Cartel Clash Read online

  “Hey, Valentine, I get the message.”

  “Yes. I get carried away when I think about Bondarchik. I have been after him for too long.”

  “So let’s see what we can do about him. The world could do with one less arms dealer.”

  “The word is that Bondarchik has negotiated to supply Spyker ex-military portable missile units to this Mexican, Rojas. Yes?”

  “Rojas is flexing his muscle. He runs a powerful cartel supplying illegal drugs to the U.S. I just shut down his American partner, so Rojas is not going to be a happy man. The guy is a lowlife, and he’s ruthless. If he got his hands on these missiles, I have no doubt he’d use them on U.S. targets.”

  “And your DEA? They cannot stop him?”

  “Same old, same old. Rojas resides on Mexican soil. Technically he’s their problem, but the man has protection on all levels. No one will acknowledge he’s a problem. Hell, Valentine, we know how it works. Bondarchik has his friends in government and the police. That, plus his expensive lawyers, and he can fend off any threat.”

  “I understand only too well. This is why I am unable to bring Bondarchik to his knees. Every time I get at arm’s length I am ordered to back off.”

  “Our DEA is restricted by law, Valentine. I’m not. If Bondarchik is supplying weapons to Rojas, then he’s on the hit list, too.”

  Seminov didn’t hesitate. “Then I am with you, tovarich. Whatever it takes.”

  “Tell me what you have.”

  “I have been doing a little private snooping, using non-OCD sources. When you have been in this business as long as I have, well, it pays to have informants out of the spotlight. You understand?”

  “Yeah,” Bolan replied.

  “This friend has means to find out information. I asked him to check into Bondarchik’s business. He was reluctant because he has respect for Bondarchik’s methods. If he was discovered asking too many questions, his death would not be pleasant.”

  “I understand.”

  “But this friend owes me favors. Big favors. So I leaned on him and he went away. It took him only a day before he brought me useful data. I didn’t ask him how he got it. I paid him for his troubles, and he told me what he had learned. I don’t want to bore you with all the details, tovarich. Only what I believe might be really what you are looking for.”

  “I’m listening, Valentine.”

  “Bondarchik owns an oil transportation company based in Venezuela. It is situated on the Maracaibo Basin. As companies go, this one is only medium sized. No more than six smaller oil tankers. When we accessed the shipping manifests, something struck me as odd. Over the past eight months, Bondarchik’s tankers have made deliveries to a number of destinations where we know he has customers for his weapons sales.”

  “You think he’s using his oil tankers to deliver his arms?”

  “It crossed my mind. It became even more definite when I saw where a current cargo is being delivered—”

  “Mexico. Dammit, Valentine, that could be the missile launchers for Rojas.”

  “We ran a search and found that the tanker is indeed bound for a port in the Gulf of Mexico. A small oil refinery on the eastern coast of the country near a town named Agua Verde.”

  “Too much going on here for it to be a coincidence.”

  “Pah, I do not believe in such things, tovarich.”

  “Make that two of us,” Bolan said. “When is that tanker supposed to dock?”

  “It should be there in a few days.”

  “My next destination, then.”

  “I wish I was going to be there with you, tovarich.”

  “Valentine, you’ve pushed me in the right direction. I owe you on this.”

  Seminov laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ll collect one day. If I find out any more I will call. You take care. Dasvidaniya.”

  25

  “Is there a problem?” Bondarchik asked.

  “Rojas is impatient. He wants his cargo.”

  Bondarchik heard his knuckles creak as he gripped hard on the phone. “He knows I can’t move it any faster. The ship is not a damned speedboat. It will arrive on time. On the agreed date.” He allowed a heartbeat’s pause. “Tell me everything, Tibor. What is wrong?” the arms dealer asked.

  “Rojas is under pressure here. He’s having a troubling time. There is bad feeling between him and Dembrow. Rojas figures Dembrow is losing it. He let a DEA undercover agent into his organization and didn’t find out until the guy had wormed his way well into the group. The agent’s dead, but soon after that there was a face-off between a bunch of Rojas’s people and some of Dembrow’s. It ended in a shooting match, with dead on both sides. This created tension in both camps.”

  “Perhaps this as an opportunity for us to increase business,” Bondarchik suggested.

  Tibor Danko laughed. “I was thinking the same thing,” he said. “See an opening and go for it.”

  After the call ended, Bondarchik leaned back in his comfortable armchair and considered the possibilities. Two strong factions on the brink of hostilities? If he could profit from that, all to the good.

  Bondarchik, at thirty-six years old, was a proved dealer in the arms-dealing business—an extremely successful dealer. His customer base was global. He sold to anyone, anywhere, supplying whatever they wanted as long as their money was on the table. Bondarchik had clients in Asia, the Middle East and Central America. His weapons were in Africa, and any of a dozen other worldwide hotspots. The new century had not heralded in a new era of peace. If anything, violent conflict was on the increase, and while that continued, Bondarchik would stay in business. His motto was that as long as a client had the cash, he could buy what he wanted. Bondarchik didn’t care how the weapons were used, or on whom. He believed that if people got shot they most likely deserved it.

  He pushed up from the chair and crossed the expensively furnished room, selected a cigarette from the case on his desk and lit up. Tall and in top physical shape, Bondarchik was a good-looking man. He kept himself that way by regular bouts in the well-equipped gym installed in his expansive house. It contained the best money could buy. That was his attitude toward everything he possessed. What point was there in making vast amounts of money if he didn’t use it to maintain his lifestyle? Good living, clothes, cars. Bondarchik enjoyed the rewards of his business. He surrounded himself with luxury, including the women he courted, and he maintained the same attitude toward the people he employed. He paid them well, looked after them, and in return they gave him dedication and loyalty.

  Beyond the soundproof glass wall of the room, a wide patio area fronted a generous swimming pool, the water reflecting the sunlight. Two of his men, armed, kept watch over the area, and also over the trio of nubile young women who frolicked on the patio and in the pool. Bondarchik didn’t begrudge the guards their pleasure. He would have worried if they had not been attracted by healthy, half naked young women unashamedly displaying their bodies.

  Despite the charms of the girls, Bondarchik found he was unable to dismiss what Danko had told him about the situation in Texas and Mexico. He crossed to his desk and hit the intercom button, putting out a call for Danko, who was in his own office on the far side of the house.

  “Come into my office,” he said, when the man came on the line. “We need to talk more about this.”

  Tibor Danko, a medium height man with the physique of a bodybuilder, always dressed in a well-cut suit, with a shirt and tie. His shaved head added to the air of menace he displayed, yet behind that he possessed a sharp brain and everyone in the Bondarchik organization regarded him with the utmost respect. He had worked with Bondarchik for almost ten years. His past remained a secret between himself and his employer. Rumors went around that he had once been in the army and had the skills of a special forces operative, and no one thought of challenging the rumors. Fact, not rumor, was Danko’s skill with any weapon he might have in his hand.

  “Rojas is getting nervous,” Danko said. “He is talking about canceling
the order. A lot is happening, and he can’t seem to get a grip on it. I tried to calm him down. To make him see sense.”

  “Cancel the order?” Bondarchik’s anger spilled over. “No. He can’t do that. Doesn’t he realize the effort that has gone into shipping that cargo? How much I have invested? This isn’t a case of AK-47s. The Spyker missile system is a complex item. No. I will not accept this.” He raised his hands. “The shipment is on schedule. Why would he want to cancel?”

  “As I explained, there seems to be some local problem with his American counterpart. Some kind of fallout. I could sense Rojas is nervous. He needs to assert his superiority, so Rojas is demanding we hurry the delivery, or he might cancel.”

  “What does he expect? That we order the tanker’s crew to get out the oars and row faster?”

  “I agree,” Danko said. “There’s no way we can speed delivery. I just thought you should know in case the matter comes up again when you meet with Rojas.”

  “He is bluffing, making waves when there is no need. If he cancels, he will harm no one but himself. He admits he needs the missiles, so what game is he playing?”

  Danko nodded. “He needs talking to. Pay him this visit and talk him around.” He paused. “But first we have a local problem of our own that has come up.”

  “Let me guess, Tibor. Is it to do with our old friend Seminov?”

  “You know, I believe you enjoy spoiling my announcements,” Danko said.

  “What is our OCD friend up to now?”

  “A couple of days ago he hassled a couple of our people in Moscow. Dragged them in for questioning. Again.”

  “But our lawyers stepped in and had them released?”

  “Of course. Seminov got nothing. Vash, that damn cop is becoming a nuisance. Why don’t we deal with him?”

  “If we kill Seminov, they will simply appoint someone else. At least we know Seminov and understand his ways. He’s a good policeman. Very thorough. Experienced.”

  “That is what worries me, Vash. One day he might get the break he’s been looking for. Then what?”

  “Tibor, the other reason we don’t do anything about Seminov is simple. Kill a cop and the whole damn force will start a hunt that will drag us all in. Every case he’s ever worked will be reopened. Every major and minor criminal will be hauled in for questioning. And somewhere along the line someone might start talking. It’s less of a risk to leave Seminov alone. We can handle anything he throws our way.” Bondarchik laughed. “It’s why we have that bunch of overpriced lawyers on standby. For just those occasions.”

  Bondarchik crossed to the panoramic window and stood looking out beyond the perimeter of his property to the shimmering water of the Black Sea. The weather was superb. He enjoyed the view, as always, but he understood that there was business to attend to. What a pity, he decided. But it would all be here when he returned.

  “The plane is ready anytime you want to go,” Danko said, anticipating Bondarchik’s next question.

  “A trip to sunny Mexico?”

  “Client satisfaction,” Danko said, grinning.

  “Is Litvenko on standby?”

  “Looking forward to the trip.”

  “Then I have no choice,” Bondarchik stated.

  “Litvenko has all his data with him. He will meet you at the airstrip.”

  “Then I can go and not worry?”

  “Vash, everything is in order. Go. Perhaps this trip will be good for you. A chance to relax. Yes?”

  Bondarchik smiled. “You are like a mother, Tibor.”

  “Go, just go. I will look after things here.”

  THE BOEING BUSINESS Jet, the BBJ2, painted in cream and deep blue, was the pride of Bondarchik’s fleet. He had purchased it two years previously and on top of the cost, he had the aircraft customized. Extra fuel tanks had been installed to extend its flying distance, and the interior, though already well appointed, had been adapted to Bondarchik’s own design sense. Its communication system and onboard computer installation had been updated. The facilities allowed Bondarchik to conduct his business dealings as if he were still at his home base. The Boeing’s seating and interior was fitted with deep pile carpeting and plush, cream colored, soft leather executive seats. The passenger section could accommodate up to ten people on single seats and curving couches. There were also four private cabins with king-size beds and a fully equipped entertainment lounge. Food from the onboard kitchen could provide top-class meals. Bondarchik also had his own state-of-the-art office suite. There were two more offices available, and once they were in the air, Karl Litvenko disappeared into one of them to review his manuals and computer data.

  Litvenko was Bondarchik’s technical adviser. He was accompanying his employer to advise Benito Rojas’s people on the operation of the missile system.

  From his own office Bondarchik made contact with Rojas to let him know they were en route. The Mexican still hinted he was far from satisfied, but Bondarchik pointed out that regardless of the situation it was necessary for their meeting to take place. Bondarchik sensed something else behind Rojas’s minor quibbles over slow delivery of the ordnance. Tapping into the recessed keyboard on the desk, Bondarchik linked up with Danko. The man’s image appeared on the flat-screen monitor.

  “I expected you to be watching the in-flight movie, Vash. Don’t tell me you are still working.”

  “Dollars do not make themselves, Tibor.”

  “Dull but true.”

  “I spoke to Rojas. The man is still grumbling. I have a feeling he is keeping something from me. Here is something you can do. Check to see if you can find out what is making that Mexican peasant such a pain in the ass, then get back to me.”

  The Boeing took Bondarchik and Litvenko from the Black Sea to a privately owned airstrip in Libya, a few miles from Tripoli. The airfield was owned by a powerful figure in the oil business, a man who had close ties with Bondarchik. The Russian had acquired an interest in the conglomerate running the group of companies, and through discreet fund managing Bondarchik had sunk millions of dollars into the group. Unlike many in the arms business, Bondarchik liked to see his money working for him.

  The Boeing touched down and remained on Libyan soil only for as long as it took to top up the fuel tanks. Cleared for takeoff, the pilot eased the jet into the air, then tapped in the coordinates that would take the aircraft over North African airspace and on across the Atlantic, the Gulf of Mexico and eventually touch-down on Rojas’s airstrip. The coordinates were locked into the autopilot. The Boeing made flight adjustments until it was on the correct course, then settled smoothly.

  Bondarchik checked in with Karl Litvenko. The man was immersed in his manuals. He merely raised a hand at Bondarchik’s inquiry and asked for fresh coffee and vodka. Bondarchik passed the request to the cabin staff and resumed his own seat. He settled in the plush leather and tilted the backrest to a low angle. Farther along the cabin his two bodyguards were also relaxing, enjoying the rare time when even their job of looking after Bondarchik was made easy.

  They would arrive in Agua Verde early evening. Bondarchik would be fully rested, and he would refrain from any business talk until the following morning. Bondarchik knew how to conduct his affairs. There was little point being as successful and wealthy as he was if he was unable to enjoy the rewards. The Russian watched the young flight attendant as she walked down the cabin to deliver drinks to his bodyguards. Watching her, he became aware of restless urges stirring. Business had dominated his life 24/7 over the past few weeks, and he had found little time to take out for personal pleasures. He called the woman to his side and ordered a drink, suggesting she bring it to his personal cabin. The flight attendant, a very attractive twenty-year-old, smiled in complete understanding. Bondarchik watched the supple swing of her hips as she made her way to the galley to prepare his drink. He pushed to his feet and made his way to the cabin where he sat on the edge of the bed and waited.

  Luckily he didn’t have to wait all that long.

&nb
sp; “I WAS BUSY,” Bondarchik said to Danko over the video link.

  “Of course,” Danko said. “If I have it right, Dina was on cabin duty this flight. Yes?”

  Bondarchik couldn’t miss the glint in Danko’s eyes. “Very funny. So what was this urgent message you have for me?”

  “Rojas’s concerns seem to have not been so fanciful. Marshal Dembrow, the majority of his crew and his Texas house are all gone. There was some kind of attack. Dembrow and his men suffered severe casualties. The house was hit, then burned to the ground. By the time the authorities arrived, all they could do was round up the survivors. According to my source, there were bodies spread around the property. Cars and even Dembrow’s helicopter had been destroyed,” Danko said.

  “Who is responsible? The American DEA? Police?”

  “No one seems to be accepting responsibility. It is very odd.”

  “I don’t know, Tibor. But this explains why Rojas is becoming so concerned. If there is some threat to his organization, he will want the security of the missile system. He will expect it to save him. And that is exactly what I will tell him. I do not want to walk away from him without the rest of our money in my hand.”

  “You are a true capitalist,” Danko said, grinning widely.

  “But of course. It is the one real lesson I have taken from our American friends.” Bondarchik leaned closer to the screen. “Do what you can to find out who is behind these attacks, which American agency is involved. We need to know for our own satisfaction. If you know an enemy, you have an advantage.”

  “Are you landing soon?”

  “We are coming in now. I will talk to you later, Tibor.”

  Danko nodded. “Vash, do not forget to tip the flight attendant.”

  “But of course.”

  THE BOEING ROLLED to a stop on the concrete apron. As the engines whined to silence, the door was opened and a mobile ramp was pushed into position. Bondarchik, accompanied by Litvenko and the armed bodyguards, stepped out and walked to the bottom of the steps.