Wars make skeletons. The sensible thing to do is to leave them buried. 
But the man instructed by the Establishment to call himself "Freeman" 
couldn't leave well enough alone. He wanted to breathe life into the 
dead bones of a memory, but then the bones blew up in his face 
 
He had been stationed in Cairo during the second World War as a war 
correspondent. During a routine assignment he stumbled upon Sophia, an 
exotic Russian beauty with expensive tastes and a French passport. This 
made him suspicious of her loyalties and, when British Intelligence 
ordered him to keep her in sight at all costs, he intended to stay 
close. She moved in several different circles at once —seething bars and 
 cafes, dark alleys, and lush flats—and he tried to keep up. But she was 
 always much faster than he. His reports were useful, and his probings 
did unearth the outer core of an enemy spy ring; but he was never able 
to prove anything against her. Then the war ended and the file on Sophia 
 was closed. Closed, that is, until an afternoon, over thirty years 
later, when he sees a young carbon copy of Sophia walk through the doors 
 of a London club on the arm of a very influential left-wing activist. 
That starts the skeletons from the past rattling, and "Freeman" knows he 
 is caught again. For the man is known to be a dangerous commodity; and 
if this girl (most likely Sophia's daughter, he concludes) is anything 
like the original, she will make peace-time London more vicious than 
war-torn Cairo had ever been.

Never Shake A Skeleton PDF

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