by Will Jordan
If only my friends could see me now, he thought with a sardonic smile.
‘All in,’ he judged at last, pushing all of his remaining money into the centre of the table. What the hell – of he was to screw this up, he’d rather do it in spectacular fashion.
His opponent was a lean-faced man in his thirties with a broken nose, his loosely buttoned shirt exposing a chest tattoo of Stalin’s severed head lying in a basket that Alex was too scared to ask about; the kind of man Alex would normally have been happy to stay at least two time zones away from, fearing for his life if he said or did the wrong thing. But he was lucky enough to know the owner of this gambling club, having helped him track down a couple of men who’d tried to blackmail him over the internet. Alex had no idea what had happened to them after they’d been located, but he did know one thing for sure – while he was here, no harm would come to him.
Chewing slowly on the gum that had been in his mouth for the past two hours, his opponent’s eyes rose slowly from the pile of money to Alex’s face, searching for a tell.
Alex stared right back at him, giving him nothing.
‘Skurwysyn!’ he growled at last – loosely translated as ‘son of a bitch’ – as he laid his cards face down on the table.
Forcing himself not to smile, or to give into the urge to yell in relief that he now had enough money to live for another month, Alex reached out to collect his winnings as the other players dispersed in search of more drinks.
‘Fuck it. When in Rome,’ he decided, downing his shot of vodka. He’d earned it today.
Such was his preoccupation with his success, he almost didn’t notice the sleek-looking blonde woman slide into a chair beside him.
‘This is not quite how I pictured you using the money I gave you, Alex,’ she chided him.
Alex froze in the midst of folding the Polish notes, closing his eyes as memories of last year suddenly came rushing back to him. Memories of being pursued, interrogated, almost murdered. Memories of watching friends die. Memories of a woman with blonde hair at the centre of it all.
‘Anya,’ he said, turning slowly to regard her. He could feel a chill running down his spine at the sight of that hard, cruelly beautiful face. ‘Do I even want to know how you found me?’
‘You are not as hard to track down as you think,’ she explained. ‘Especially when you make connections in the Polish underworld.’
That was enough to raise his ire. ‘If you’re here to deliver a lecture, spare me. There aren’t a lot of job opportunities for guys with no employment history and a dodgy ID.’
‘I did not come here to lecture you,’ she said sharply, though her expression softened a little before she carried on. ‘I came here to ask for your help.’
‘My help?’ he repeated, taken aback by her admission. ‘What help can a retired computer hacker be to you?’
‘Exactly the kind I need.’
She looked at him for a long moment, as if mentally sizing him up for the task that lay ahead, trying to decide whether or not he had what it took. It was a good couple of seconds later, but sure enough she made her decision.
‘I need you to find someone for me.’
Acknowledgements
Working as I have on the Ryan Drake series these past few years, I've come to understand that as an author, any book series really comes down to two things - patience and reward. Patience in setting up confrontations, characters and motivations; and reward in finally turning them loose on each other and letting the drama unfold. Ghost Target is, for me at least, the reward for several years of preparation and patience, and it has genuinely been one of the most enjoyable books I've ever written.
That said, it didn't come together just through my writing, but through the combined efforts of many people behind the scenes. First and foremost, I'd like to thank my editor Iain Millar for his insightful and professional guidance in shaping this book, and his ability to see straight to the heart of the story. My thanks as well go to all the staff at Canelo for their support and expertise, and to Dan Mogford for his excellent cover designs. And as always, my gratitude to my agent Diane Banks for her continued encouragement and guidance.
First published in the United Kingdom in 2016 by Canelo
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
57 Shepherds Lane
Beaconsfield, Bucks HP9 2DU
United Kingdom
Copyright © 2016 by Will Jordan
The moral right of Will Jordan to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781910859711
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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