A picture pops up in the small box on the right-hand side of the screen. Taken from straight on as the subject is walking toward the camera, it shows a man in his early thirties, built, dark haired, with a short dark beard and penetrating green eyes. He’s dressed in black slacks and a white button-down dress shirt rolled up his corded forearms, both of which look like they could be cutting off circulation they’re so tight. Obviously, he’s proud of his physique.
Even more obviously, he’s dangerous. His whole vibe screams “badass.”
“Who is he?”
“Former commander in the Russian Armed Forces. Post-military career consists mainly of personal security for sketchy dudes. Oligarchs, Mafia heads, the occasional fascist. But a few months ago, he started a new gig. He brought his friend Vlad with
