Moscow Rules (Gabriel Allon Series #8) [NOOK Book]

Overview

Daniel silva has hit the top with his new gabriel allon novel...

A #1 New York Times bestseller!

The death of a journalist leads Israeli spy Gabriel Allon to Russia, where he finds that, in terms of spycraft, even he has something to ...
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Moscow Rules (Gabriel Allon Series #8)

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Overview

Daniel silva has hit the top with his new gabriel allon novel...

A #1 New York Times bestseller!

The death of a journalist leads Israeli spy Gabriel Allon to Russia, where he finds that, in terms of spycraft, even he has something to learn if he wants to prevent a former KGB colonel from delivering Russia's most sophisticated weapons to al-Qaeda.


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Editorial Reviews

Newsday
Daniel Silva brings new life to the international thriller.
Publishers Weekly

Paul Gigante, who read Silva's Secret Servant, resumes his outstanding rendering of Gabriel Allon and his crew of Israeli counterterrorism experts. Once again, Gigante highlights Allon's strange blend of artist and assassin by giving him a quiet yet thoroughly persuasive voice. Gigante also deftly handles Silva's large, polyglot cast of arms dealers, terrorists, art dealers, wives, mistresses and even children. He does less well with the new Russian characters, Ivan and Elena, who speak with thick Russian accents, but use Anglicized pronunciations of their own names. Ivan sounds macho and threatening, but Elena is played with too much emotionalism, which detracts from the credibility of her decision to endanger her children and herself. Gigante's quick pace and narrative skill will keep listeners enthralled. A Putnam hardcover (Reviews, May 26 ). (July)

Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781440633577
  • Publisher: Penguin Group (USA)
  • Publication date: 7/22/2008
  • Series: Gabriel Allon Series , #8
  • Sold by: Penguin Group
  • Format: eBook
  • Pages: 528
  • Sales rank: 10,839
  • File size: 2 MB

Meet the Author


Daniel Silva is the #1 New York Times-bestselling author of The Unlikely Spy, The Mark of the Assassin, The Marching Season, The Kill Artist, The English Assassin, The Confessor, A Death in Vienna, Prince of Fire, The Messenger, The Secret Servant, Moscow Rules and The Defector. He is married to NBC News Today correspondent Jamie Gangel. They have two children, Lily and Nicholas. In 2009 Silva was appointed to the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum Council.

Biography

Daniel Silva was attending graduate school in San Francisco when United Press International offered him a temporary job covering the 1984 Democratic National Convention. Later that year, the wire service offered him full-time employment; he quit grad school and went to work for UPI -- first in San Francisco, then in Washington, D.C., and finally as a Middle East Correspondent posted in Cairo. While covering the Iran-Iraq War in 1987, he met NBC correspondent Jamie Gangel. They married, and Silva returned to Washington to take a job with CNN.

Silva was still at CNN when, with the encouragement of his wife, he began work on his first novel, a WWII espionage thriller. Published in 1997, The Unlikely Spy became a surprise bestseller and garnered critical acclaim. ("Evocative... memorable..." said The Washington Post; "Briskly suspenseful," raved The New York Times). On the heels of this somewhat unexpected success, Silva quit his job to concentrate on writing.

Other books followed, all earning respectable reviews; but it was Silva's fourth novel that proved to be his big breakthrough. Featuring a world-famous art restorer and sometime Israeli agent named Gabriel Allon, The Kill Artist (2000) fired public imagination and soared to the top of the bestseller charts. Gabriel Allon has gone on to star in several sequels, and his creator has become one of our foremost novelists of espionage intrigue, earning comparisons to such genre superstars as John Le Carré. Frederick Forsythe, and Robert Ludlum. Silva's books have been translated into more than 25 languages and have been published around the world.

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Read an Excerpt

1

COURCHEVEL, FRANCE

The invasion began, as it always did, in the last days of December. They came by armored caravan up the winding road from the floor of the Rhône Valley or descended onto the treacherous mountaintop airstrip by helicopter and private plane. Billionaires and bankers, oil tycoons and metal magnates, supermodels and spoiled children: the moneyed elite of a Russia resurgent. They streamed into the suites of the Cheval Blanc and the Byblos and commandeered the big private chalets along the rue de Bellecôte. They booked Les Caves nightclub for private all-night parties and looted the glittering shops of the Croissette. They snatched up all the best ski instructors and emptied the wineshops of their best champagne and cognac. By the morning of the twenty-eighth there was not a hair appointment to be had anywhere in town, and Le Chalet de Pierres, the famous slope-side restaurant renowned for its fire-roasted beef, had stopped taking reservations for dinner until mid-January. By New Year’s Eve, the conquest was complete. Courchevel, the exclusive ski resort high in the French Alps, was once more a village under Russian occupation.

Only the Hôtel Grand Courchevel managed to survive the onslaught from the East. Hardly surprising, devotees might have said, for, at the Grand, Russians, like those with children, were quietly encouraged to find accommodations elsewhere. Her rooms were thirty in number, modest in size, and discreet in appointment. One did not come to the Grand for gold fixtures and suites the size of football pitches. One came for a taste of Europe as it once was. One came to linger over a Campari in the lounge bar or to dawdle over coffee and Le Monde in the breakfast room. Gentlemen wore jackets to dinner and waited until after breakfast before changing into their ski attire. Conversation was conducted in a confessional murmur and with excessive courtesy. The Internet had not yet arrived at the Grand and the phones were moody. Her guests did not seem to mind; they were as genteel as the Grand herself and trended toward late middle age. A wit from one of the flashier hotels in the Jardin Alpin once described the Grand’s clientele as “the elderly and their parents.”

The lobby was small, tidy, and heated by a well-tended wood fire. To the right, near the entrance of the dining room, was Reception, a cramped alcove with brass hooks for the room keys and pigeonholes for mail and messages. Adjacent to Reception, near the Grand’s single wheezing lift, stood the concierge desk. Early in the afternoon of the second of January, it was occupied by Philippe, a neatly built former French paratrooper who wore the crossed golden keys of the International

Concierge Institute on his spotless lapel and dreamed of leaving the hotel business behind for good and settling permanently on his family’s truffle farm in Périgord. His thoughtful dark gaze was lowered toward a list of pending arrivals and departures. It contained a single entry: Lubin, Alex. Arriving by car from Geneva. Booked into Room 237. Ski rental required.

Philippe cast his seasoned concierge’s eye over the name. He had a flair for names. One had to in this line of work. Alex … short for Alexander, he reckoned. Or was it Aleksandr? Or Aleksei? He looked up and cleared his throat discreetly. An impeccably groomed head poked from Reception. It belonged to Ricardo, the afternoon manager.

“I think we have a problem,” Philippe said calmly.

Ricardo frowned. He was a Spaniard from the Basque region. He didn’t like problems.

“What is it?”

Philippe held up the arrivals sheet. “Lubin, Alex.”

Ricardo tapped a few keys on his computer with a manicured forefinger.

“Twelve nights? Ski rental required? Who took this reservation?”

“I believe it was Nadine.”

Nadine was the new girl. She worked the graveyard shift. And for the crime of granting a room to someone called Alex Lubin without first consulting Ricardo, she would do so for all eternity.

“You think he’s Russian?” Ricardo asked.

“Guilty as charged.”

Ricardo accepted the verdict without appeal. Though senior in rank, he was twenty years Philippe’s junior and had come to rely heavily upon the older man’s experience and judgment.

“Perhaps we can dump him on our competitors.”

“Not possible. There isn’t a room to be had between here and Albertville.”

“Then I suppose we’re stuck with him—unless, of course, he can be convinced to leave on his own.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Plan B, of course.”

“It’s rather extreme, don’t you think?”

“Yes, but it’s the only way.”

The former paratrooper accepted his orders with a crisp nod and began planning the operation. It commenced at 4:12 p.m., when a dark gray Mercedes sedan with Geneva registration pulled up at the front steps and sounded its horn. Philippe remained at his pulpit for a full two minutes before donning his greatcoat at considerable leisure and heading slowly outside. By now the unwanted Monsieur Alex Lubin—twelve nights, ski rental required—had left his car and was standing angrily next to the open trunk. He had a face full of sharp angles and pale blond hair arranged carefully over a broad pate. His narrow eyes were cast downward into the trunk, toward a pair of large nylon suitcases. The concierge frowned at the bags as if he had never seen such objects before, then greeted the guest with a glacial warmth.

“May I help you, Monsieur?”

The question had been posed in English. The response came in the same language, with a distinct Slavic accent.

“I’m checking into the hotel.”

“Really? I wasn’t told about any pending arrivals this afternoon. I’m sure it was just a slipup. Why don’t you have a word with my colleague at Reception? I’m confident he’ll be able to rectify the situation.”

Lubin murmured something under his breath and tramped up the steep steps. Philippe took hold of the first bag and nearly ruptured a disk trying to hoist it out. He’s a Russian anvil salesman and he’s brought along a case filled with samples. By the time he had managed to heave the bags into the lobby, Lubin was slowly reciting his confirmation number to a perplexed-looking Ricardo, who, try as he might, had been unable to locate the reservation in question. The problem was finally resolved—“A small mistake by one of our staff, Monsieur Lubin. I’ll be certain to have a word with her”—only to be followed by another. Due to an oversight by the housekeeping staff, the room was not yet ready. “It will just be a few moments,” Ricardo said in his most silken voice. “My colleague will place your bags in the storage room. Allow me to show you to our lounge bar. There will be no charge for your drinks, of course.” There would be a charge—a rather bloated one, in fact—but Ricardo planned to spring that little surprise when Monsieur Lubin’s defenses were at their weakest.

Sadly, Ricardo’s optimism that the delay would be brief turned out to be misplaced. Indeed, ninety additional minutes would elapse before Lubin was shown, sans baggage, to his room. In accordance with Plan B, there was no bathrobe for trips to the wellness center, no vodka in the minibar, and no remote for the television. The bedside alarm clock had been set for 4:15 a.m. The heater was roaring. Philippe covertly removed the last bar of soap from the bathroom, then, after being offered no gratuity, slipped out the door, with a promise that the bags would be delivered in short order. Ricardo was waiting for him as he came off the lift.

“How many vodkas did he drink in the bar?”

“Seven,” said Ricardo.

The concierge put his teeth together and hissed contemptuously.

Only a Russian could drink seven vodkas in an hour and a half and still remain on his feet.

“What do you think?” asked Ricardo. “Mobster, spy, or hit man?”

It didn’t matter, thought Philippe gloomily. The walls of the Grand had been breached by a Russian. Resistance was now the order of the day. They retreated to their respective outposts, Ricardo to the grotto of Reception, Philippe to his pulpit near the lift. Ten minutes later came the first call from Room 237. Ricardo endured a Stalinesque tirade before murmuring a few soothing words and hanging up the phone. He looked at Philippe and smiled.

“Monsieur Lubin was wondering when his bags might arrive.”

“I’ll see to it right away,” said Philippe, smothering a yawn.

“He was also wondering whether something could be done about the heat in his room. He says it’s too warm, and the thermostat doesn’t seem to work.”

Philippe picked up his telephone and dialed Maintenance.

“Turn the heat up in Room 237,” he said. “Monsieur Lubin is cold.”

Had they witnessed the first few moments of Lubin’s stay, they would have felt certain in their belief that a miscreant was in their midst. How else to explain that he removed all the drawers from the chest and the bedside tables and unscrewed all the bulbs from the lamps and the light fixtures? Or that he stripped bare the deluxe queensize bed and pried the lid from the two-line message-center telephone? Or that he poured a complimentary bottle of mineral water into the toilet and hurled a pair of chocolates by Touvier of Geneva into the snow-filled street? Or that, having completed his rampage, he then returned the room to the near-pristine state in which he had found it?

It was because of his profession that he took these rather drastic measures, but his profession was not one of those suggested by Ricardo the receptionist. Aleksandr Viktorovich Lubin was neither a mobster nor a spy, nor a hit man, only a practitioner of the most dangerous trade one could choose in the brave New Russia: the trade of journalism. And not just any type of journalism: independent journalism. His magazine, Moskovsky Gazeta, was one of the country’s last investigative weeklies and had been a persistent stone in the shoe of the Kremlin. Its reporters and photographers were watched and harassed constantly, not only by the secret police but by the private security services of the powerful oligarchs they attempted to cover. Courchevel was now crawling with such men. Men who thought nothing of sprinkling transmitters and poisons around hotel rooms. Men who operated by the creed of Stalin: Death solves all problems. No man, no problem.

Confident the room had not been tampered with, Lubin again dialed the concierge to check on his bags and was informed they would arrive “imminently.” Then, after throwing open the balcony doors to the cold evening air, he settled himself at the writing desk and removed a file folder from his dog-eared leather briefcase. It had been given to him the previous evening by Boris Ostrovsky, the Gazeta’s editor in chief. Their meeting had taken place not in the Gazeta’s offices, which were assumed to be thoroughly bugged, but on a bench in the Arbatskaya Metro station.

I’m only going to give you part of the picture, Ostrovsky had said, handing Lubin the documents with practiced indifference. It’s for your own protection. Do you understand, Aleksandr? Lubin had understood perfectly. Ostrovsky was handing him an assignment that could get him killed.

He opened the file now and examined the photograph that lay atop the dossier. It showed a well-dressed man with cropped dark hair and a prizefighter’s rugged face standing at the side of the Russian president at a Kremlin reception. Attached to the photo was a thumbnail biography—wholly unnecessary, because Aleksandr Lubin, like every other journalist in Moscow, could recite the particulars of Ivan Borisovich Kharkov’s remarkable career from memory. Son of a senior KGB officer … graduate of the prestigious Moscow State University … boy wonder of the KGB’s Fifth Main Directorate … As the empire was crumbling, Kharkov had left the KGB and earned a fortune in banking during the anarchic early years of Russian capitalism. He had invested wisely in energy, raw materials, and real estate, and by the dawn of the millennium had joined Moscow’s growing cadre of newly minted multimillionaires. Among his many holdings was a shipping and air freight company with tentacles stretching across the Middle East, Africa, and Asia. The true size of his financial empire was impossible for an outsider to estimate. A relative newcomer to capitalism, Ivan Kharkov had mastered the art of the front company and the corporate shell.

Lubin flipped to the next page of the dossier, a glossy magazine-quality photograph of “Château Kharkov,” Ivan’s winter palace on the rue de Nogentil in Courchevel.

He spends the winter holiday there along with every other rich and famous Russian, Ostrovsky had said. Watch your step around the house. Ivan’s goons are all former Spetsnaz and OMON. Do you hear what I’m saying to you, Aleksandr? I don’t want you to end up like Irina Chernova.

Irina Chernova was the famous journalist from the Gazeta’s main rival who had exposed one of Kharkov’s shadier investments. Two nights after the article appeared, she had been shot to death by a pair of hired assassins in the elevator of her Moscow apartment building. Ostrovsky, for reasons known only to him, had included a photograph of her bullet-riddled body in the dossier. Now, as then, Lubin turned it over quickly.

Ivan usually operates behind tightly closed doors. Courchevel is one of the few places where he actually moves around in public. We want you to follow him, Aleksandr. We want to know who he’s meeting with. Who he’s skiing with. Who he’s taking to lunch. Get pictures when you can, but never approach him. And don’t tell anyone in town where you work. Ivan’s security boys can smell a reporter a mile away.

Ostrovsky had then handed Lubin an envelope containing airline tickets, a rental car reservation, and hotel accommodations. Check in with the office every couple of days, Ostrovsky had said. And try to have some fun, Aleksandr. Your colleagues are all very jealous. You get to go to Courchevel and party with the rich and famous while we freeze to death in Moscow.

On that note, Ostrovsky had risen to his feet and walked to the edge of the platform. Lubin had slipped the dossier into his briefcase and immediately broken into a drenching sweat. He was sweating again now. The damn heat! The furnace was still blazing away. He was starting to reach for the telephone to lodge another complaint when finally he heard the knock. He covered the length of the short entrance hall in two resentful strides and flung open the door without bothering to ask who was on the other side. A mistake, he thought immediately, for standing in the semidarkness of the corridor was a man of medium height, dressed in a dark ski jacket, a woolen cap, and mirrored goggles.

Lubin was wondering why anyone would wear goggles inside a hotel at night when the first blow came, a vicious sideways chop that seemed to crush his windpipe. The second strike, a well-aimed kick to the groin, caused his body to bend in half at the waist. He was able to emit no protest as the man slipped into the room and closed the door soundlessly behind him. Nor was he able to resist when the man forced him onto the bed and sat astride his hips. The knife that emerged from the inside of the ski jacket was the type wielded by elite soldiers. It entered Lubin’s abdomen just below the ribs and plunged upward toward his heart. As his chest cavity filled with blood, Lubin was forced to suffer the additional indignity of watching his own death reflected in the mirrored lenses of his killer’s goggles. The assassin released his grip on the knife and, with the weapon still lodged in Lubin’s chest, rose from the bed and calmly collected the dossier. Aleksandr Lubin felt his heart beat a final time as his killer slipped silently from the room. The heat, he was thinking. The damn heat . . .

It was shortly after seven when Philippe finally collected Monsieur Lubin’s bags from storage and loaded them onto the lift. Arriving at Room 237, he found the do not disturb sign hanging from the latch. In accordance with the conventions of Plan B, he gave the door three thunderous knocks. Receiving no reply, he drew his passkey from his pocket and entered, just far enough to see two size-twelve Russian loafers hanging a few inches off the end the bed. He left the bags in the entrance hall and returned to the lobby, where he delivered a report of his findings to Ricardo.

“Passed out drunk.”

The Spaniard glanced at his watch. “It’s early, even for a Russian. What now?”

“We’ll let him sleep it off. In the morning, when he’s good and hungover, we’ll initiate Phase Two.”

The Spaniard smiled. No guest had ever survived Phase Two. Phase Two was always fatal.

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4
( 176 )
Rating Distribution

5 Star

(91)

4 Star

(47)

3 Star

(23)

2 Star

(8)

1 Star

(7)

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 177 Customer Reviews
  • Posted December 9, 2008

    more from this reviewer

    engaging spy thriller

    Art restorer Alessio Vianelli also known in some secretive circles as Israeli master-spy Gabriel Allon is on his honeymoon with his second wife Chiara in Umbria when his friend and undercover associate Uzi Navot meets with him at an Assisi, Italy restaurant. Uzi, a senior official for the Israel secret intelligence service, informs Gabriel that Russian arms dealer Ivan Kharkov is selling weapons to al-Qaeda. The assumption is obvious that a planned major terrorist attack is forthcoming, but none of the western espionage agents knows which cell or where. Gabriel insists on investigating. ---- The tip came from inside Moscow as Ivan¿s wife Elena warned the west. Gabriel believes she is the only avenue to who specifically her spouse is selling the weapons to she must be recruited in order for her to obtain Kharkov's ledger sheet. Unknown to Gabriel and his associates is that the former Russian Colonel and his associates have grandiose schemes to return Russia to its Soviet Empire glory days and thanks to western, Chinese, and Indian thirst for oil, money is no longer an obstacle. ---- The Allon counterespionage series is one of the best spy thriller sagas on the market today however his latest escapades in Moscow is fast-paced, but lacks the moral underpinnings that make the enemy seem human. Perhaps it is because MOSCOW RULES follows the fantastic THE SECRET SERVANT, which placed the spy thriller quality bar at stratospheric levels especially with the extraordinary explanation on how a person metamorphosis into a terrorist. In spite a shaky ending, Daniel Silva¿s tale showcases a different no longer bleak Moscow in which oil money and America¿s economic woes has made many think they can revisit and win the Cold War especially influential ruthless former military colonels. ---- Harriet Klausner

    8 out of 9 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 28, 2008

    Great Spy Thriller

    Silva has written another great spy thriller, demonstrating that today's dangerous world provides plenty of fiction fodder for those that like their chills served up in large doses.

    4 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 21, 2008

    A great thrill ride

    Silva's Gabriel Allon books are must reads for fans of good spy novels. This is the strongest yet, but I highly recommend the previous books in the series, all of which are good. I'm just sad that I will now have to wait for a year for Silva to write another one, as I knocked this one off in a day.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted May 29, 2010

    more from this reviewer

    I Also Recommend:

    Intelligent writing....love it!

    This is the third novel featuring Gabriel Allon that I've read. I found the first in Heathrow during a long wait the day after that crazy doctor failed in his bombing attempt with his SUV full of explosives there in London. Maybe because of the situation, I fell immediately in love with Gabriel Allon and his cause.

    Silva's research is fantastic. I loved reading the explanation and thanks at the end of Moscow Rules. He puts so much work into his novels. It really pays off, and the intelligent reader of fiction will certainly appreciate his efforts. Though Allon is the consummate spy, he doesn't speak Russian nor know a very lot about the history and people other than the interactions between the Russian government and his own. He knows about the Russian arms dealers, but his lack of Russian language really works to give him a more human feel. Of course, so does the ending, but I wouldn't dream of spoiling it for the next reader!

    Moscow Rules, and others in the series, are intense. I like to make sure I have ample time to process the twists and turns of the story line, so I read them on a weekend without my six year old, when flying, or whenever I know I can have some time for thought to process the story. Moscow Rules was especially intriguing because of the Russian culture and history in the story.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted May 3, 2010

    I Also Recommend:

    AWESOME AND WORTH THE TIME

    I picked this book up randomly one day and boy am I glad I did. I couldn't put it down. This series has the most amazing, creative, unique characters and story line that I have found outside classic mystery series like Sherlock Holmes. Thank you Daniel Silva for writing this and the many adventures so far for Gabriel, you have truly entertained and educated me!

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted April 17, 2010

    I Also Recommend:

    The book has made me wanting to become a spy !!!

    i love the way the author describes the characters in detail which really makes a big difference to the execution of the whole story. the detailing is a treat to the readers' visual senses and makes you feel as if the story is being enacted in front of you.

    an edge of the seat novel which swings you to different levels of emotions. the storytelling is fantastic making the reader wanting to be there to kill the bad guys..

    i loved the book and will definitely read more books by the author..

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted April 8, 2010

    Another fine read from Silva

    I've read several of Daniel Silva's books. All are very good, and so is this one. It is a fine, fast-paced thriller. He's one of the best of this genre, in my view. Read it; you'll like it.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted April 3, 2010

    Another Easy Read

    Daniel Silva does another great job of combining a good modern day story with
    bits of humor. Many times in books that make up a series you tire of the characters. With Gabriel Allon and the lot this is not the case. I read all kinds of Spy novels by different authors and Daniel Silva has become my favorite.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted March 27, 2010

    Allon at his best

    Gabriel Allon is what one would call the master of instant justice. Sometimes you wish the characters were true. The plot is developed at such a pace that you have a difficult time putting the book down. Good guys win! How different is that from reality?

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 22, 2009

    Great book!

    Loved reading this book,every page great.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted August 19, 2009

    LOVE Silva's books....

    Better read A Death in Viena before you read this one to follow the story. Love his books! Hope he comes up with a lot more....

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted June 11, 2009

    more from this reviewer

    I Also Recommend:

    Good guy Gabriel

    Artist/not-so-secret agent Gabriel Allon is lured from his idyllic Umbria honeymoon by a request for a "small favor" from his mentor/father surrogate, former head of the Mussad. The favor turns out to be lethal. Although the mission that develops is a crucial one, involving covert arms sales and global terrorism, Gabriel has learned to subjugate what his heart tells him in order to do what he deems right. Somehow, Moscow Rules is missing the edge that all previous Allon novels have offered. While there is menace and violence to spare, Gabriel himself seems to be going through the paces because, well, that's what he does. The villain of the piece, Ivan Kharkov, seems a caricature designed to personify all the tyrannical elements that persist even in modern Russia, and his wife, who rats him out, doesn't come across as strong or committed enough to fulfill her mission. Nevertheless, I'd rather read a Silva covert-ops novel than one by virtually anyone else writing today, and Moscow isn't bad, simply not quite as sharp as its predecessors.

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted December 27, 2013

    Good, but could have been much better.

    As the Gabriel Allon series progresses, it's only natural to see characters develop more fully than a single appearance in a one-time novel would allow. This seemed to happen since the beginning of the series, but, in my opinion, has now stalled. Although time is allotted for more character development, the reader is really only presented the characters as they have been before. In wanting to treat the characters better, the author uses a lot of words to set up a scene or an impending action but accomplishes not much more than the set-up itself. Although as a reader I am not put off by an ending that leaves some matters "hanging" (and this book does, allowing for a future for the bad and the good), I feel this book got to a point where the author said, "OK. I'm done. Let's end it and go to press."
    I also had the thought as I read about the mental and physical condition of Allon as the book ended, that he learns nothing from past experiences -- though that would not allow, I guess, for anything more than full retirement and the end of the series. All in all, if you like this author and his characters (as I surely do), the disappointments are outweighed by the plot that is all to much a reality for these times.

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  • Posted August 30, 2013

    more from this reviewer

    Moscow Rules by Daniel Silva is the eighth in the Gabriel Allon

    Moscow Rules by Daniel Silva is the eighth in the Gabriel Allon series. Even though there are numer­ous ref­er­ences to the pre­vi­ous books, I thought this novel was still a good read and could be read independently.

    Gabriel Allon and his new wife, Chiara, are on their hon­ey­moon in Umbria, Italy. But Gabriel never stops work­ing and is restor­ing a paint­ing for the Vat­i­can. A Russ­ian news­pa­per reporter con­tacts the Israeli embassy in Rome request­ing a meet­ing with Allon who reluc­tantly agrees.

    The meet­ing never hap­pens and Allon is thrown into the world of Russ­ian busi­ness­man, Euro­pean pol­i­tics, arms deal­ers and the mix of old ene­mies with new money.

    Moscow Rules by Daniel Silva is another solid, well-written and depend­able adven­ture in the Gabriel Allon chronicles.

    After read­ing the 8th book in the series it is obvi­ous that Silva has cre­ated a char­ac­ter that is strong, sub­tle and con­flicted with an inter­est­ing back­ground story and engag­ing future. At this point in his life, Allon and the read­ers aren’t really sure what he is. Allon is too old to be the James Bond style agent, too young to retire, too cyn­i­cal to take a desk job but he is a patriot in every bone in his body and is still able to contribute.

    Silva real­ize that he can’t keep his spy young for­ever and basi­cally ruined his spy­ing career in sev­eral books prior by hav­ing his face splashed across news­pa­pers and Euro­pean agen­cies not allow­ing him entry into their coun­try. This time the ene­mies are Russ­ian oli­garchs and heavy handed pol­i­tics which seem to be a wel­comed depar­ture, yet still in the espi­onage genre.

    At first I wasn’t sure if I wanted to read Moscow Rules but I’m glad I did. Silva man­aged to find another adven­ture to our aging spy which is not laugh­able and keeps up with cur­rent events. The author does an excel­lent job explain­ing the cur­rent (or cur­rent when it was writ­ten) con­flicts in the for­mer USSR, as well as keep­ing up with his abil­ity to write peo­ple and char­ac­ters which keep the story mov­ing and are inter­est­ing to follow.

    The end­ing of the story did get tied up but the emo­tional aspects seemed to be tied up in a rushed way, a page or two more wouldn’t have hurt. Oth­er­wise I felt the book was nicely paced, a quick read and another excel­lent addi­tion to the excit­ing thrillers of the Allon repertoire.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 31, 2013

    Great book

    There isn't a book in the Gabriel Allon Series by Daniel Silva that has not been great. It's the kind of book that once started one cannot put down.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 23, 2012

    Moscow Rules

    I have read Moscow Rules, as well as all the "Gabriel Allon" series, and enjoyed them tremendously. I highly recommend Moscow Rules. It is entertaining as well as educational.

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  • Posted September 28, 2011

    Great Read

    I do most of my reading during the summer months when my schedule is less busy. Summer 2011: I discovered Daniel Silva and the Gabriel Allon series. I read all 11 books in a very short period of time. They are interesting and never a dull moment!

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  • Posted June 12, 2011

    more from this reviewer

    Best+espionage+series+yet%21

    Truth+be+told+this+is+the+first+Gabriel+Allon+book+I+read+but+it+was+easy+to+jump+into+and+a+fantastic+read

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 30, 2010

    A Good Read

    A good read that takes you around the world and back again. Ivan makes a good villan and we all know that Gabriel will prevail, but overall, it still was a fun book to read.

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  • Posted December 8, 2009

    Fantastic

    The best of the series. Gabriel rocks.

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