FROST THE FIDDLER

The author of two wiseacre, spiky-spoofing comic novels (The Secret Life of Eve Hathaway, 1985; Customs Violation, 1987) sends her heroine, here a secret agent, through a James Bond clutter of frantic antics, sex on the run, and memorable last-second escapes and rub-outs. The spy has a parallel career as a concert violinist, the mouth of early Joan Rivers, and a computer named ``Spot.'' Leslie Frost, concertizing in Germany, just happens to notice a box of something being hoisted up to a church steeple in Leipzig, and also notes the murder of a passing cop. By the time Frost, as ``Smith''—one of a rapidly diminishing group of Seven Sisters, a super-secret spy circle headed by a cool queen—has caught on to a computer gig whereby an ex-Soviet satellite is being harnessed for evil purposes, she'll have been bopping around Europe, New York, and Boston, fiddling and sleuthing. Among new acquaintances: a choirmaster in a hi-tech steeple studio; a Leipzig trade fair official who's undoubtedly a foe but who, in bed, sounds hitherto untuned depths; a gifted American sound-engineer, another major talent; and assorted punks and patsies. Then there are constants like ulcer-tortured producer Harry; gloom-whacked accompanist Duncan; an MIT computer maven; and manager/butler Curtis (with ``the great behind''). Throughout, there are also glimpses and sounds from (Smith bugged an auditorium seat) a sinister redheaded woman. Smith works hard, bugging, sleuthing, traveling in her black leather bike get-up, shooting forth killer computer codes, mystifying and terrifying. A virtuoso manipulation of hallmark preposterous super-spy novel elements—and it's very, very funny indeed.