so much avoidance of "real time." No surprises here at all ... disappointing from a bestselling author.

One-liners:

"You're free to go back and report that you followed her here and did your job." (81)

He was going to get his revenge and then he'd be on his way to the Promised Land. (150)

"I was about ready to tar, feather, and ride myself out of town on a rail." (168)

Two-liners:

"I've already killed three guys today and they were my friends. Shooting you will be even easier." (151-2)

"Karp hates unions. Unions hate Karp." (197)

Teachers union dispute:

"Everybody can't go to charter schools, Rose," he said quietly. "If this bill goes through, it will hurt all those kids who attend public schools."
Looking at her former protégé Lubinsky shook her head. "So keep the status quo, Micah? The system you had to fight and claw your way out of?" She tilted her head and smiled tightly. "So that fat cats like this man you've allied yourself with can live the good life while public schools swirl down the drain, taking all those kids with them? We offer a chance for the kids to capture the dream and, yes, hope, Micah, and the possibility of change. I can't believe I'm hearing this from you of all people." (18)

Paying the piper:

Gallo turned toward Monroe. "Did you do this?" he asked, his throat suddenly bone dry and his voice coming out as a croak.
Monroe sat back in his seat and laced his fingers together behind his head as he studied Gallo. Then he shook his head. "Fuck no," he said. "It was probably those Nazi assholes. They didn't like her 'cause she was a Jew. Hope they all fry in hell."
"I got to go," Gallo said, grabbing his coat off the back of the chair.
"Yeah, sure," Monroe said. "This is upsetting news. But Micah ..."
"What?"
"Who butters your bread?"
"You do. Tommy."
"Attaboy, you just remember that and you'll be fine." (84)

Protestors:

"And why would using the term 'skinhead' be inaccurate?" Karp asked.
"Well, the so-called 'skinhead movement,' or group, started in England as a working class youth subculture comprised of whites and blacks," Fulton explained. "They were identifiable by some of their dress, such as Doc Martens boots, as well as shaving their scalps, thus the term 'skinheads.' However it wasn't until this subculture arrived in the United States that it took an offshoot lean toward white supremacist ideology. They've kept the clothing and the bald heads, but 'real' skinheads both here and in England actually resent the racism and fascist ideology. The two groups will even clash if they encounter one another."
"So even though the media might refer to that group demonstrating across the street from Il Buon Pane as 'skinheads,' it is more accurate to identify them as Nazis and racists?"
"That's correct." (181)

Mick Herron. Dead Lions. USA: Soho Press, Inc., 2013.

Can't get enough of this author and his stable of eccentric slow horses! The Slough House ("MI5 satellite office for outcast and demoted spies") series goes like this: Slow Horses; Dead Lions; Real Tigers; Spook Street; and soon ... London Rules. Jackson Lamb's slovenly outward appearance hides a rude and devious mind, especially in dealing with his subordinates. Louisa and Min get to oversee the visit of a Russian oil oligarch; Catherine, personal assistant to Lamb, dictates internet searches to a reluctant Roddy Ho; River Cartwright tries to live up to his grandfather's excellent espionage record; Shirley and Marcus feel left out. But they are all, in one way or another, following the trail to the source of MI5 low-level agent Dickie Bow's suspicious death.

It's the craziest mashup of teamwork, from London's sky-high Needle tower to a sleepy village in the Cotswolds. Lamb himself uncovers the code word cicada, an insect that buries itself for long periods and then emerges to sing. He's been in the service long enough to know where some Cold War bodies are buried and whom he can blackmail to get certain results. Bureaucratic politics at MI5 are almost as lethal as secret Russian agents planning terrorist attacks. Oddly assembled but with touchingly intimate moments, the Slough House cohort operate a bit as if Basil Fawlty were running a detective agency. But never doubt that Herron has a fast-moving, intricate spy story as well as being deliciously entertaining. Long may he write!

One-liners:

"Dickie Bow might have been just the grit of sand on the tracks to throw the locomotive." (72)

The building opposite used to be a pub, and maybe hoped to be a pub again one day, but for the time being was making do as an eyesore. (78)

"You can take the man out of Russia," Lamb observed, "but he'll still reckon he's some kind of tragic fucking poet." (107)

Everyone was friendly and nobody had tried to set fire to him yet. (202)

Two-liners:

When lions yawn, it doesn't mean they're tired. It means they're waking up. (37)

Lamb looked at him, chewing. He kept chewing so long it became sarcastic. (137)

"Like any other branch of the Civil Service, all the work's done low on the food chain. Everyone else just has meetings." (326)

The daily grind:

It was Marcus who made the first move, and this was a single word: "So."
It was late morning. London weather was undergoing a schizoid attack: sudden shafts of sunlight, highlighting the grimy windows; sudden flurries of rain, failing to do much to clean it.
"So what?"
So here we are."
Shirley Dander was waiting for her computer to reboot. Again. It was running face-recognition software, comparing glimpses snatched from CCTV coverage at troop-withdrawal rallies with photofit images of suspected jihadists; that is, jihadists suspected of existing; jihadists who had code names and everything, but night have been rumoured into being by inept Intelligence work. While the program was two years out-of-date it wasn't as out of date as her PC, which resented the demands placed upon it, and had made this known three times so far this morning. (17)

Lamb holds a meeting:

Lamb said, "I've forgotten your name."
"Longridge," said Marcus.
"I don't want to know. I was making a point." Lamb plucked a stained mug from the litter on his desk, and threw it at Catherine. River caught it before it reached her head. Lamb said, "Well, I'm glad we had this chat. Now fuck off. Cartwright, give that to Standish. Standish, fill it with tea. And you, I've forgotten your name again, go next door and get my lunch. Tell Sam I want my usual Tuesday."
"It's Monday."
"I know it's Monday. If I wanted my usual Monday, I wouldn't have to specify, would I?" He blinked. "Still here?" (61-2)

Once a spook ...:

The Russian opened a drawer and found cigarette papers and a packet of tobacco, embossed with rich brown curly writing. Rolling a prisoner's pinch into a thin smoke, he asked Lamb, "You here to kill me?"
"I hadn't given it any thought," Lamb said. "You deserve killing?"
Katinsky considered. "Lately, not so much," he said at last. Then, "There's a shop on Brewer Street. You can get Russian tobacco there. Polish chewing gum. Lithuanian snuff." He scratched a match, and held the flame to his tightly-rolled cylinder, starting a small fire he swiftly sucked out of existence. "At any given moment, half its customers used to be spooks. You've been described to me on many occasions." Match extinguished, he replaced it in the box. "So, what do you want with me, Jackson Lamb?"
"Little chat about old times, Nicky."
"There are no old times. Don't you keep up? Memory Lane's been paved over. They built a shopping mall on it." (106-7)

Michael Dobbs. The Edge of Madness. 2008. Large Print, UK: ISIS Publishing, 2009.

Madness it is, and so prognostic. Cyber warfare may replace military strength and nuclear threats. All it takes is a hacker or two fiddling with essential services controlled by computer technology ― government communications, hydro dams, medical administration, food delivery, the building and release of weapons, whatever. In Dobbs' scenario, the leaders of Great Britain, Russia, and the USA hold a very secret meeting to combat the global confusion being wreaked by China. Plus one chosen loyal assistant each, they gather in a Scottish castle to find common ground for a plan of action; it's urgent that they act together.

Brit PM Mark D'Arby has Harry Jones, an MP and former soldier; Russian president Sergei Shunin has his son-in-law Lavrenti Konev; and American president Blythe Edwards has Marcus Washington, a hawkish black man. The unlikely gathering is far overshadowed by world reality around us today. And Dobbs makes the most of his characters, although the Russians and Chinese veer toward cartoon stereotypes, the latter leader having even taken the name of Mao. Harry performs like a superhuman. I note that it's the woman who hesitates in moral angst. China pushes a few buttons while the big three argue. What could possibly go wrong? Perfect movie material, one main bad guy. Dobbs has just the right touch of humour, but plenty doom's day stuff to consider here.

One-liners:

"And the Chinese have a collective memory that makes the Encyclopaedia Brittanica look like a comic strip." (94)

Sometimes the definition of civilisation seemed to have indistinct and very grubby edges. (198)

The desk engineer gasped, his thoughts overwhelmed by the sudden outpouring of alarms. (249)

"We leave here without an agreement and we're dead men walking, all of us." (267)

Two-liner:

"Russia has never been happy unless it had its neighbours by the neck. Now Mao wants to repay the compliment." (147)

The premise:

Cyber warfare. The concept was simple, the ramifications endless. The use of computers to disable, deceive, or destroy your enemy. To cause chaos in their control systems, to make them malfunction, to do things they shouldn't, to mess around and foul up your enemy so badly that they lose their will to fight. The theory was simple: anything that had a computer chip could be attacked, and nowadays everything had a computer chip ― (93-4)

It's a go:

"Bingo."
That was the agreed signal, a word opaque enough to confuse anyone trying to listen in. That was odd, too, it was as though Whitehall no longer trusted their own secure communications. He glanced down at the blotter on his desk. 'Beware of Russians bearing leaks,' he had scribbled. He sighed and scratched his balding head, more confused than ever. Damn world had grown so complicated. Difficult to know whose side you were on. How he missed the Cold War. (102-3)

Hesitation:

She shook her head, not in contradiction but in confusion. "I'm not sure I can accept that. There are rules, laws. We mustn't forget the hand of history is on our shoulders."
"Nor must we forget that Mao's hand is at our throats," Shunin added drily.
"So what are you suggesting, Papasha?" Konev asked.
"I repeat," Shunin replied, in a manner that suggested he wasn't used to repeating himself, "there is only one way to persuade Mao, and that's to get rid of him." He picked at a sliver of lobster flesh he had found attached to his thumb. "Permanently." (198)

Two old friends:

"I've always admired you, Harry ― envied you, your strength of character, your independence. So rare in the sport we play at Westminster. I should have realized you wouldn't be like the others. My mistake. A pity. For both of us."
"Are you threatening me?"
"Oh, I thought I was flattering you. But ..." D'Arby wiped the corner of his mouth, his pale blue eyes bored into Harry."Whatever it takes, Harry. Whatever it takes."
"You brought me here to watch your back. Now it seems I'll have to watch mine."
"We all dig our own graves," the Prime Minister whispered, before walking out the door. (268)