« Lieutenant O'Ryan lit a new cigarette to kill time. He had been waiting for an hour outside the door of a British secret service colonel. His training was complete. He had undergone three weeks of physical training with hundreds of other hand-picked men. He had been measured, evaluated psychologically, tested from every angle in a remote military camp deep in Yorkshire. He had been deemed fit to join MI6, the branch of the Secret Intelligence Service (SIS) responsible for spying activities outside the country. No more monitoring of coconuts outside the Liverpool and Manchester factories, no more interception of mail, trespassing on private homes and interrogations of underlings. In a few days, he would be appointed captain, assigned to MI6. John O'Ryan was going to see the country in Her Majesty's service. »

« Each day began with a cold shower, including in the middle of winter, in a large tiled room open to all winds. I had to concentrate with all my might to ignore the naked body of some of my comrades. The freezing cold was a precious ally, avoiding the social death that an unfortunate erection would have caused. I didn't need that to be the head of Sherborne Turk. I passed the morning test of the shower and the changing rooms, reflecting on mathematical problems, the last vexations suffered in class or on the sports fields, chasing from my mind the body of Apollo of Peter Sloane, undisputed king of athletics events, or the massive and circumcised penis of Alan Weinberg, a son of an inexhaustible London tailor in salacious jokes. »

« He stood in front of the videoconference screen without listening to the briefing of his Asia advisors. The Chinese president, a gay luron in the private sector - he did not ise on synthetic drugs and fine parts - was, as usual, dressed as a undertaker as part of his official duties. Her black-haired black hair, perfectly smooth, appeared to be covered with automotive metallic paint. »