As Max Flynn discovers, the British Secret Service have a damn strange method of recruiting. In his case, press-ganging would not be too strong a term.
His assignments are, in his own estimation, no different from anyone else's – they are equally foul. But in one respect at least, his role is untypical. His task is to spy on his own side.
He's good at his job – he leaves no stone unturned, he never lets go – but agents, however good, are dispensable. Wary of the dangers of his profession, Flynn indulges a preference for wearing a jacket that's one size too big rather than a gun that's one size too small.
