OLIVER BLEECK – Protocol for a Kidnapping.

Pocket, reprint paperback; 1st printing, June 1972. Hardcover edition: William Morrow, 1971. Later paperback: Perennial P646, 1983.

   Bleeck, as I’m sure you know, was the occasional pen-name of well-regarded thriller writer, Ross Thomas, whose five Bleeck novels all featured Philip St. Ives, by career a professional go-between, if you will. This is the second of them. (The first in the series, as a matter of fact, was The Brass Go-Between, 1969.)

OLIVER BLEECK

   As a personal aside, the reason I know Thomas is well-regarded is because I once ventured the statement that I personally found his books less than always wonderful, and I was ragged on something fierce about this by several vociferous dissenters.

   Ah, well. So maybe I was wrong. Try again? Sure, and so here we are. Here’s my revised opinion. Thomas (as Bleeck) is good at describing atmosphere and setting — no make that better than good — and even better at creating characters. People who easily step off the page into your living room.

   But, and you know there was a ‘but’ coming, didn’t you? I didn’t think his plot held any more water than a bucketful of holes, and I didn’t think the mixture of lightness (if not humor) and the (for lack of a better work) bleakness at the end went together any better than milk and beer do, or ever did.

   The situation that St. Ives is called in on is that of a supposedly kidnapped American ambassador to Yugoslavia, in return for a imprisoned poet and his spectacularly beautiful granddaughter, and St. Ives’ expertise in similar criminal circumstances.

   The word ‘supposedly’ is correct, and I’m not revealing anything the reader doesn’t know by page 30, but I’ll issue a **PLOT ALERT** warning anyway, and say that there is some funny business going one and it’s all some kind of setup for what seems to be awfully far-fetched reasons, or at least in terms of why go to such lengths for such a small gain. **END PLOT ALERT**

   St. Ives’ two travelling companions, the fun-loving and seemingly carefree Winston and Knight — who reminded me of none other than Tommy Hambledon’s two associates, one of whose names was Campbell and I think I need some help with the other one — seem, as I say, to take it all as a lark, and so I did too.

   Until, that is, the body count started to stack up. I will have to read Manning Coles again. I am sure people died in his (their) books, but why do I remember the lightheartedness of the books, and not the bodies?

   I mentioned the granddaughter. There is another beautiful woman in the book — I almost said babe, but I refrained — Arrie Tonzi, an escort sent by the embassy to meet St. Ives and his party in Belgrade.

OLIVER BLEECK

    “If you don’t like girls” [she greets them on page 50] “then you’ll have to see somebody about it tomorrow, because you’re stuck with me this afternoon.”

    “I think you’re beautiful, Miss Tonzi,” Wisdom said and smiled mournfully.

    “I think the State Department has been most thoughtful,” Knight said, giving her his best smile.

    “You’re right,” she said to me, “he is goddamned handsome.”

   Philip St. Ives does indeed like girls, as we soon discover, and I am sure Tommy Hambledon did also, but Manning Coles was, shall we say, of an earlier era, and we can only surmise.

   As long as I’m quoting, let me do a long one. I am impressed by Thomas’ way with words. From pages 73-74, when St. Ives and party first meet the granddaughter:

    We followed the cop who’d escorted us from below down the hall. He knocked on an apartment door politely. While we waited we smiled at each other as strangers do while language difference bars them from talking about the weather which was a little warmer than it had been the day before.

    When the door opened I completely understood why [Ambassador] Amfred Killingsworth had told the U. S. Department of State to go to hell. Although beauty and loveliness are totally inadequate words, she had the kind that could make kings abdicate, presidents abscond, and prime ministers turn to treason.

    There was the wilderness of the Balkans about her, and the sadness too, and they blended into an almost impossible loveliness that promised to share some wickedly delightful secret. The sea was in her eyes, the somber chill, gray-blue of the winter Adriatic. But if you looked more deeply there was also the laughing promise of next summer’s golden warmth. […]

    Although the plainclothes guard must have seen her every day, he was still struck dumb. First to recover was Wisdom who swallowed and said, “My name’s Parker Tyler Wisdom and I’ve come to take you away from all of this.”

   I really wish I could write like that, and I really wish the plot had made more sense. Maybe I’ll read the book again. I really liked the good parts.

— June 2003



[UPDATE] 10-01-09. When I wrote the review I knew exactly what it was that didn’t work in terms of the plot, but I have to tell you, reading through this review again now, over six years later, I certainly don’t now. You’ll just have to take my word for it that the story has as many holes in it as I said I did.

   Do you trust me on this? I know I do, but then again, I have to live with myself.