This book, published in 1984, is an Old School Cold Warrior Tale. The West kicks ass on the East, and the British James Bondian character can take on all-comers with one arm tied behind his back.

It was okay, and I found it sort of interesting due to the setting. It reminded me a bit of the Bartle Bull Anton Rider books as it mostly takes place in that corner of Africa, among similarly exotic NE African cultures, and the parade of colonial powers that have touched them.

The writing itself is dated; super undercover expat / (ex-) British secret agent can get away with anything because he is, of course, super undercover expat / (ex-) British secret agent. For instance, he is able to sneak around a super secret arms dump in the middle of the desert that no one knows about, killing people at said super secret arms dump on two separate occasions, and then being able to sneak around super secret arms dump in the middle of nowhere a third time and none of the hundreds of people guarding the super secret arms dump in the middle of nowhere can manage to stop him. Sure, that sounds right, not a problem.

So there's that. To continue on with that theme, the ex-secret agent of an ex-super power was full-on neocolonialist with his I can do whatever I want whenever I want because everyone is a lesser mortal attitude; I operate at will, and I will get the girl and / or save the prostitute – who is half my age – and we will get along famously.

That was pretty much the book, but then at the very end – literally the last few pages - there was a surprising twist where the ex-secret agent has the full realization that everything he was doing, and had done sucked. He had a complete change of heart and a complete change of outlook; basically he opened his eyes for the first time in his entire life. Almost made for an upgraded rating, almost.... ( )