Stella Rimington: At Risk

Reviewed by MICHELE HEWITSON

When someone called Stella Rimington writes a thriller it's big news, at least it is in Britain. Rimington is, of course, the former head of MI5.

That's old news. The new news is that she has had help with the writing, and some of the research, from one Luke Jennings. But it is her name on the cover and, really, when you read the credits in many thrillers whose writers appear to have relied on the services of dozens of specialists, Rimington has simply done things the other way around. And no one, except critics, will much care.

Is it any good? It will certainly sell. Whether it would have garnered so much publicity without Rimington's name on the cover is another story, because this is pretty bog-standard stuff.

This story is about, wait for it, an MI5 officer called Liz Carlyle — her creator has teased a little by revealing that Liz is in part autobiographical. Like all such characters in the crime model, Liz is an outsider. This is a trick which is supposed to give the protagonist heightened powers of observation. Not here.

Liz is a kooky dresser, she has a lover who is both married and is a journalist: "He had that most chic of journalistic accessories — a pet spook ..." Really? I must get one.

All of these quirks, if they were discovered, would be frowned upon. And, aah, doesn't she work for a building full of spies? And no one has twigged that she's bonking a journo? Perhaps Rimington is making a snide comment on the talents of her former fellow spies.

The plot involves two Muslim fanatics turned wannabe terrorists. One of the terrorists is a nice English girl gone nutty. There is bomb-making and a clock ticking, a chase, some supposed insight into the world of intelligence.

The terrorists talk in semi-mystical fashion. The girl, called Lucy although this is not her real name, says to Faraj, the fanatic from Pakistan: "They're looking for us, I can feel it." Faraj nodded slowly. "So be it."

Liz's boss is called Wetherby. Well, he would be, wouldn't he? He doesn't quite wear a bowler and carry a secret service-issue brolly with a poison dart in the tip, but close enough. He owns an "oblique smile".

Any good? It's pretty racy — improbably so, but then so are most of these things, and I've certainly read far worse, and far more farcical, attempts at depicting the silly world of spying.