![]() It was still hot as hell when Jackson Lamb emerged from Slough House into the backyard and, fiddling in his pocket for his lighter, found his mobile phone instead, and noticed he had two missed calls – Standish. But I don’t think I should spell it out here. I think I know what his reaction to that would be. Instead of lurking in his darkened room, there he is with his name on the spine: Jackson Lamb Thriller 3, reads the new one. In the meantime, Lamb is on firmer ground than ever here in the UK, with a new livery for a new set of paperbacks, issued by John Murray. As to what happens to him then, well, I only hope I’m still around to find out. And if it does, I can see him disappearing into another role pulling a cover over himself so completely that he becomes unrecognisable. ![]() That didn’t happen, but something like it might, one day. When I was dreaming up Slow Horses, the first book in the series, I had a vague idea that its ending would involve Lamb on the lam: there’d be a final scene with him leaning against the railing of a Europe-bound ferry, watching England disappear in the dark. ![]()
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