JAG XK 150 S (The Odessa File, by Frederick Forsyth)

The Odessa File By Frederick Forsyth Viking, 337 pp., $7.95

On November 22, 1963, Peter Miller was tooling along in his Jaguar XK 150 S on the Hamburg autobahn, satisfied with himself and his profession as a richly rewarded freelance reporter for the German sensational weeklies, savoring memories of a glorious night spent tumescing and detumescing with Sigi, a smart stripper with a heart of eighteen-karat gold, when suddenly the soft music from his car radio was rudely interrupted with a momentous bulletin: “Achtung, Achtung. President Kennedy is dead. I repeat President Kennedy is dead.” Hearing this, Peter pulled his Jag to the side of the road, and mused how only a short time before the young President had won the hearts of young Germany by pronouncing “Ich bin ein Berliner!” What if he had come to the reporter’s native city? Ich bin ein Hamburger? Peter dismissed the rude thought from his mind when he heard the wail of an ambulance tearing down the highway. Instinct—and the need of a story—told him to follow in pursuit. Here the author’s story really begins, the Kennedy fluff serving merely to pad out the skeleton of this true-fiction adventure tale.

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Max Geltman

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The Odessa File By Frederick Forsyth Viking, 337 pp., $7.95

On November 22, 1963, Peter Miller was tooling along in his Jaguar XK 150 S on the Hamburg autobahn, satisfied with himself and his profession as a richly rewarded freelance reporter for the German sensational weeklies, savoring memories of a glorious night spent tumescing and detumescing with Sigi, a smart stripper with a heart of eighteen-karat gold, when suddenly the soft music from his car radio was rudely interrupted with a momentous bulletin: “Achtung, Achtung. President Kennedy is dead. I repeat President Kennedy is dead.” Hearing this, Peter pulled his Jag to the side of the road, and mused how only a short time before the young President had won the hearts of young Germany by pronouncing “Ich bin ein Berliner!” What if he had come to the reporter’s native city? Ich bin ein Hamburger? Peter dismissed the rude thought from his mind when he heard the wail of an ambulance tearing down the highway. Instinct—and the need of a story—told him to follow in pursuit. Here the author’s story really begins, the Kennedy fluff serving merely to pad out the skeleton of this true-fiction adventure tale.