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.