Jack of Spies

Jack of Spies

3.8 8
by David Downing

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Set on the eve of the First World War, across oceans and continents, steamliners and cross-country trains, David Downing’s complex and thrilling new espionage novel takes us all the way back to the dawn of that most fascinating of 20th century characters—the spy.

It is 1913, and those who follow the news closely can see the world is teetering on


Set on the eve of the First World War, across oceans and continents, steamliners and cross-country trains, David Downing’s complex and thrilling new espionage novel takes us all the way back to the dawn of that most fascinating of 20th century characters—the spy.

It is 1913, and those who follow the news closely can see the world is teetering on the brink of war. Jack McColl, a Scottish car salesman with an uncanny ear for languages, has always hoped to make a job for himself as a spy. As his sales calls take him from city to great city—Hong Kong to Shanghai to San Francisco to New York—he moonlights collecting intelligence for His Majesty's Secret Service, but British espionage is in its infancy and Jack has nothing but a shoestring budget and the very tenuous protection of a boss in far-away London. He knows, though, that a geopolitical catastrophe is brewing, and now is both the moment to prove himself and the moment his country needs him most.

Unfortunately, this is also the moment he begins to realize what his aspiration might cost him. He understands his life is at stake when activities in China suddenly escalate from innocent data-gathering and casual strolls along German military concessions to arrest warrants and knife attacks. Meanwhile, a sharp, vivacious American suffragette journalist has wiled her way deep into his affections, and it is not long before he realizes that her Irish-American family might be embroiled in the Irish Republican movement Jack's bosses are fighting against. How can he choose between his country and the woman he loves? And would he even be able to make such a choice without losing both?

From the Hardcover edition.

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
British author Downing’s engaging if slow-moving first in a WWI-era spy series introduces Jack McColl, a globe-trotting Scottish car salesman moonlighting as a British agent. Months before August 1914, McColl is trying to sell his company’s luxury car, the Maia, in China—and sniffing around for clues as to what the Germans and the Chinese are up to for his British government handlers back in London. He and Caitlin Hanley, a beautiful American journalist he meets in Peking, embark on a round-the-world journey that takes them to San Francisco and on to New York. Later, McColl heads to Mexico, and finally to Britain. Along the way, he survives a stabbing, falls in love, and tracks a German spy, gathering intelligence on a variety of revolutionary movements. Fans of Downing’s WWII-era spy series that concluded with Masaryk Station will appreciate the author’s command of history and period detail, though some may find the book reads more like a travelogue than a thriller. Agent: Charlie Viney, Viney Agency. (May)
Kirkus Reviews
A rookie spy gets in over his head when he's forced to choose between his assignment and the dynamic woman he's fallen for. It's 1913, and for the past few years, Scottish car dealer Jack McColl has folded small missions for the nascent British Intelligence Service into his overseas business trips. The income rarely covers more than travel expenses, but the work definitely makes his travels more interesting. Two new elements change the equation on his latest excursion from Tsingtau, China, to Shanghai to San Francisco and, ultimately, New York. Political tensions have been accelerated by the looming European war, making China far less safe, and McColl finds surprising romance with Caitlin Hanley, a vibrant young American journalist. They meet in Peking, and though McColl continues with his espionage commitments, he can't get her off his mind. When they meet again, they rekindle their affair, fueled by an ardor the time apart has triggered. But Cumming, the British naval officer who employs McColl, and Rainer von Schön, a German engineer with whom he trades information, are less than thrilled that he has Caitlin in tow. Her intrusive questions turn von Schön icy. In San Francisco, McColl is briefed by Jatish, an undercover agent who's later murdered. Could McColl himself have been the intended victim?This first installment of a proposed series by the author of the six John Russell novels (Masaryk Station, 2013, etc.) moves deliberately but colorfully, with intelligent prose and a strong period feel.
From the Publisher
Praise for Jack of Spies

A Seattle Times Best Mystery of 2014
An IndieNext Selection June 2014
A PW Top 10: Mysteries & Thrillers Pick for Spring 2014
A Library Journal Editor's Pick for Spring 2014

A Deadly Pleasures Best Book of 2014

"[Downing] is a master at bringing the past to life through the careful and often loving observation of even minor players and through the artful deployment of specific detail. In addition, Jack McColl's debut has a zest, an exoticism and a joie de vivre well-suited to an era when best sellers were being written by Zane Grey, suffragettes were demanding the vote, and opium parlors were a readily accessible temptation." 
—Tom Nolan, The Wall Street Journal

"Moves along briskly and offers interesting facts about events now a century past. It’s always entertaining."
—The Washington Post

"When his “innocent” data-gathering escalates into knife fights and arrest warrants, McColl finds himself in an advanced game of espionage he hadn’t intended on playing. I can already see Gerard Butler in the lead role of the film version of this book."

“[Downing] is smart and erudite, with a knack for fully rounded characters and atmospheric but unfussy prose . . . a ripping good tale.”
—The Seattle Times

"Already had aficionados reaching for new adjectives to praise the author."
—The Independent (UK)

"Downing, a fiendish researcher, does a believable job of inserting McColl into real life events, and the result is a novel marked by surprising adventures of an oddly amiable sort."
—Toronto Star

"Downing seamlessly moves from Ian Flemming adventure to John le Carré politics across the broad canvas of a particular time period, never losing the intimacy with his characters."
—MysteryPeople Bookstore, Austin

"As McColl travels the globe, Downing deftly depicts the complex prelude to World War I a web of unrest that connects German coal-hoarding in China, anti-imperialist protests in India, and labor strife in New Jersey, among other seemingly disparate tensions . . . It’s fun to watch the novice spy learn his craft."
—The Onion A.V. Club

"Jack of Spies is lush with details about not only China and the U.S., but also England, Ireland, and even Mexico . . . with an urbane operative who is sure to be a hit with readers."
—The Denver Post

"A powerhouse of a series debut . . . Think Raiders of the Lost Ark as told by John le Carré. The book is just damn fun."
—Arizona Republic

"As I was reading, I kept thinking this novel would be terrific theatre—Masterpiece, that is."
—Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel

"A nice introduction to Jack [McColl] and His Majesty’s Service."
—Ft. Worth Star-Telegram

"A captivating, intelligent new World War I espionage tale by British author David Downing melds accurate historical detail with intricately crafted plotlines as it transports readers from China to San Francisco, Britain and beyond."
—Express Milwaukee

"[McColl] is a winsome companion, which bodes well for the future of this new series. I, for one, am already eager for the next installment."
—John Wilson, Books & Culture

"Just what we were waiting to read at the start of the summer."
Mystery Tribune

"Few other contemporary writers meld history and espionage quite like David Downing."

"Some of the best and most involving espionage novels aren’t about super-spys, the James Bonds, but about ordinary people caught up in circumstances beyond their control. And that is what Downing does in Jack of Spies."
—Oline Cogdill, Mystery Scene Magazine

"Highly recommended for readers of spy novels like John le Carré as well as fans of historical thrillers, like The Meaning of Night and The Alienist."
—The Brooklyn Daily

"[A] master of the genre . . . Downing is capable of wringing more suspense out of a simple cat-and-mouse chase played out in a train yard than some of his better-known contemporaries can with a squadron of troubled covert-ops agents. That quality alone makes Downing and Jack of Spies a joy to read."

"An attractive prospect for summer reading. More than that, however, it is a sound beginning for what looks to develop into an important series. Astute readers will want to be in at the start." 
—Reviewing The Evidence

"Those who already know Downing's craft realize his deft hand with romantic passion and delicately portrayed merging of lust and love—and like the 'Station' series, Jack of Spies includes a serious affair of the heart."
—Kingdom Books

"Realistic espionage (for once!), a deep feel for its period, an emphasis on the shock of the new that must have been felt at the development of world-shaking technology in the early twentieth century, a likeable and believable protagonist with enough of a personal life to ground him . . . I'm very much looking forward to the second installment."
—Broadway World

"The talented Downing is off and running once again."

"This first installment of a proposed series moves deliberately but colorfully, with intelligent prose and a strong period feel."
—Kirkus Reviews

"Fans of Downing’s previous spy tales will not be disappointed with this excellent series launch that is full of rich historical and cultural details, revealed as his protagonist learns the espionage business on the eve of World War I."
—Library Journal

“Vividly explores the worldwide intrigues that spawned World War I, through the all-too-human British spy Jack McColl and the lover he betrays.”
—Francine Mathews, author of Jack 1939
"It would already be enough that Jack of Spies is a taut, highly intelligent spy thriller without it being a brilliant historical portrait and a captivating love story to boot. A remarkably engaging world tour of pre-World War One espionage featuring an honorable protagonist begging for a long series."
—Lyndsay Faye, author of The Gods of Gotham

Praise for David Downing's John Russell World War II Thriller series
"Epic in scope, Mr. Downing's "Station" cycle creates a fictional universe rich with a historian's expertise but rendered with literary style and heart."
—The Wall Street Journal

“A beautifully crafted and compelling thriller with a heart-stopping ending . . . An unforgettable read.”
—Charles Todd, author of the Inspector Ian Rutledge Series
"Downing's outstanding evocation of the times (as masterly as that found in Alan Furst's novels or Philip Kerr's Bernie Gunther series), thematic complexity (as rich as that of John le Carré), and the wide assortment of fully rendered characters provide as much or more pleasure than the plot, where disparate threads are tied together in satisfying and unexpected ways."
Library Journal, Starred Review

“Downing is brilliant at weaving history and fiction . . . equally clever and unexpected.”
Toronto Globe and Mail

From the Hardcover edition.

Library Journal
Known for his John Russell espionage series set in World War II Berlin (Masaryk Station), Downing begins a new historical series featuring Scottish car salesman Jack McColl. McColl's affinity for languages and a job that takes him around the globe make it possible for him to covertly collect intelligence for His Majesty's Navy. It's 1913, and the world is on the brink of war, escalating McColl's spy duties and danger quotient. He makes his way from China to the United States and Mexico, then back to Europe as he chases German spies and their conspirators and falls in love with Caitlin Hanley, a spirited Irish American journalist, whose brother may be involved in a plot against the British. Now McColl will have to choose between love and country as he arrives in Ireland and tries to stop an explosive plan that could cost many lives. VERDICT Fans of Downing's previous spy tales will not be disappointed with this excellent series launch that is full of rich historical and cultural details, revealed as his protagonist learns the espionage business on the eve of World War I. [Previewed in Editors' Spring Picks, LJ 2/15/13, p. 28.]—MelissaDeWild, Kent District Lib., Comstock Park, MI

Product Details

Soho Press, Incorporated
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6.40(w) x 9.10(h) x 1.50(d)

Read an Excerpt

At the foot of the hill, Tsingtau’s Government House stood alone on a slight mound, its gabled upper-floor windows and elegant corner tower looking out across the rest of the town. Substantial German houses with red-tiled roofs peppered the slope leading down to the Pacific beach and pier; beyond them the even grander buildings of the commercial district fronted the bay and its harbors. Away to the right, the native township of Taipautau offered little in the way of variety—the houses were smaller, perhaps a bit closer together, but more European than classically Chinese. In less than two decades, the Germans had come, organized, and recast this tiny piece of Asia in their own image. Give them half a chance, Jack McColl mused, and they would do the same for the rest of the world.
     He remembered the Welsh mining engineer leaning over the Moldavia’s rail in mid–Indian Ocean and spoiling a beautiful day with tales of the atrocities the Germans had committed in South-West Africa over the last few years. At least a hundred thousand Africans had perished. Many of the native men had died in battle; most of the remainder, along with the women and children, had been driven into the desert, where some thoughtful German had already poisoned the water holes. A few lucky ones had ended up in concentration camps, where a doctor named Fischer had used them for a series of involuntary medical experiments. Children had been injected with smallpox, typhus, tuberculosis.
     The white man’s burden, as conceived in Berlin. McColl had passed two descending Germans on his way up the hill, but the well-kept viewing area had been empty, and there was no sign of other sightseers below. To the east the hills rose into a jagged horizon, and the earthworks surrounding the 28-centimeter guns on Bismarck Hill were barely visible against the mountains beyond. Some magnification would have helped,
but an Englishman training binoculars on foreign defenses was likely to arouse suspicion, and from what he’d seen so far, the guns were where the Admiralty had thought they would be. There was some building work going on near the battery that covered Auguste-Victoria Bay, but not on a scale that seemed significant. He might risk a closer look early one morning, when the army was still drilling.
     The East Asia Squadron was where it had been the day before—Scharnhorst and Emden sharing the long jetty, Gneisenau and Nürnberg anchored in the bay beyond. Leipzig had been gone a week now—to the Marianas, if his Chinese informer was correct. Several coalers were lined up farther out, and one was unloading by the onshore wharves, sending occasional clouds of black dust up into the clear, cold air.
     These ships were the reason for his brief visit, these ships and what they might do if war broke out. Their presence was no secret, of course—the local British consul probably played golf with the admiral in command. The same consul could have kept the Admiralty informed about Tsingtau’s defenses and done his best to pump his German counterpart for military secrets, but of course he hadn’t. Such work was considered ungentlemanly by the fools who ran the Foreign Office and staffed its embassies—not that long ago a British military attaché had refused to tell his employers in London what he’d witnessed at his host country’s military maneuvers, on the grounds that he’d be breaking a confidence.
     It was left to part-time spies to do the dirty work. Over the last few years, McColl—and, he presumed, other British businessmen who traveled the world—had been approached and asked to ferret out those secrets the empire’s enemies wanted kept. The man who employed them on this part-time basis was an old naval officer named Cumming, who worked from an office in Whitehall and answered, at least in theory, to the Admiralty and its political masters.
     When it came to Tsingtau, the secret that mattered most was what orders the East Asia Squadron had for the day that a European war broke out. Any hard evidence as to their intentions, as Cumming had told McColl on their farewell stroll down the Embankment, would be “really appreciated.”
     His insistence on how vital all this was to the empire’s continued well-being had been somewhat undermined by his allocation of a paltry three hundred pounds for global expenses, but the trip as a whole had been slightly more lucrative than McColl had expected. The luxury Maia automobile that he was hawking around the world—the one now back in Shanghai, he hoped, with his brother Jed and colleague Mac—had caught the fancy of several rulers hungry for initiation into the seductive world of motorized speed, and the resultant orders had at least paid the trio’s traveling bills.
     This was gratifying, but probably more of a swan song than a sign of things to come. The automobile business was not what it had been even two years before, not for the small independents—nowadays you needed capital, and lots of it. Spying, on the other hand, seemed an occupation with a promising future. Over the last few years, even the British had realized the need for an espionage service, and once the men holding the purse strings finally got past the shame of it all, they would realize that only a truly professional body would do. One that paid a commensurate salary.
     A war would probably help, but until Europe’s governments were stupid enough to start one, McColl would have to make do with piecework. Before McColl’s departure from England the previous autumn, Cumming had taken note of his planned itinerary and returned with a list of “little jobs” that McColl could do in the various ports of call—a wealthy renegade to assess in Cairo, a fellow Brit to investigate in Bombay, the Germans here in Tsingtau. Their next stop with the Maia was San Francisco, where a ragtag bunch of Indian exiles were apparently planning the empire’s demise.
     A lot of it seemed pretty inconsequential to McColl. There were no doubt plenty of would-be picadors intent on goading the imperial bull, but it didn’t seem noticeably weaker. And where was the matador to finish it off? The Kaiser probably practiced sword strokes in his bedroom mirror, but it would be a long time before Germany acquired the necessary global reach.
     He lit a German cigarette and stared out across the town. The sun was dropping toward the distant horizon, the harbor lighthouse glowing brighter by the minute. The lines of lamps in the warship rigging reminded him of Christmas trees.
     He would be back in Shanghai for the Chinese New Year, he realized.
     Caitlin Hanley, the young American woman he’d met in Peking, was probably there already.
     The sun was an orange orb, almost touching the distant hills. He ground out the cigarette and started back down the uneven path while he could still see his way. Two hopeful coolies were waiting with their rickshaws at the bottom, but he waved them both away and walked briskly down Bismarckstrasse toward the beach. There were lights burning in the British consulate, but no other sign of life within.
     His hotel was at the western end of the waterfront, beyond the deserted pleasure pier. The desk clerk still had his hair in a pigtail—an increasingly rare sight in Shanghai but common enough in Tsingtau, where German rule offered little encouragement to China’s zealous modernizers. The room key changed hands with the usual bow and blank expression, and McColl climbed the stairs to his second-floor room overlooking the ocean.
     A quick check revealed that someone had been though his possessions, which was only to be expected—Tsingtau might be a popular summer destination with all sorts of foreigners, but an Englishman turning up in January was bound to provoke some suspicion. Whoever it was had found nothing to undermine his oft-repeated story, that he was here in China on business and seeing as much of the country as money and time would allow.
     He went back downstairs to the restaurant. Most of the clientele were German businessmen in stiff collars and spats, either eager to grab their slice of China or boasting of claims already staked. There were also a handful of officers, including one in a uniform McColl didn’t recognize. He was enthusiastically outlining plans for establishing an aviation unit in Tsingtau when he noticed McColl’s arrival and abruptly stopped to ask the man beside him something.
     “Don’t worry, Pluschow, he doesn’t speak German,” was the audible answer, which allowed the exposition to continue.
     Since his arrival in Tsingtau, McColl had taken pains to stress his sad lack of linguistic skills, and this was not the first time the lie had worked to his advantage. Apparently absorbed in his month-old Times, he listened with interest to the aviation enthusiast. He couldn’t see much strategic relevance in the news—what could a few German planes hope to achieve so far from home?—but the Japanese might well be interested. And any little nugget of intelligence should be worth a few of Cumming’s precious pounds.
     The conversation took a less interesting tack, and eventually the party broke up. McColl sipped his Russian tea and idly wondered where he would dine later that evening. He glanced through the paper for the umpteenth time and reminded himself that he needed fresh reading for the Pacific crossing. There was a small shop he knew on Shanghai’s Nanking Road where novels jettisoned by foreigners mysteriously ended up.
     More people came in—two older Germans in naval uniform, who ignored him, and a stout married couple, who returned his smile of acknowledgment with almost risible Prussian hauteur.
     He was getting up to leave when Rainer von Schön appeared. McColl had met the young German soon after arriving in Tsingtau—they were both staying at this hotel—and taken an instant liking to him. The fact that von Schön spoke near-perfect English made conversation easy, and the man himself was likable and intelligent. A water engineer by trade, he had admitted to a bout of homesickness and delved into his wallet for an explanatory photo of his pretty wife and daughter.
     That evening he had an English edition of William Le Queux’s Invasion of 1910 under his arm.
     “What do you think of it?” McColl asked him once the waiter had taken the German’s order.
     “Well, several things. It’s so badly written, for one. The plot’s ridiculous, and the tone is hysterical.”
     “But otherwise you like it?”
     Von Schön smiled. “It is strangely entertaining. And the fact that so many English people bought it makes it fascinating to a German. And a little scary, I have to say.”
     “Don’t you have any ranters in Germany?”
     Von Schön leaned slightly forward, a mischievous expression on his face. “With the Kaiser at the helm, we don’t need them.”
     McColl laughed. “So what have you been doing today?”
     “Finishing up, actually. I’ll be leaving in a couple of days.”
     “Homeward bound?”
     “Eventually. I have work in Tokyo first. But after that . . .”
     “Well, if I don’t see you before you go, have a safe journey.”
     “You, too.” Von Schön drained the last of his schnapps and got to his feet. “And now I have someone I need to see.”
     Once the German was gone, McColl consulted his watch. It was time he visited the Blue Dragon, before the evening rush began. He left a generous tip, recovered his winter coat from the downstairs cloakroom, and walked out to the waiting line of rickshaws.
The temperature had already dropped appreciably, and he was hugging himself as the coolie turned left onto the well-lit Friedrichstrasse and started up the hill. The shops were closed by this time, the restaurants readying themselves for their evening trade. The architecture, the faces, the cooking smells, all were European—apart from his coolie, the only Chinese in sight was a man collecting horse dung.
     It was quiet, too—so quiet that the sudden blast of a locomotive whistle from the nearby railway station made him jump.
     The coolie reached the brow of the low hill and started down the opposite slope into Taipautau. The township was almost as neat and widely spaced as the German districts, and in the cold air even the smells seemed more muted than they had in Shanghai. They were halfway down Shantung Strasse before McColl could hear the beginnings of evening revelry in the sailors’ bars at the bottom.
     The Blue Dragon was open for business but not yet really awake. The usual old man sat beneath the candlelit lanterns on the rickety veranda, beside the screened-off entrance. He grinned when he recognized McColl and cheerfully spat on the floor to his right, adding one more glistening glob to an impressive mosaic.
     McColl was barely through the doorway when an old woman hurried down the hall toward him. “This way, please!” she insisted in pidgin German. “All type girls!”
     “I’m here to see Hsu Ch’ing-lan,” he told her in Mandarin, but she just looked blank. “Hsu Ch’ing-lan,” he repeated.
     The name seemed to percolate. She gestured for him to follow and led him through to the reception area, where “all type girls” were waiting in an assortment of tawdry traditional costumes on long red-velvet sofas. Some were barely out of puberty, others close to menopause. One seemed amazingly large for a Chinese woman, causing McColl to wonder whether she’d been fattened up to satisfy some particular Prussian yearning.
     The old woman led him down the corridor beyond, put her head around the final door, and told Madame that a laowai wanted to see her. Assent forthcoming, she ushered McColl inside.
     Hsu Ch’ing-lan was sitting at her desk, apparently doing her accounts. Some kind of incense was burning in a large dragon holder beyond, sending up coils of smoke.
     “Herr McColl,” she said with an ironic smile. “Please. Take a seat.”
     She was wearing the usual dress, blue silk embroidered in silver and gold, ankle-length but slit to the hip. Her hair was piled up in curls, secured by what looked like an ornamental chopstick. She was in her thirties, he guessed, and much more desirable than any of the girls in reception. When they’d first met, she’d told him that she was a retired prostitute, as if that were a major achievement. It probably was.
     He had chosen this brothel for two reasons. It offered a twotier service—those girls in reception who catered to ordinary sailors and the occasional NCO, and another, more exclusive, group who did house calls at officers’ clubs and businessmen’s hotels. The latter were no younger, no more beautiful, and no more sexually inventive than the former, but as Jane Austen might have put it, they offered more in the way of  accomplishments. They sang, they danced, they made a ritual out of making tea. They provided, in Ch’ing-lan’s vivid phrase, “localcolor fuck.”
     She was his second reason for choosing the place. She came from Shanghai and, unlike any other madam in Tsingtau, spoke the Chinese dialect that McColl knew best.
     She pulled a bell cord, ordered tea from the small girl who came running, and asked him, rather surprisingly, what he knew of the latest political developments.
     “In China?” he asked.
     She looked at him as if he were mad. “What could matter here?” she asked.
     “Sun Yat-sen could win and start modernizing the country,” he suggested. “Or Yuan Shih-kai could become the new emperor and keep the country locked in the past.”
     “Pah. You foreign devils have decided we must modernize, so Yuan cannot win. And you control our trade, so Sun could win only as your puppet.”
     “Yuan bought one of my cars.”
     “He thinks it will make him look modern, but it won’t. It doesn’t matter what he or Sun does. In today’s China everything depends on what the foreign devils do. Is there going to be a war between you? And if there is, what will happen here in Tsingtau?”
     “If there’s a war, the Japanese will take over. The Germans might dig themselves in—who knows? If they do, the town will be shelled. If I were you, I’d take the boat back home to Shanghai before the fighting starts.”
     “Mmm.” Her eyes wandered around the room, as if she were deciding what to take with her.
     The tea arrived and was poured.
     “So what do you have for me?” McColl asked.
     “Not very much, I’m afraid.” The East Asia Squadron was going to sea at the end of February, for a six-week cruise. The Scharnhorst had a new vice captain, and there’d been a serious accident on the Emden—several sailors had been killed in an explosion. The recent gunnery trials had been won by the Gneisenau, but all five ships had shown a marked improvement, and the Kaiser had sent a congratulatory telegram to Vice Admiral von Spee. And a new officer had arrived from Germany to set up a unit of flying machines.
     “I know about him,” McColl said.
     “He likes to be spanked,” Ch’ing-lan revealed.
     McColl wondered out loud whether verbal abuse might sting the Germans into indiscretions. Maybe the girls could deride their German clients, make fun of their puny fleet. What hope did they have against the mighty Royal Navy?
     As she noted this down, a swelling sequence of ecstatic moans resounded through the building. Ch’ing-lan shook her head. “I’ll have to talk to her,” she said. “The others do the same because they think their tips will be smaller if they don’t, and after a while none of us can hear ourselves think. It’s ridiculous.”
     McColl laughed.
     “But I do have some good news for you. I have a new girl, a cousin from Shanghai. She speaks a little English, and now she’s learning a little German—she knows that a lot of the men like someone they can talk to.”
     “That sounds promising.”
     “And more expensive.”
     “Of course—I have no problem paying good money for good information.” He thought for a moment. “She could be worried that her officer might be killed in a war. The British are so much more powerful, yes? She could ask for reassurance, ask him how he thinks his fleet can win.”
     She nodded.
     “And the flying-machine man. I’d like to know how many machines, what type, and how he intends to use them. Between spanks, of course.”
     She nodded again. “Is that all?”
     “I think so. I’ll come back on Friday, yes?”
     “Okay. You want girl tonight? Half price?”
     He hesitated and saw Caitlin Hanley’s face in his mind’s eye.
     “No, not tonight.” He smiled at her. “You’re still retired, right?”
     “You couldn’t afford me.”
     “Probably not.” He gave her a bow, shut the door after him, and walked back down the corridor. Bedsprings were squeaking behind several curtained doorways, and several girls seemed intent on winning the prize for most voluble pleasure. Out on the veranda, the old man gave him a leer and added another splash of phlegm to his iridescent patchwork.
     It was enough to put a man off his dinner.

Meet the Author

David Downing grew up in suburban London. He is the author of One Man’s Flag, The Red Eagles, and six books in the John Russell espionage series set in WWII Berlin: Zoo Station, Silesian Station, Stettin Station, Potsdam Station, Lehrter Station, and Masaryk Station. He lives with his wife, an American acupuncturist, in Guildford, England.

From the Hardcover edition.

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Jack of Spies 3.8 out of 5 based on 1 ratings. 8 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Having finished the WWII spy series I looked forward to this book focused on the Great War run up and the English spy McColl. This was disappointingly dull and lacked the character development of the prior well written WWII series.
connie37 More than 1 year ago
One of the most boring books I have not read in a long time. Not read because I had to give up. Let me enjoy Alan Furst, Charles McCarry, and many others. 
Patarma6 More than 1 year ago
An astute view of the nature of "intelligence" gathering as it was practiced in the early days of the 20th century and the "hum-drum" routines that collected the pieces of the puzzle that were the foundations of national apprehensions and expectations.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I’m always leery of espionage fiction because I know quite a bit about the real subject as well as things like weaponry. Unless it’s intended to be James Bond-type slapstick, I cannot tolerate most spy tales. I was attracted to this book by its setting, though, and I wasn’t disappointed. Personal relationships are the thing it seems most authors struggle with most, and that was true of this book as well. I suspect that’s because all readers will view any relationship through the prism of their own experiences and what may seem plausible and realistic to one will strike another as unlikely. Beyond that, and which is only a minor criticism, I enjoyed the story. The history was accurate, or where it wasn’t it was believable, the backgrounds drew me in, and I could care about what happened to the characters. I’m looking forward to the next book in the series.
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Anonymous More than 1 year ago
MissDaisyAnne More than 1 year ago
Source: Free copy from Soho Press in exchange for a review. All reviews are expressed from my own opinions and feelings. Summary: Jack McColl, is a middle age traveling salesman in 1913. His ancestry is Scottish. When the book begins he is in China, stalking German's for information about what they're up to in a possible war in Europe. Jack's "real" job is intelligence for the British government. Intelligence and espionage is in its infancy. Jack's pay for the work is minimal and traveling is lengthy. Jack of Spies, is the first book in what will be series on the British spy Jack McColl, during the period of time before World War I and during World War I.  Ground work begins in Jack of Spies. What kind of personality Jack has, his talents and abilities, weak points; also, the history of intelligence during this era is explored. Jack of Spies, gives a panoramic view of the world in 1913-1914. From China to Japan, from the west coast to the east coast of America, England and Ireland, Germany, and Mexico. Significant events from the countries are depicted, for example the uprising and bloodshed in Dublin, Ireland. My Thoughts: I love all of the "Station" series written by David Downing. When I found out his new book, Jack of Spies, had been published, I was pronto to read and review it. When reading the first book in a series, it is important to take in to consideration the first book is a foundation for the future books. It is not a puzzle piece standing alone, but is the first in which several others will then be placed, all bringing about a full and clear image. I feel Jack of Spies is a splendid first story.  Jack is not a spy compared to what we see on modern film. He is at times floundering, unprepared, anxious, lonely, average. Humanity is shown in his imperfect character. This is a captivating way to lay-out a character, because he is fallible, and thus we are not quite sure he will "make-it."   His friend with benefits is assertive, sensual, prepared, young. In some ways she is the opposite of our hero Jack. A spectrum of the world in 1913-1914. I loved the essence of all that was captured in how people in other countries lived, their fear of war, political unrest in Ireland, availability of newspapers highlighting information available from all pivots of the world, a changing perspective of women in regards to equality and rights. Contrasting views are seen. For example, a young female prostitute in China who is unable to secure a job doing anything else, versus an American woman that is an independent-minded-feminist journalist.  Spy techniques at this time is minimal. A spy wanting information finds someone willing to be paid to "find out what they can". Sometimes those who accept money from you might also be accepting money from the enemy. It's a rag tag game
tedfeit0 More than 1 year ago
Having concluded the popular “Station” series, which covered the years from prior to World War II to the period following its end, David Downing has now turned his attention to World War I. One thing each series has in common is that the protagonist is a spy, but in this new effort, Jack McColl begins as a part-time contractor for an incipient intelligence arm in HRH Majesty’s Admiralty. It is difficult to imagine in this age of the CIA, MI5 and the KGB (in its various incarnations) that there was a time without established spy agencies. In any event, the story begins when Jack, his brother and a co-worker embark on a world trip beginning in China to sell a British luxury automobile. Jack is asked to gather information on German activities along the way. In China he gathers intelligence on gun emplacements in the German concession, as well naval plans. Then on to San Francisco, where Irish separatists seem to be plotting with Indians seeking independence and Germans apparently supporting their efforts, in an attempt to weaken Great Britain in any future conflict. Next on to New York, after which he is sent to Mexico, where the oil supply to the British navy is being threatened to be cut off. Along the way, beginning in China, he starts a torrid love affair with a liberated woman (for the times). Unfortunately, her family is involved in the quest for Irish independence, which unduly complicates the relationship, but does help Jack attain a permanent position as an agent. Jack’s development as a character begins slowly, but builds as his adventures take him (and the reader) forward, and we learn more about his thinking. The scope of the novel is wide, and the book is deeply researched, an ability for which the author is well-known. Presumably, the forthcoming volumes will take us into the mud and trenches of France, and this reader (and hopefully many others) will be looking forward to reading it. Meanwhile, “Jack” is recommended.