City of Exiles
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In the lightning-paced sequel to The Icon Thief, Europe's turbulent past and terrifying future are set to collide in the streets and prisons of London--and beyond.
Rachel Wolfe, a gifted FBI agent assigned to a major investigation overseas, discovers that a notorious gun runner has been murdered at his home in London, his body set on fire. When a second victim is found under identical circumstances, the ensuing chase plunges Wolfe and her colleagues into a breathless race across Europe, a secret war between two ruthless intelligence factions, and a hunt for a remorseless killer with a deadly appointment in Helsinki.
At the heart of the mystery lies one of the strangest unsolved incidents in the history of Russia--the unexplained death of nine mountaineers in the Dyatlov Pass five decades before. And at the center of it all stands a figure from Wolfe's past: the Russian thief and former assassin known in another life as the Scythian...
hands. As the officer approached, Karvonen kept an eye on him. Very slowly, he reached up and unzipped his jacket partway. Then he put his hands back on the steering wheel. When the officer was close enough, Karvonen pressed the switch on his armrest to roll down the window. With snow and cold air already beginning to drift through the gap, he gave a nod to what turned out to be a junior constable. “Good evening. Anything wrong?” “Hands on the wheel, please,” the constable said, turning
head to the left, then snapped it hard to the right. It was over in less than a second. When he released his grip, her body slumped to the floor. Her head was bent strangely to one side, as if she were looking at something under the bed. Around him, the loft seemed very quiet. Karvonen saw that the towel had fallen from his waist. Bending down, he snatched it up and put it back on, then crossed to the other side of the flat. Along the far wall, a row of windows ran from floor to
hand. An instant later, Karvonen felt someone strong seize him by the shoulders. He was shoved and spun around so that his face pressed against the smooth surface of the dry-erase board on the wall. A voice whispered in his ear, a threatening rumble with a thick Russian accent. “Don’t move, suka.” Karvonen smiled, his face squashed against the whiteboard. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Keeping one hand pressed against the small of Karvonen’s back, Morley’s bodyguard shut the door.
you’re safe. But if you ever go behind my back again, you’ll be lucky to end up on mail fraud.” He left. Once she was alone, Wolfe sat in silence, thinking of what he had said a moment ago. Remembering some of the things she had told Asthana, she felt an uncomfortable sense of shame. In the end, she simply got back to work. Her own notes had been destroyed in the blast, so the first order of business was to reconstruct everything she remembered from her interview with Ilya and to
the woman’s cheeks. Karvonen turned his head to one side but continued in their direction, as if being pushed that way by the momentum of the crowd. Still keeping his eyes averted, he passed within touching distance of the pair, barely seeming to brush the man as he went. A second later, the man crumpled to the floor, doubled up, clutching the crotch of his jeans in pain. The bottle of Armagnac, heavy as a bowling ball in its shopping bag, had hit him squarely in the testicles. The girl