Frederick Forsyth - The Fist of God

THE FIST OF GOD

The man with ten minutes to live was laughing. So begins Frederick Forsyths The Fist of Godand

even with just that one line you can see that he has returned to the pulse-pounding form of such books

as The Day of the Jackal and The Dogs of War. Forsyth has written perhaps the first true thriller to

come out of the Gulf War.

Book-of-the-Month Club News

[A] fat, layered, complex, and altogether sublime spy action novel .. The Fist of God is delicious yet

authentic fun, the stuff of good espionage thrillers.

Chicago Sun-Times

The Gulf War is the setting of Forsyths brilliantly plotted what if thriller in which historical facts are

turned into gripping fiction... Its the mark of master Forsyth that characters and background

information are introduced so cleanly and precisely that impossibly complex events are never confusing,

and the story develops its grip so surely its almost impossible to put the book down.

Publishers Weekly

The novel ends in a blaze of top-notch military action, finely wrought descriptions of the gadgetry of

destruction, and a twisty revelation... Super sleuthing.

Kirkus Reviews

Bantam Books by Frederick Forsyth

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THE FOURTH PROTOCOL

THE DECEIVER

Available wherever Bantam Books are sold

Century House, had called up a pen portrait of Terry Martin from the Research people. He had been

impressed with what he saw.

Born in Baghdad, raised in Iraq, then schooled in England, Martin had left Haileybury with three

advanced levels, all with distinction, in English, history, and French. Haileybury had had him down as a

brilliant scholar, destined for a scholarship to Oxford or Cambridge.

But the boy, already a fluent Arab speaker, wanted to go on to Arabic studies, so he had applied as a

graduate to the School of Oriental and African Studies in London, attending the spring interview of

1973. Accepted at once, he had joined in the autumn term of 1973, studying history of the Middle East.

He walked through a first-class degree in three years and then put in a further three years for his

doctorate, specializing in Iraq of the eighth to fifteenth centuries, with particular reference to the

Abassid Caliphate from A.D. 750 to 1258. He took his Ph.D. in 1979, then one year off for a sabbatical

he had been in Iraq in 1980 when Iraq invaded Iran, triggering the eight-year war, and this experience

began his interest in Middle Eastern military forces.

On his return he was offered a lectureship at the age of only twenty-six, a signal honor at the SOAS,

which happens to be one of the best and therefore one of the toughest schools of Arabic learning in the

world. He was promoted to a readership in recognition of his excellence in original research, and he

became a reader in Middle East history at the age of thirty-four, clearly earmarked for a professorship

by the age of forty.

So much had Laing read in the written biography. What interested him even more was the second

string, the compendium of knowledge about Middle Eastern arms arsenals. For years, it had been a

peripheral subject, dwarfed by the cold war, but now ..

Its about this Kuwait business, he said at last. The remains of the fish had been cleared away. Both

men had declined a dessert. The Meursault had gone down very nicely, and Laing had deftly ensured that

Martin had most of it. Now two vintage ports appeared as if unbidden.

As you may imagine, theres been a hell of a flapdoodle going on these past few days.

Laing was understating the case. The Lady had returned from Colorado in what the mandarins

referred to as her Boadicea mode, a reference to that ancient British queen who used to chop Romans

off at the knees with the swords sticking out of her chariot wheels if they got in the way. Foreign

Secretary Douglas Hurd was reputed to be drinking of taking to wearing a steel helmet, and the demands

for instant enlightenment had rained down on the spooks of Century House.

The fact is, we would like to slip someone into Kuwait to find out exactly what is going on.

Under Iraqi occupation? asked Martin.

Im afraid so, since they seem to be in charge.

So why me?

Let me be frank, said Laing, who intended to be anything but. We really do need to know what is

going on inside. The Iraqi occupation armyhow many, how good, what equipment. Our own nationalshow

are they coping, are they in danger, can they realistically be got out in safety. We need a man in on the

ground. This information is vital. Sosomeone who speaks Arabic like an Arab, a Kuwaiti or Iraqi. Now,

you spend your life among Arabic-speakers, far more than I do

But surely there must be hundreds of Kuwaitis right here in Britain who could slip back in, Martin

suggested.

Laing sucked leisurely at a piece of sole that had stuck between two teeth.

Actually, he murmured, one would prefer one of ones own people.

A Brit? Who can pass for an Arab, right in the middle of them?

Thats what we need. Im afraid we doubt if there is one.

It must have been the wine, or the port. Terry Martin was not used to Meursault and port with his

lunch. Later, he would willingly have bitten off his own tongue if he could turn the clock back a few

seconds. But he spoke, and then it was too late.

I know one. My brother Mike. Hes a major in the SAS. He can pass for an Arab.

Laing hid the stab of excitement that jumped inside him as he removed the toothpick and the

offending morsel of sole.

Can he now, he murmured. Can he now?

Chapter 3

Steve Laing returned to Century House by cab in a spirit of some surprise and elation. He had arranged

the lunch with the academic Arabist in the hopes of recruiting him for another task, which he still had in

mind, and had only raised the matter of Kuwait as a conversational ploy.

Years of practice had taught him to start with a question or a request that the target could not

fulfill, then move on to the real matter at hand. The theory was that the expert, stumped by the first

request, would be more amenable for his own self-respect to agreeing to the second.

Dr. Martins surprise revelation happened to answer a query that had already been raised during a

high-level conference at Century the previous day. At the time it had been generally regarded as a nohope wish. But if young Dr. Martin were right .. a brother who spoke Arabic even better than he .. and

who was already in the Special Air Service Regiment and therefore accustomed to the covert life ..

interesting, very interesting.

On arrival at Century, Laing marched straight in on his immediate superior, the Controller Mid-East.

After an hour together they both went upstairs to see one of the two Deputy Chiefs.

The Secret Intelligence Service, or SISalso popularly if inaccurately known as MI-6remains even

in the days of supposed open government a shadowy organization that guards its secrecy. Only in

recent years has a British government formally admitted that it exists at all. And it was as late as 1991

that the same government publicly named its boss, a move regarded by most insiders as a foolish and

short-sighted one that served no purpose other than to force that unfortunate gentleman to the

unwelcome novelty of needing bodyguards, paid for at public expense. Such are the futilities of political