Deadly Salvage Read online

  Grimes said nothing, glad that most of the walls in Everett’s plush, inland mansion were virtually soundproof. Not that anyone other than the guards and a few “guests” were around to hear, anyway. He had expected the boss’s rant to be loud after he learned about the botched ambush. Grimes also knew better than to point out that it had been Everett’s decision to send one of Zelenkov’s men to supervise Boudrous’s ragtag bunch of thugs. But then again, they should have been able to do it with ease. The only one who was supposed to have had a weapon was that FBI bozo, Tyler, and he didn’t look that formidable at all.

  Everett must have read his thoughts.

  “I thought Le Pierre told us those new Americans didn’t have any weapons?”

  “He did,” Grimes said. “Obviously, they were a bit tougher than we anticipated.”

  “We should’ve acted as soon as we knew they’d found those damn bugs.” Everett swore and slammed his fist on the table again. This time the blow was so hard it sent a series of cracks across the finely polished surface. “Where do we stand on the Xerxes?”

  “That’s the good news. Tanner reported that it went like clockwork. Zelenkov and his men boarded the ship under the cover of darkness and executed a quick, hostile takeover. Not a shot was fired.” Grimes tried a slight smile. “Like he said, they’re pros.”

  “Too bad the one he sent to the ambush wasn’t.” Everett ran his index finger and thumb over the stubble around his upper lip. “What about the captain and crew?”

  “All in custody.”

  “How many are there?” Everett asked.

  “Forty-eight total. Other than a skeleton crew, kept under guard to run the ship, the rest are locked up. What do you want Tanner to do with them?”

  Everett considered this for a moment. “He’s got the video camera, right? He and Zelenkov can make the captain and a few crew members record some martyr videos. Zelenkov speaks Farsi. Hold the disks so we can send them to Al Jazeera once the shit hits the fan.”

  Grimes nodded. “What about the rest of the crew?”

  “Tell Tanner to keep them locked up for now, except for the ones he needs to keep the ship on course.” Everett’s fingers traced over his upper lip again. “I don’t want to take the chance on somebody finding any bodies floating around. When we get ready for the final preparation, we can dispose of them.”

  Disposables, Grimes thought. Good.

  “The Coast Guard’s probably still out in force looking for that damn yacht,” Everett said.

  Ah, yes, the yacht. More collateral damage.

  The boss stroked his chin. “You said we also had some Russian arrivals?”

  “Yeah,” Grimes said. “A man and a woman. Supposed to be tourists.”

  “Tourists my ass. They’re Russian FSB or GRU. Probably got wind that Rinzihov was here.” He frowned. “We’re getting more foreign agents on this goddamn island than we are illegal aliens.”

  “Do you want me to arrange another reception party for them and the Americans?”

  “After the last debacle?” Everett walked to the large picture window that overlooked the valley leading to the bay. It was dark now and the lights from the harbor and restaurants that dotted the coast twinkled like stars. He stood there, arms at his sides, for a good thirty seconds. When he turned he had a smile on his face.

  “Remember the first Gulf War?” he asked.

  Grimes nodded.

  “People criticized Bush for not going into Baghdad and getting rid of Saddam when he had the chance,” Everett said. “But if he had, he would have lost the coalition that he had to kick that bastard out of Kuwait.”

  Grimes nodded again, knowing it was time for another of the boss’s warped history lessons.

  “But what the critics didn’t have any concept of,” Everett continued, “was how difficult it is to keep all the balls in the air at the same time.”

  Grimes knew where this was heading because he’d heard it so many times before.

  “I’m confronted with a similar situation now, juggling all these different balls,” Everett continued. “But this is another chess game entirely. This operation calls for precision timing of simultaneous events.” He paused and raised his hands in front of him, interlocking his fingers. “Hell, it’s like one of those Star Trek multilevel chessboards. But once everything is in place, it’ll be a catalyst to the dawning of a new day. This current pretender in the White House will have no choice but to launch a full-scale, retaliatory nuclear attack against those damn Iranians. And once that happens, the rest of my plan will unfold like clockwork. The price of my oil holdings will skyrocket, and with the new fracking projects I’ve started this past year, we’ll be out-producing the Saudis soon. And I’ll be calling the shots. I won’t even need to be president.”

  Grimes knew from experience that the boss had reached the end of his diatribe, but he still hadn’t made a decision about the Russian and American agents. Grimes swallowed and waited a few more beats before asking again. “So, what do you want to do about the recent arrivals?”

  Everett unlaced his fingers and regarded Grimes with disdain. Obviously, he felt that the dramatic effect of his lecture had gone south. “Don’t do anything about them,” he said, his voice harsh. He took a couple breaths. “There’s an old adage—keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Just keep an eye on them for now. Hell, invite them all to the Mr. Galaxy party.”

  “Of course,” Grimes said. He needed to get the hell out of here and toss down a drink or two. He was growing weary of playing the gofer for this rich madman, but he had no choice. He was in for the duration now, had to hold on for the ultimate payoff. Ending up being the right-hand man for one of the wealthiest, most powerful men on the planet was worth a few little inconveniences. Besides, pulling out now would be suicide, tantamount to betrayal in Everett’s eyes, and the boss had one response for betrayal: death. “I’ll see to it, sir,” Grimes said.

  “You do that,” Everett responded, his lips still twisted into that strange smile of his. “And bring me Rinzihov and Monk. I want them to start working on breaking those safeguard codes on the fuses we’ve recovered. Like I said, we’re on a special timetable here.”

  “Right away, boss.” Grimes turned to go.

  “Hold on,” Everett said. “Get me a drink first. I need one.” He turned and gazed out the big window again, clasping his hands behind his back.

  Just like a picture of Napoleon surveying one of his battlefields, Grimes thought as he went over to the wet bar. And he knew what had happened to Napoleon at Waterloo. But Napoleon never had a nuclear warhead at his disposal.

  * * *

  BOLAN PARKED HIS newly rented Citroën next to the shot-up rental on the plateau. He glanced over at the two island policemen, who showed little interest in his arrival. They continued to loll against the barrier, smoking cigarettes, and didn’t so much as wave as Tyler and Grimaldi climbed into the car. Taking one last look at the grisly scene, Bolan pulled back onto the mountain road.

  After dropping Tyler off at his hotel, the soldier parked on a side street so they could call Brognola for a sitrep. Grimaldi held up his cell phone. “I got a picture of that dead Russian’s face and some of his tattoos. Figure maybe Aaron can run it through Interpol and maybe get an ID.”

  “Good thinking,” Bolan said, taking out his satellite phone and dialing Brognola’s number. The big Fed answered with a gruff “What’s up?”

  Bolan gave him a quick update, letting him know they were on their way back to the Omni.

  “Roger that,” Brognola said. “We’ll work on getting you some more weapons by tomorrow. You need anything else?”

  “Yeah. Jack’s emailing you the picture of a dead guy. Looks to be Russian mafia. Any chance you can get us an ID?”

  “A Russian? What the hell was he doing down ther
e?”

  “Unknown,” Bolan said, “but I’ve heard it’s every Russian’s dream to come to the Caribbean on vacation.”

  Brognola laughed. “Yeah, the snow’s probably beginning to melt in Moscow.”

  “Our dead guy isn’t the only Russian down here. I got a ride back to my hotel from a woman, probably GRU or SVR. Gave me the name Natalia Valencia Kournikova.”

  “I’ll check that out, too,” Brognola said. “By the way, that yacht I told you about was found. All aboard are missing. Substantial amount of bullet holes and blood, too.”

  “Sounds like a hijacking. That ought to be enough to get some Coast Guard or Navy patrols in this area, right?”

  “As much as we can, but the vessel was recovered quite a ways from the island, so there’s nothing to directly link it to St. Francis except the original course they had charted.”

  “Maybe it’s time for us to do a little sailing of our own. Thanks, Hal.” Bolan ended the call. “Good news,” he said to Grimaldi. “Hal’s going to have another SIG sent over to you.”

  “I still plan to get the other one back from the cops,” Grimaldi said. “What else?”

  “They recovered the Slice of Heaven, that luxury yacht that went missing. Looks like it wasn’t a pleasure cruise.”

  “That the hijacking you were talking about?”

  Bolan nodded.

  “So we’re going fishing?” Grimaldi asked.

  “In a manner of speaking. But let’s think about what we’ve got so far.” He held up his hand and ticked a point off on each finger. “A missing DOD analyst and his errant daughter, whom no one has seen. A recovered luxury yacht full of blood and bullet holes, but no bodies. A crooked Dutch customs agent, at least one equally crooked French cop, a dead Russian Mafya thug, more dead island flunkies, and a bunch of listening devices in our hotel room.

  “And don’t forget about the Russian babe in the Jag,” Bolan added. “It all has to tie together somehow,” the pilot said. “We’ve just got to find the common denominator.”

  “I think we already have,” Bolan stated.

  Grimaldi looked at him and cocked his head. “What?”

  “Not what,” he answered. “Who. There’s only one man down here who has the clout to put the fix in with Dutch customs, potentially buy off a French cop and his island police force, and know exactly which hotel room to bug.”

  “Ah,” Grimaldi said. “You’re talking about none other than Willard Forsythe Everett the Third.”

  Chapter 7

  Bolan, Grimaldi and Tyler sat on hard wooden chairs in the dingy office that was only slightly larger than a walk-in closet. Putrid greenish paint, peeling in various spots on the walls and ceiling, gave the illusion of encroaching mold. A bulletin board with various posters and dispatches, all in French, was centered on the wall to the left of them, and a picture of the French president was framed behind Captain Le Pierre’s desk. A large ceiling fan slowly oscillated above their heads, doing little to dispel the oppressive humidity and heat. Dark rings stained the armpits of Le Pierre’s short-sleeved khaki shirt.

  “Once again,” the officer said from behind his dilapidated wooden desk, “my apologies for the incident that occurred yesterday.”

  “Does that mean you’re going to give me back my SIG?” Grimaldi asked.

  Le Pierre glared at him, then smiled and shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. I have not yet received any official word from the department of state.”

  “Yours or ours?” the pilot asked.

  Bolan nudged Grimaldi’s knee. Both he and Jack suspected that Le Pierre was being paid to look the other way and delay investigation into the ambush, so Bolan wanted to limit their encounters with the crooked gendarme. When the time was right, he’d deal with the man. Right now, they had more important matters to attend to. Still, he was cognizant of the need to put on a decent appearance of propriety in this farce of a meeting.

  “I’ll have to look into that,” Tyler said. He’d been about as useful as the ceiling fan. “With the American State Department, that is.”

  “It’s perfectly understandable, Captain,” Bolan said. “Were you able to find out anything about the men who attacked us?”

  “Island trash.” Le Pierre pursed his lips, as if disgusted. “Like I told you, bandits who are under the control of a man named Arsen Boudrous. He and his bunch live in the mountains. We have had trouble with him many times, but always periodically.”

  “Give me back my SIG and I’ll go up there and arrest him for you,” Grimaldi said. “And what about that receipt for my gun that you promised me?”

  Le Pierre lifted an eyebrow and frowned. “It is in the process of being prepared as we speak.”

  “What about the Russian guy who was with the bandits?” Bolan asked. “Any idea who he was?”

  Le Pierre shook his head and frowned again. “We have not been able to determine his identity. All we know is that he appears to be European. As of late, we have been bombarded with a wave of illegal aliens.”

  “He must have come in the Dutch side,” Grimaldi said. “So when do I get my receipt?”

  Le Pierre’s face twisted into a deeper frown. “I shall notify you at your hotel when it is ready.”

  “Captain,” Bolan said, standing and offering his hand. “We came by to complete that report, as you directed us yesterday. If there’s nothing further, we’ll be going.”

  Le Pierre stared at Bolan’s hand, then stood and shook it, along with Grimaldi’s and Tyler’s.

  On the way out of the police station Grimaldi turned to look back at the sandy area leading up to the stucco walls. “What a dump. I’ve seen better facilities in Somalia.”

  “Oh, it’s not so bad,” Tyler said. “Plus, the captain told me they’re in the process of remodeling. Mr. Everett gave them a big donation for improvements.”

  “I’ll bet he did,” Bolan said.

  * * *

  AS THEY STOOD in front of the hotel, Tyler got a call on his cell and moved about twenty feet away. Grimaldi’s eyes followed him.

  “I guess boy wonder doesn’t fully trust us yet,” he said. “He must have a short memory, considering we saved his bacon yesterday.”

  “Cut him some slack,” Bolan said. “He’s still into doing everything by the book. You remember the book, don’t you?”

  “What book?” Grimaldi said, the frown changing to a grin. “Anyway,” he continued. “I guess the question is really whether we trust him. Do you?”

  Bolan considered for a moment, then said, “Yeah, pretty much. I think he’s just a little green. I had the Farm run a routine check on him, and it came back clear. Plus, Tyler seemed pretty surprised by the ambush. I don’t think he could have faked his reaction.”

  “Fair points.” Grimaldi took a deep breath. “What’s our next move?”

  “Well, Hal said they were sending over some new equipment from the diplomatic post in Barbados this morning. We need to wait here for that.”

  Just then, Tyler terminated his call and trotted over to them. “That was Quantico. They’re sending me a backup contingent of two agents because of the ambush yesterday. I’m going to the airport shortly to meet them. Want to come along?”

  “No, we’ve got other plans,” Grimaldi said. “Like trying to nail down the criminals behind all this.”

  Tyler’s brow crinkled. “I thought we took care of them yesterday. And Captain Le Pierre said they’d pick up that Boudrous guy.”

  “You haven’t figured things out yet, kid?” Grimaldi asked.

  Tyler’s jaw jutted out. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t call me that.”

  “My partner meant no disrespect,” Bolan said, shooting Grimaldi a warning glance. “There may be a greater plot in the works, but we don’t know much yet. Will you do
one thing for us before you head to the airport?”

  Tyler sighed. “What do you need?”

  “Sweep your room for bugs. We found several in ours yesterday when we checked in.”

  “Bugs?” Tyler said.

  “Yeah, and we aren’t talking about the six-legged kind,” Grimaldi added. “Courtesy of our buddy and island bigwig, Willard Everett III.”

  “But he’s an American.” Tyler sounded incredulous.

  “Yeah, so was Al Capone,” Grimaldi said.

  Tyler shook his head. “Mr. Everett’s been nothing but helpful to me since I arrived. Met me personally here at the hotel, and arranged for Captain Le Pierre to have one of his men escort me around the island to facilitate my search.”

  Grimaldi clicked his tongue. “Doesn’t our little reception party yesterday tell you something? How do you think those creeps knew exactly where we were and when?”

  Tyler’s gaze fell to the ground as he shook his head. “I just can’t believe Mr. Everett’s a bad guy.”

  “Then you’ve got a lot to learn,” Grimaldi said.

  Bolan held his hand between them and was about to speak when his phone rang. He answered it as everyone fell silent, with Tyler and Grimaldi staring each other down. When Bolan finished talking, he put his phone back into its case and said, “Jack, we’ve got a message at the front desk. I think our package has arrived.”

  Grimaldi nodded. “About time we caught a break.”

  Bolan turned to Tyler. “Once you’ve checked out your room, why don’t you take our car and pick up the other agents. We’ve got to look into a few things around here. We can meet later and compare notes.” He held out the keys.

  Tyler accepted them and muttered his thanks.

  “You were pretty hard on him, Jack,” Bolan said once the agent was out of earshot. “Remember, he’s all the backup we have right now.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Grimaldi said. “We’re in real trouble.”