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Blogs by Steven Nedelton
HAVE YOU EVER MET A REAL AGENT YOU READ ABOUT IN THRILLERS? 12/3/2009 12:13:35 PM
I met one, years back. He was retired and from Berlin, our James Bond. We discussed his lit work and mine. He knew all about my espionage stories and he couldn't discuss the details... We parted friends... A short excerpt from CROSSROADS at www.snedelton.com
"On the outskirts of Washington, D.C., a couple of hours by car from the main artery, stood an impressive three story
building, tucked in the back of a small forest of pines. It looked ancient, with all the dark crevice lines filled
with a brown-green, algae-like growth running down its walls like so many dried up rivulet beds. Yet, in the early
mornings of the summer heat, with the humidity reaching Himalayan peaks, the building glittered as if made of
pure silver. Of course, it was just an illusion—the sunlight reflecting off the condensate running down its cold
walls.
The place had seen so many owners in its past it looked a bit like a woman heavy on mileage. In its younger days,
a whole succession of nouveaux riche had resided there, often staying only a few years before leaving for New York,
Paris, or some other more a la mode place. And that wild, love-like affair continued for a long spell until one day it
changed over to a steady owner. For better or worse—no one could have known for sure, right then. As far as the
neighbors could recall, the major change had occurred right after the flop of the Great Dictator and the beginning
of the Cold War era. It had come about almost overnight, many neighbors thought, although a few better-informed
folks would disagree, on that point.
As soon as Uncle Sam had moved in, the nearest and most affected folks had put up a bunch of For Sale signs
and fled the neighborhood...as if King Tut’s mummy and its curse had arrived. Or as if threatened by an incurable
disease. But it had been a small Exodus. And with the abandoned area left quite unattractive—dirt cheap, actually—
the government had moved in and bought it all. In no time it had been leveled, wooded, and heavily secured, and
no one ever built another home around there.
Many rains and ice blocks had floated down the old Potomac since that unforgettable escape, without even a
single major happening.
On one rainy, wind-swept late evening, however, an unusual convoy of eight limousines arrived at the secluded
property. All eight were black, uniformly German-made—except for one Citroen—all with darkened windows
hiding their occupants. If there had been any observers they might have concluded...."
