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One-time Reuters correspondent Forsyth plays to his strengths -- documentation and reportage -- in telling the story of a West German reporter attempting to track down Eduard Roschmann, a former SS officer who, as commandant of the Riga Ghetto, killed thousands. He gets crash courses in post-war Nazi hunting and the Odessa, which, he discovers, is a clandestine organization established at the end of World War II to facilitate the flight and resettlement under new identities of Nazi war criminals. All of which, including the contents of an old Jewish man's diary of his time in Riga that more than adequately establishes the evil of the SS and of Roschmann in particular, is fine and dandy. The problem is that the hero's quest, taking him from one less-than-revelatory source to another, may resonate more with other reporters than readers of thrillers. Forsyth fails even to allow the man to reflect on his real reason for pursuing Roschmann, which is the open secret of nearly the entire book. When the action finally picks up in the final quarter, it is marred by rather too much luck and coincidence, as well as some awfully stupid behavior from the bad guys. Not bad, by any means, but not nearly as exciting as you might expect.
One-time Reuters correspondent Forsyth plays to his strengths -- documentation and reportage -- in telling the story of a West German reporter attempting to track down Eduard Roschmann, a former SS officer who, as commandant of the Riga Ghetto, killed thousands. He gets crash courses in post-war Nazi hunting and the Odessa, which, he discovers, is a clandestine organization established at the end of World War II to facilitate the flight and resettlement under new identities of Nazi war criminals. All of which, including the contents of an old Jewish man's diary of his time in Riga that more than adequately establishes the evil of the SS and of Roschmann in particular, is fine and dandy. The problem is that the hero's quest, taking him from one less-than-revelatory source to another, may resonate more with other reporters than readers of thrillers. Forsyth fails even to allow the man to reflect on his real reason for pursuing Roschmann, which is the open secret of nearly the entire book. When the action finally picks up in the final quarter, it is marred by rather too much luck and coincidence, as well as some awfully stupid behavior from the bad guys. Not bad, by any means, but not nearly as exciting as you might expect.
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