![]() ![]() But Follett immediately declares his independence from cliches: by luring us over to The Needle's point of view, forcing us to admire his ingenuity (even as he murders a harmless landlady and then his own confederate) by making three-dimensional fellows of the British intelligence men who must catch The Needle before he makes contact with a German submarine and by dropping in the apparently extraneous story of a young, unhappy man and wife who've been living on an empty North Sea island ever since the husband lost his legs in a honeymoon car accident. The familiar D-Day gimmick: only one man can ruin the secrecy of the Normandy landing-a top German undercover agent known as "The Needle" because of his deadly stiletto. ![]() But Ken Follett is here with that particularly British tone of controlled, leisurely tension-you'll feel it on the very first page-that can transform a not-very-original spy plot into a sly gavotte that has you holding your breath as the dancers slowly come together. Not even John le Carre or Geoffrey Household. ![]()
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