Maybe. Anyway, this is a true story, as you can verify by searching for the names or places I mention.
An incarcerated middle-aged spy,
Harold James ("Jim") Nicholson,
was aided by a younger guy,
Nathaniel, his trusting un-fickle son.
Jim was jailed, so he had pre-percussions
of selling state secrets to Russians.
But though the bloke was stuck in jail
he had more secrets for sale.
So he said to his son,
"Let's sell every one."
And so poor young Nathaniel
was sent out like a Spaniel.
The part of the tale that made my day:
they met at a Cypriot T.G.I. Friday.
Okay, so it's lacking a struggle with Catholicism and an inability to form human attachments, but I still think Greene might have appreciated the mundaneness and seeming anachronism of the whole thing.
Also, if I were a limerick writer, I'd be sweating over the lovely initial line:
At a TGI Friday in Cyprus.
But luckily it's Monday, so I'm not one.