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A Great Spring Break Read

~ Just me ~ Leave a comment

Especially if you–like me–are not going to be able to play tennis, golf, or do any yard work after the feet of snow .

I know. Bummer about that yard work.

From SAVAGE GAMBIT (available in paperback or e-version , or I have a few laying around, too!):

This was going to be a golf shot, at best, Connor thought to himself. The noise of the explosion should cover one shot, maybe two. But then it’s a shootout with four guys, all of whom have better firepower than I do.

This was a thin plan.

And what he didn’t get his son to think through was just what was supposed to happen with Stephanie. Or Irena. Or whatever. She was probably a separate piece from all of this.

But…just one piece. Not worth the 350 other students and teachers, or even the six little blonde girls.……

Connor peeked around the edge of the entrance for just a moment, taking a mental snapshot of the scene. One black hood standing over the six girls, now on their feet; two huddled together just outside the entrance, looking down at a device in one of their hands; one more, a little further up the path, looking out at the parking lot; and one for sure, possibly two, just off to the left.

Maybe that’s it. They all seem to be together and not spread out too far. That brings the odds of this working up to, oh, say, about twelve percent. Perfectly good chances, he thought with a wry chuckle.

Now, just to wait for the moment…

The Conflict

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An excerpt from SAVAGE GAMBIT

“You get an i.d. on the girl?”

Yeah, sure. Thing is, 6 years old facial, early teenager to begin with, not exactly Time/Life quality photography …The match is only about forty percent.

“Forty?” Connor paused, rubbed his temples. “Well, okay. If that’s the best we got, then we take it with a grain of salt, and see what we have.”

As long as you understand.

“Of course I do, Len. It hasn’t been so long that I don’t remember the intel is rarely 100%. So…who might she be?”

Well, that’s the thing that makes it a very interesting forty percent, Chief. The picture match we have is of Irena Kovaleskyi, the daughter of Mikhael Kovaleskyi, senior vice president of Gazprom and, reputedly, deep into the Russian mob.

“How deep in the Russian mob, Lenny? What exactly does that mean?”

Well, of course, we can’t get perfect intel. But what we do know is this: Kovaleskyi was Spetnaz, not very high up, but enough to make connections. He’s not an engineer, nor is he any kind of businessman, so, how he got the job at Gazprom is, well, probably a matter of connections.

“Okay. Pretty normal in post-Soviet Russia.”

Sure. Nothing we’ve never heard before. But, then, suddenly, about three and a half years ago, Kovaleskyi’s name disappears from corporate listings, he stops appearing at company functions, and his holdings in American and British stocks start to, quietly, liquidate, and any evidence of him—newspapers, television, even open source—completely dries up.

“Also, pretty normal in post-Soviet Russia.”

Except this time, the FSB starts doing some quiet digging of their own—not exactly their usual M.O. after they make a guy disappear. So, the guys at Langley put a little flag on Kovaleskyi. Then, eighteen months ago, we get wind of a couple guns for hire starting to sniff around for Kovaleskyi in England, Australia, even the Far East. Nobody attaches a name to the contract, but one of the guns does most of his work for the Bratva.

“Really…?”

No way to know for sure, but… If that’s who this girl really is, then you’ve got some shit to deal with, Davies.

“Boy, no kidding.”

Connor clicked the line off, and stood in the driveway, staring at the street while he started working through all the possibilities of what Roberts’ news could mean.

And none of them were very promising.

Long Weekend? More snow coming in?

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Sounds like a good weekend for a book…..

From SAVAGE GAMBIT

He stands, then nods to Sergei, who turns and nods towards the darkness, summoning three other henchmen into the light. The two of them walk away, back into the darkness, and away from the thuds, cracks and screams which soon emerge from the cone of light.

Dmitry speaks, as he picks up his jacket from a chair where it was resting around a table. “So. America. Go find him, Sergei.”

“That’s no simple task, Dmitry. It is easy for a man with forty-five million dollars to disappear.”

“That is MY forty-five million dollars,” Dmitry thundered. “I want it back. And I want him.”

Sergei stepped back a step, lowered his head deferentially. “Of course, Dmitry.”

Dmitry paused, gathered himself again, then looked down at the chess board on the table, still in mid-game. “He has a daughter.”

Sergei stepped up proudly. “Then I will kill her, too.”

Dmitry shook his head. “You misunderstand, Sergei. To get to the King, you must know where his pieces belong.” He looked at Dmitry. “He has a daughter, and, in America, she must go to school. He is too proud to hide her in the public schools, the fool. Search the private schools. The finest private schools. Find her, find him.”

Sergei nodded. “I will get this done, Pakhan.”

Dmitry started to walk away, then stopped, as one last hideous crack came from the light behind them. In the sudden silence, he was able to speak quietly.

“Oh, and Sergei? You must hide our involvement. As weak as Washington has become, our friends in Moscow cannot afford tension with Washington.”

“Any ideas how we might do that?”

Dmitry shrugged, then nodded towards the chess board. “All warfare is based on deception. Just give them other pieces while you hide your queen, then…”