Uncut Terror Read online

Bolan nodded. “Natalia Valencia Kournikova. Looks like we’ll have to shake whoever is following us and find a couple more burner phones for some quick calls.”

  The Grand International Hotel

  STIEGLITZ WAS SURPRISED at how well Rovalev was getting along with Grodovich. They sat with an unspoken cordiality at a table in the luxurious hotel suite playing chess, each man studying the board intently before making any move. The giant was another matter. The behemoth stood at Grodovich’s side, looming over the table. But he and Rovalev seemed to have developed a tacit agreement of sorts.

  The Russian Bear and the Black Wolf, Stieglitz thought. Natural enemies. It would be interesting to see which of them prevailed when the time came. But that was a matter for the future.

  He snapped his fingers to get their attention.

  Neither man looked up from the chessboard.

  Irritated, Stieglitz cleared his throat and said directly to Rovalev, “I need to speak with you.”

  “You may speak,” the Black Wolf replied, a glint of a smile showing on his hirsute face.

  Grodovich smirked.

  Stieglitz said nothing, instead standing there for a few seconds to let his anger become evident. As he reached into his pocket and withdrew his special phone, a gesture meant only to intimidate the Black Wolf, Rovalev used his forefinger to tip over his king and stood.

  “You would have checkmate in three moves anyway,” the Black Wolf said.

  Grodovich smiled benignly, but his eyes shot from Rovalev to Stieglitz. He nodded.

  Rovalev stepped away from the table, holding out his hand. “I must see to this matter, but perhaps Mikhal would care to give you a game.”

  The giant’s face remained impassive and he did not move.

  “Mikhal does not play chess,” Grodovich said. “But perhaps I shall teach him.”

  As Stieglitz moved out of the suite and into an adjacent room he motioned for the other man to follow. When Rovalev stepped beside him, Stieglitz closed the door.

  “What is the status of your operatives?” he asked. “Are they following the Americans?”

  Rovalev had a look of utter boredom. “Yes. Burns left his apartment an hour ago and went to the Rossiya Cinemas. He is watching the movie. The operative known as Framer and another of his fellows are also in the cinema. Earlier this morning one member of the CIA group rented a vehicle, a white van. He is currently driving around the Dorogomilovo district. The other two operatives were at the American Embassy this morning until ten o’clock. My surveillance team lost track of them when they went into a heavily populated shopping district. They were last seen entering a store that sells electronic devices.”

  “What? You lost them?” Stieglitz could feel the veins in his neck tightening.

  Rovalev shrugged. “They are apparently supernumeraries. The real quarry is Burns. As long as we continue to track his movements, we will have no trouble locating the traitor and eliminating them all.”

  Stieglitz pursed his lips. Failure was not an option for him, and even though the American defector and his Russian traitor friend were only a small tear in the fabric of the plan, Stieglitz had to be certain of every detail. There could be no slipups, no loose ends. He told this to Rovalev.

  The Black Wolf nodded. The man could be deferential when it suited his purpose.

  “I want you to see to this personally,” Stieglitz said. His fingers caressed the hard plastic shell of his special phone.

  The Black Wolf canted his head slightly to the right and smiled, his white teeth showing through the dark mustache and beard.

  “Rest assured, Counselor Stieglitz,” he said, “that will not be a problem.”

  * * *

  BOLAN TOLD GRIMALDI to set up behind some garbage cans and watch the mouth of the alley. It was fourteen-ten hours and it had taken them longer than they’d expected to shake their Russian surveillance operatives. He squatted next to Grimaldi and took out his satellite phone. Brognola answered on the second ring.

  “I hope you’re calling with a sitrep,” Brognola said.

  “That’s a rog,” Bolan replied. “But we’re on the move and it’ll have to be quick.”

  Brognola grunted.

  “This may not have a happy ending,” Bolan said. “The Agency boy is a bit short on experience and his plan has more holes than a slice of Limburger.”

  “Great. Can you intercede?”

  “It’s not looking too good. He’s got all the players in his court, and the ball’s already in play. Jack and I have been playing catch-up. If we have to, we can try to grab the assets and steal a plane to fly out.”

  Bolan heard Brognola’s long, slow exhale. “Dammit. I was afraid of this. What are the chances you’ll be able to break the asset free if things go south?”

  “I’d say the chances are slim to none,” Bolan said. “You want us to effect a hostile takeover?”

  Brognola was silent for a few seconds, then he said, “Only if you absolutely have to. Since you’re not there in any official capacity, body checking the Agency would be a hard sell to the President, but I know he wants Burns back in the good old USA. See if you can shore things up, and above all, watch your own asses.”

  “Is it worth it?” Bolan asked. “If the Russians aren’t watching him that closely, it most likely means he’s given them all he had to give.”

  “Good point,” Brognola said. “But the propaganda aspect still gives him some value.”

  “Plus whatever info his friend has,” Bolan said.

  Grimaldi slapped Bolan’s arm. “One of our shadows just showed up.”

  The Executioner glanced toward the street and saw one of the operatives who’d been following them walk by, his head bobbling like a loose pivot as he looked around.

  “Roger that,” Bolan said. “We have to go.”

  “Stay safe,” Brognola said.

  “We’ll do our best.” Bolan terminated the call.

  “What’s the plan?” Grimaldi asked.

  Bolan glanced at his watch. Fifteen-twenty. “Let’s go get Framer his train tickets.”

  Grimaldi’s mouth twisted into a frown and he shook his head. “I got a real bad feeling about this one,” he said.

  “You and me both,” Bolan replied.

  * * *

  STIEGLITZ WAS FEELING the familiar tugging in his bowels as the car sped through the streets. He sat in the rear. Rovalev sat in the front passenger seat while one of his lackeys drove. The Black Wolf was talking in a low voice on his mobile and Stieglitz wondered what information the man was getting from the operatives he’d assigned to follow Burns and the CIA agents. The pressure of this mission, the entire affair, was crushing Stieglitz like a metal can in a vise. He was not cut out for this type of work. Intelligence work. His mind was better suited for planning and analysis. It was he, after all, who had devised this diamond scheme in the first place. And that was, no doubt, the reason the supreme leader had assigned him to ensure its completion.

  “I’m certain that you’re up to the task,” he’d said. The implication was clear: if you are not, you will be held accountable.

  He tapped his fingers on the back of Rovalev’s seat. “What is going on? Have they located them yet?”

  Rovalev held up his hand and continued talking. Moments later he said something and terminated the call. His white teeth glinted against the dark beard as he turned.

  “They are following the white van at this time,” he said. “Inside the cinema the Americans met up with another individual. A Russian national. They sat in the same movie for a time, then one of the Americans created a diversion in the lobby while the other three sneaked out a back entrance and entered the van.”

  “The Americans met with a Russian?” Stieglitz asked. This man had to be the traitor. He had to know who it was.
“Have you identified him?”

  The Black Wolf smiled again. “My operatives photographed him. They are emailing a copy to me.” He held up his smartphone.

  The icon showed a file was in transit.

  So close, Stieglitz thought. So close.

  Rovalev’s phone chimed with the completed photographic transfer. The Black Wolf punched in the code and held the screen toward Stieglitz.

  The pear-shaped man in the picture looked startlingly familiar, but Stieglitz had to be sure. “Make it bigger.”

  Rovalev moved his fingers over the screen, enlarging the photo. The image of the man’s face, caught as he turned to look behind him, was unmistakable.

  Arkadi Kropotkin.

  Stieglitz almost lost control of his bowels, so great was his shock. He’d never suspected his personal assistant, Arkadi, would betray him. Stieglitz swallowed with some difficulty. The Kremlin would hold him responsible for this. Arkadi had been privy to Stieglitz’s most private strategy sessions. If the bastard had told the Americans about the diamond plan... But no, he would not. He might have told Burns, but the American traitor would no doubt withhold any key information until he returned to the United States.

  The plan is safe, Stieglitz thought. At least for the moment. But it was imperative that Arkadi be apprehended before the Americans could sneak him out of Russia. And why would he be trying to defect with the traitorous American? Seconds later the answer came to him. He knew the American was homosexual... Of course, Arkadi must be one of them, as well. The thought disgusted Stieglitz, but it did make sense. In all the years he’d known Arkadi, the fat little cretin had never once mentioned taking pleasure with a woman.

  “Do you know him?” Rovalev asked in a matter-of-fact tone, as if he were conversing about the weather.

  “Yes,” Stieglitz said. “It’s imperative that he be apprehended immediately.”

  The Black Wolf’s mobile chimed again. He withdrew it and pressed some buttons, answering an incoming call. His voice was low. Stieglitz strained to hear what the man was saying.

  “A taxi? You are certain?” The Black Wolf turned back to Stieglitz. “They have left the van and entered a taxi. My men are following both of them now.”

  “Is Arkadi in the cab?” Stieglitz asked. Then he realized that Rovalev was not familiar with their quarry’s first name. “The man in the photograph, is he in the taxi?”

  The Black Wolf was conversing again on his phone, nodding, talking, laughing.

  “Is he in that cab?” Stieglitz demanded.

  Rovalev held up his hand and continued to speak. After issuing a few orders he ended the call and turned back to Stieglitz.

  “I had to split up my surveillance team,” he said. “They appear to be heading north on Sadovaya-Chernogryazskaya in the direction of Komsomolskaya Square. It is my guess, if they are seeking to slip out of the country, as your female operative said, they will leave by train. Of the three rail terminals in the Square, Leningradsky is the only one with a bullet train to St. Petersburg.”

  “They must not be allowed to escape,” Stieglitz said. “They must not escape.”

  “Then let us see that they do not,” the Black Wolf replied.

  Komsomolskaya Square

  BOLAN AND GRIMALDI stood in the shadows of a small restaurant across the boulevard from the large white-and-yellow two-story stone building with the rectangular, centered clock tower. It was sixteen-ten and Framer had texted that they were on their way with an ETA of ten minutes.

  Meet us inside the main entrance, the text read.

  Bolan showed it to Grimaldi and asked him to text Framer an acknowledgment.

  “Sure,” Grimaldi said. “And what are you going to do?”

  “I’ve got one more phone call to make,” Bolan said as he took out one of the burner phones they’d bought at the electronics store.

  Grimaldi smiled. “Nikita?”

  Bolan didn’t answer. He punched in the number from the message he’d received at the Embassy. It rang several times. He was sure it was a disposable phone. There was no way an FSB agent was going to give him anything else. Finally she answered, her voice seductive. Bolan could visualize the blond hair cascading around her beautiful face.

  “Ah, Valenko,” she said, using Bolan’s alias from long ago. “I was hoping you would call me.”

  “Did you miss me?” Bolan asked.

  Her laugh was musical. “Of course. Just as I miss the Caribbean and our swim.”

  Bolan remembered their brief encounter. “I do, too.”

  She laughed again, then her voice turned serious. “Valenko, I felt obligated to contact you. When I saw the surveillance video of you at the Blue Sputnik you looked so handsome. I had hoped you would come to visit me one day.”

  “Well, here I am.”

  “Yes, but not to visit me. Just to retrieve someone.”

  Bolan raised an eyebrow. On that Caribbean island he’d saved her life, and now she was repaying the favor with a warning, at considerable risk to herself and her career. Too many good people were risking their lives on both sides of this to assure the repatriation of a traitor who would no doubt never be held accountable for his actions.

  “Valenko,” she said. “I must leave you now. I would ask that you come to see me while you are here, but...that would not be wise. Do you understand what I am saying?”

  “I do,” Bolan said. “Spasibo and do svidaniya.”

  He terminated the call, dropped the cell phone to the street and ground it to pieces under his heel.

  “So what’d she have to say?” Grimaldi asked.

  Bolan felt his mouth tug into a tight line. “It was an informal warning. She was letting me know that they know we’re here and why. Exactly why.”

  “That asshole Framer,” Grimaldi said. “He must have spilled his guts to that woman.”

  “Maybe he talks in his sleep,” Bolan said. “Regardless, Natalia was giving us a courtesy warning. They know we’re here for Burns, so they’ve got to be watching him as well as us.”

  “Which means we’ve probably got company on the way,” Grimaldi said.

  Bolan nodded. “We’d better see about that hostile takeover.”

  5

  Leningradsky Station

  Moscow, Russia

  BOLAN AND GRIMALDI waited just inside a small shop. Both sides of the main entranceway leading to the departures and arrivals gates were lined with numerous stores. Two second-story walkways running the length of the long room loomed above them on each side—the high ground. Rays of fading sunlight shone through the windows along either side of the walkways. It was sixteen-twenty-four hours.

  Bolan kept scanning the crowds of people bustling into the main hallway. He caught a glimpse of Framer’s red hair first. The Agent was being followed by two other men, one of whom Bolan recognized as Larry Burns, despite the cap he’d pulled low on his head. The other was an overweight man of about forty wearing a gray suit and a hat. A look of abject fear was stretched across the man’s face and his cheeks jiggled with each rapid step.

  Bolan looked to Grimaldi, who nodded that he’d seen them, too. He stepped out of the store and walked toward the ungainly trio, motioning fractionally at Framer to go into the store. Framer caught the gesture and steered the other two men into the shop.

  “You have the tickets?” he asked as he stepped close to Bolan.

  “I do,” Bolan said. “But I think you’ve been compromised.”

  “What? What makes you think that?”

  “It’s complicated. I’d suggest we turn around and get out of here right now.”

  Framer’s mouth twisted into a scowl. “Not unless you give me a damn good reason.”

  “What the hell’s going on?” Burns said. “I thought you had all the bases covered?”
>
  “Blame those asshole defectors who turn over sensitive, confidential data to our enemies for that,” Grimaldi said. He stopped and stroked his jaw in an exaggerated fashion. “Oh, wait, you’re one of those guys, aren’t you?”

  Burns puckered his mouth, then opened it, but no sound came out.

  Kropotkan pulled at his arm. “Lawrence, what is going on? If they catch me trying to defect, they will kill me and you, as well.”

  Burns gave a tight smile. “It’ll be all right, Arkadi. I promise.”

  Bolan was growing impatient. He looked directly at Framer. “Look, we can play Let’s Make a Deal later. Right now we’ve got a small margin of time to vacate this place. We’ve got a plane chartered to fly us out of here. We can be in St. Petersburg in an hour.”

  Framer seemed completely deflated. “Let me think this through,” he muttered.

  “Think fast,” Bolan said.

  “Ah, I think the time for thinking’s over,” Grimaldi said. “Looks like we got company.”

  Bolan’s eyes shot to the front entrance, where half a dozen men burst through the doors. From the bulges under their jackets it was obvious that all of them carried handguns. Two of them remained at the big, arching doors—the only way back toward the front entrance of the station. Another man suddenly appeared on the upper walkway on the opposite side of the room. From inside the shop, Bolan couldn’t see if there was another man posted right above them, but he went with that assumption. The gunmen had the high ground and superiority of numbers. The four other men on the lower level began walking down the center of the hallway, then split into twos, each pair systematically inspecting the shops on either side of the room. Bolan estimated that the two on this side would find them in about thirty seconds. They had to move fast.

  “Framer, you two head toward the doors leading to the departure gates.” Bolan pointed to the Agency man and Burns. “Jack, you take him—” Bolan pointed to Kropotkan “—and make your way down the other side. Let’s hope they’re looking for a trio and not just two guys. Walk briskly, but don’t run. Once you get through those doors go as fast as you can toward the departure tracks. Stay with Jack. He’ll lead you out.”