Russian Roulette: The Story of an Assassin (Alex Rider)
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
The final book in the #1 New York Times bestselling series that redefined the spy novel for young readers—Alex Rider!
Alex Rider’s life changed forever with the silent pull of a trigger.
Every story has a beginning. For teen secret agent Alex Rider, that beginning occurred prior to his first case for MI6, known by the code name Stormbreaker. By the time Stormbreaker forever changed Alex’s life, his uncle had been murdered by the assassin Yassen Gregorovich, leaving Alex orphaned and craving revenge. Yet when Yassen had a clear shot to take out Alex after he foiled the Stormbreaker plot, he let Alex live. Why?
This is Yassen’s story. A journey down the darker path of espionage.
Like a James Bond for young readers, international #1 bestseller Anthony Horowitz delivers a blockbuster thrill ride in this, his final Alex Rider novel.
raspberry ice cream that I bought for seven kopecks. The lady beamed at me as she handed it over as if she knew it was something special. I remember the taste of it to this day. It was as I finished the last spoonful that I realized I was being watched. There was a boy of about seventeen or eighteen leaning against a lamppost, examining me. He was the same height as me but more thickly set, with muddy eyes and long, very straight, almost colorless hair. He would have been handsome but at some
no friend, that Dementyev had called them. It wasn’t detective work. I could have asked him why my parents had been sent to live in Estrov while he had been allowed to stay here. I could have played back the conversation he’d had on the telephone, how he had referred to me simply as “the boy.” Not “Yasha.” Not “Anton’s son.” The people at the other end knew who I was because they’d been expecting me to show up, waiting for me. I could have worked it out, but I didn’t need to. I saw it all in his
If it hadn’t been for the carpeted floor, I would have broken my nose and ended up looking like Dima. If there was anyone in the apartment, they would certainly have heard me. I lay there for a moment, waiting for the door to open and the lights to go on. It didn’t happen. I remembered the people I had seen beneath their furs in the apartment below. Surely they would have heard the thump and wondered what it was. But there was no sound from below either. I waited another minute. My arm was
outstretched wings, perched on a Nazi swastika, all of it tattooed across his chest. He had a slight paunch, but even this was solid rather than flabby. There was a bandage just underneath one of his nipples and I realized that this was where I must have cut him with the knife. He was wearing tiny swimming trunks. His whole appearance was somehow very horrible. At last he noticed me. He picked up a towel and walked over to me. I was trembling. I couldn’t stop myself. I was expecting the
be. The secret of a successful kill is to know your target. That was what I had been taught. You have to learn their movements, their daily routine, the restaurants where they eat, the friends they meet, their tastes, their weaknesses, their secrets. The more you know, the easier it will be to find a time and an opportunity and the less chance there will be of making a mistake. You might not think I would learn a great deal from staring at a building for five hours, but at the end of that