Some operations run for decades. The last asset recruited is the one who never knew. Paris, 1973. Mike Harwood has come to teach abroad. The city is alive with politics, protest, and the particular energy of a place that has survived everything - and forgotten nothing. He has no idea that men who served with his father nearly thirty years earlier have been watching his life take shape. That the placement was not coincidence. That the two women who enter his world were not accidents.

Mike is not an operative. He is the operation. Set against the cafés, embassies, and back streets of a city fluent in deception, The Paris Dialect is a novel about inheritance - what fathers pass to sons without their knowledge, and what a city extracts from those who never intended to give anything at all.