Deadly Salvage Read online

“Just checking out the scenery,” Grimaldi said with a mischievous grin.

  “Remember to keep your eye on the ball.”

  They stopped at the hut, which had an open patio with tables and a row of stools butting up to a bright red bar about thirty feet long. Bolan set the bag between their stools as they sat. An unctuous-looking guy behind the bar snaked up to them.

  “What’ll it be, gents?” he asked. His name tag said Jimmy.

  Both men asked for a cup of coffee.

  The bartender’s lip lifted up on one side. “Coffee? Come on. This is paradise, gentlemen.”

  Bolan shrugged.

  “Okeydokey,” the bartender said, “but I’ll have to send up to the restaurant for the java. Nobody drinks it here on the beach.” He grinned again. “But I can fix you guys up with anything you want. Anything.”

  “That’s good to know,” Grimaldi said.

  “Ah,” a female voice said, “I see you got my note. I hope you and your friend have not been waiting for me too long.”

  They both looked up to see Natalia Valencia Kournikova walking toward them wearing a black-and-white bikini. Her blond hair bounced around her shoulders and her skin looked like ivory. Smooth muscle rippled as she walked, showing off a body that she obviously kept in prime shape. The huge guy with her looked equally impressive. He, too, was dressed in a skimpy black swimming suit and had superb, but bulky musculature. She held her hand toward the man accompanying her. “This is Ivan.”

  Bolan smiled. “Nikita, how nice to see you.”

  “You can say that again,” Grimaldi said.

  Natalia laughed. “Perhaps later. Do you swim, Mr. Cooper?”

  “I do,” Bolan said. “Why?”

  She extended her arm and pointed to the blue ocean. “There is a raft set off the pier. Do you see it?”

  He scanned the water and saw the raft bobbing up and down with the waves, a large buoy connected to each corner. He nodded.

  “Let’s swim out to it,” Natalia said. “I have something to show you out there. Come on, let’s race.”

  Bolan and Grimaldi exchanged glances. Grimaldi swung the beach bag with their weapons onto his shoulder and followed Bolan down to the water. Kournikova reached the sea about ten yards ahead of them, waded in thigh-deep, then dived into a cresting wave. Surfacing on the other side, she began swimming toward the raft with a strong freestyle stroke.

  The moist sand sank under Bolan’s bare feet as the warm water splashed over his shins. He kept going until the next wave began to crest, then he, too, dived into it. The water engulfed him and he surfaced about fifteen yards behind Kournikova. He used a butterfly stroke to close the distance, lurching through the salty water. As he drew alongside her, she increased her pace. He switched to a standard freestyle and stayed next to her. He knew he could pass her, but instead kept matching her stroke for stroke as they closed in on the raft.

  “Looks like it’s a tie,” he said.

  She smiled. “You could have beaten me. Why didn’t you?”

  “Maybe I’d rather we both win.”

  Her green eyes narrowed as she looked at him, then she surveyed the raft. It was empty. She grabbed the rope that was laced through the eyelets mounted to the side, and pulled herself up. “Come join me,” she said.

  Bolan swung himself up and sat beside her. He waited, but she said nothing. “I thought you had something to show me.”

  “I lied,” she said. “But this is such a nice place. Free from any prying eyes and ears.”

  Bolan smiled. “There must have been bugs in your room, too.”

  “Bugs?” Her brow furrowed, then she laughed. “Oh, yes, listening devices. I have forgotten so much of my idiomatic American vocabulary.”

  “I’m getting a bit rusty on my Russian, too. Maybe we can look for areas of mutual concern and help each other.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” she said. “Why don’t you go first?”

  Bolan considered his options. He knew she was SVR, and he knew the Russian Mafya was present on the island, as evidenced by the thug who’d tried to kill them yesterday. The question was why? And if Russian agents were here, who were they looking for? He decided to put some of his cards face-up on the table.

  “One of our government analysts is missing,” he said. “A man named Herman Monk. I was sent here to find him.”

  Kournikova tipped her head back, wringing some of the water out of her long hair. “An analyst... What does such a man do in your government?”

  “He analyzes. Now it’s your turn.”

  She waited a few more seconds, then said, “The man you killed yesterday was named Fedor Matyelshenko. He was a very bad man. What you Americans call a gangster.”

  Bolan nodded. “I didn’t think he was a Boy Scout. But I already knew his name. Let’s cut to the chase. Why are you here?”

  Kournikova closed her eyes and raised her face toward the sun. “It feels so lovely, doesn’t it? It’s hard to believe it is so bad for your skin.”

  “All things are best taken in moderation,” Bolan said. “An old Russian proverb. Now, how about answering my question?”

  A few more moments passed, then she opened her eyes and stared at him. “I am trying to locate a man named Andrei Rinzihov. Have you ever heard of him?”

  Bolan had. Rinzihov was one of the fathers of the Soviet nuclear program. He’d been heavily involved in the Union’s development of nuclear weapons, and when Communism collapsed, he’d become a free agent, peddling his assets to the highest bidder. It was rumored that he’d helped both North Korea and Iran with their nuclear ambitions. “The name does ring a bell.”

  “My government is very concerned that in recent years he has been selling his knowledge and talents.” Her expression was totally devoid of emotion. “You no doubt heard of the plane crash a few years ago that killed many of his fellow scientists?”

  “I did.” A private jet transporting five top Russian physicists and experts on their nuclear program had crashed under mysterious circumstances. It was widely believed to have been an act of sabotage, perhaps perpetrated by the Russian government itself as punishment for the scientists’ commercialization of their expertise.

  “Well, Rinzihov disappeared shortly after that. You see, he was scheduled to be on that plane, but pulled out at the last minute. It is speculated that he was either warned of the crash or was responsible for it.”

  “Eliminating the competition?” Bolan said.

  She laughed. “Exactly. Russia has become the land of opportunity now. Anything goes. Lately, rumors have surfaced that Rinzihov has been seen in various places on the Continent in the company of Vladimir Zelenkov.” She paused. “Are you familiar with this man?”

  Bolan shook his head.

  “At one time he was one of our Spetsnaz.” Natalia’s mouth puckered in an expression of disgust. “But he left the military and began selling his talents to the Mafya. We now believe that both he and Rinzihov are here and, pardon the expression, in bed together with your Mr. Everett.” She smiled. “That is how you Americans like to describe things, is it not?”

  Bolan grinned. He was beginning to like this woman. “Only in certain circles. We are a very tolerant society. But I’ve been suspicious of Mr. Everett, too. He’s up to something. I just don’t know what.”

  “So there you have it. Shall we work together to solve our problems of mutual concern?”

  “Sounds like a plan. The first thing we need to do is check out some of Everett’s activities around the island. Especially out there.” He pointed to the horizon, where the greenish hue of the water changed to a deep blue. “You up for a little deep-sea fishing?”

  “But of course,” she said.

  Bolan glanced at his watch. They’d been lying in the direct sunlight a little too long and he didn
’t want either of them to have to deal with any tropical burns. “Shall we swim back and discuss it further?”

  “Yes,” she said. “But let us not race this time. We should take our time. And talk.”

  “Sidestroke suits me fine,” he said. “By the way, Everett invited me and Jack to his Mr. Galaxy party tonight. Your countryman, Mark Steel, is going to be there. Would you like to accompany us?”

  She smiled as she got to her feet to dive. “Mark Steel is a pig. I knew of him when he was Allyosha Misha Snitkonoy, a member of our Olympic weightlifting team. He defected at a competition in Berlin and became the pet project of a wealthy German industrialist.”

  Bolan rose and stood beside her. “You didn’t answer my question. Would you like to go to the party tonight as my guest?”

  “Of course,” she said, taking a step toward the edge of the raft. “But I should tell you that I already have my own invitation.”

  Chapter 9

  Bolan waded ashore and walked over to Grimaldi and Ivan, who had been watching them from the sand.

  “We’re going deep-sea fishing,” Bolan said to Grimaldi. “And the good news is you and Kournikova get to stay in the boat while Ivan and I swim.”

  “Sounds like I’m getting the better of that deal,” Grimaldi said. “Where you guys swimming to?”

  “We’re going over toward Everett’s floating platform rig. Kournikova says the area’s being heavily patrolled by local police boats. Something tells me that A Slice of Heaven might have once wandered over that way.”

  * * *

  THE FISHING BOAT was large enough for Bolan and Ivan to change into their scuba gear in the lower cabin. When they’d shoved off thirty minutes earlier, the captain of the craft had balked at bringing them close to Everett’s floating platform.

  “It is forbidden,” the man said. “They have police patrol boats in the area. They are armed and do not tolerate violations.”

  “Who’s talking about tolerating?” Grimaldi said, reaching in his pocket and producing a roll of cash. “Just get us in close enough to check things out, and we’ll leave if they ask us.”

  The captain’s eyes lit up as he looked at the money, but when he reached out for it, Grimaldi pulled his hand back. “Nope, after we get back to the dock.”

  The man’s venality had overridden his trepidation, and he’d agreed to take them out to the platform. He said the cops on the boats normally took a long lunch break at one o’clock.

  “Good to know,” Grimaldi said. “Now let’s go run a blockade.”

  The platform initially looked like a small, dark spot on the surface of the blue water, but gradually became more defined. When they were close enough to distinguish the superstructure, Bolan and Ivan went below to get suited up. True to his word, the captain had managed to circumvent the patrols, for the moment. He stopped the boat about a hundred yards from the rig. Several men on the platform were already lining up on one of the catwalks.

  “I don’t know how long you guys will have,” Grimaldi called into the cabin. “Looks like our friends on the platform are already on the horn.” He made a show of smiling and waving at them.

  Bolan motioned to Ivan, who followed him up the three steps from the cabin. Bolan did a belly roll over the far side of the boat, his splash hidden from the men on the platform rig.

  “Swim quickly, boys,” Kournikova shouted as he went over.

  He felt the soft embrace of the warm seawater. Ivan splashed in seconds later. Bolan put a hand on his mask and blew a breath through his nose, clearing the screen. Ivan was already swimming past him, so Bolan kicked his legs, propelling himself in the direction of the rig. After they had gone about seventy-five yards, he made out the massive beams descending from the floating platform toward the darker depths below.

  Ivan paused and Bolan saw him eyeing the supports, as well. The soldier pulled up beside him and pointed to his watch. Seven minutes had elapsed since they’d left the boat. Their plan was to be gone no longer than fifteen. They figured that was probably how much time they had before the absent patrol boat would be able to intercept the fishing trawler. Bolan held up his hand and signaled five minutes, and Ivan nodded.

  Both men swam as quickly as they could. Bolan saw a trio of support lines descending from the center of the platform, but these weren’t part of the beams. They were more like drilling cables. Or something else... He swam closer. Umbilical cords, perhaps? Did they have some submersibles or perhaps an underwater station down there?

  Whatever the cables were for, their purpose was obscured by the dark waters. It was clear to Bolan that they’d have to return with better equipment. Underwater scooters, perhaps. But even with them, how far down could they safely travel? The current was beginning to pull on both of them. Going down there would be problematic in a standard hard-hat suit, let alone trying to negotiate the murkiness in scuba gear. They’d need heavy-duty diving gear—wasp suits, most likely—to explore down there.

  Bolan paused and glanced upward. The underbelly of the platform looked solid and inviting. He wondered what answers it could provide.

  He checked his watch again. Their five minutes were almost up.

  A dark shadow flickered on the periphery of his vision. Bolan turned his head and saw a triangular wedge knifing through the water toward the platform supports. The shape twisted sideways and Bolan recognized it: a shark. Farther away three more sliced through the water.

  Bolan looked upward and saw a murky cloud between him and the surface of the water. One shark swam through it, then another, and Bolan suddenly knew what it was: blood. The men on the rig above must have been pouring it over the side. A nice way to lure the school of sharks into augmenting the rig’s security.

  It was definitely time to leave.

  He swam to Ivan and motioned toward the sharks and then in the direction of the fishing boat. Ivan’s eyes widened and he began swimming as fast as he could. Bolan glanced back, hoping the freshly-poured blood would distract the animals long enough for him and Ivan to get back to the boat.

  As they swam, Bolan flipped over and glanced back at the platform. He couldn’t see the sharks now, but that didn’t mean they were gone. All it meant was that they’d most likely left the immediate vicinity of the rig. And both men were leaving a clear trail of bubbles.

  Ivan came alongside him and touched his arm, pointing upward. A large black shape moved rapidly across the surface of the water above them.

  More company. A police patrol boat, no doubt. They had misjudged how much time they had. And they were still a few minutes away from their companions.

  It’s up to Jack to deal with those island coppers now, Bolan thought, or Ivan and I will have a real long swim back to the beach.

  * * *

  GRIMALDI LOWERED THE high-powered binoculars and frowned. First the helicopter, an old Russian Mi-24 Hind, had flown overhead and landed on the platform. And now these new visitors. Time was not on their side today. He turned to the fishing boat captain.

  “You got a rifle on board?” he asked.

  “A rifle?” The captain looked warily toward the approaching craft. “I will not permit you to shoot at the police. They have machine guns and will kill us all.”

  “I’m not worried about those jokers,” Grimaldi said. He pointed to a large fin knifing through the water. “I’m more worried about that one.”

  The captain’s mouth twisted downward. “A shark. This is not good.”

  “Tell me about it,” Grimaldi said. Where there was one, there were probably more.

  The police boat’s siren wailed and a set of red lights blinked above the cabin. Two uniformed men with rifles stood on the bow, holding on to the metal railing as the boat flopped against the waves. When they were perhaps fifty feet away the vessel slowed, but the siren and lights stayed on. Grimaldi s
tarted to move to the prow, but Kournikova had beaten him to it. And that wasn’t all. She’d taken off her bikini top. Grimaldi knew she was trying to buy Bolan and Ivan more time with a distraction, and from the look on the faces of the coppers as their boat went dead in the water twenty feet away, she was succeeding.

  A loud voice came through a megaphone. “You have entered a restricted area. You must leave immediately or face arrest.”

  Kournikova shouted back at them in Russian, pointing with one hand while the other covered her bare breasts.

  The voice on the loudspeaker stopped momentarily, then resumed, repeating the same message.

  “Hey,” Grimaldi called, stepping up onto the deck next to Kournikova. He figured the more eyes that were focused topside, the fewer would be scanning the water. “You guys have a lot of nerve. Can’t you see my wife’s lost her bikini top? We’re trying to find it.”

  One of the island policemen came to the side of the patrol boat and stared at Kournikova.

  “Watch where you’re looking, buddy,” Grimaldi said. “She’s very modest.”

  The policeman’s mouth dropped open, then he smiled. “Yes, I see that. Where did you lose it?”

  Kournikova affected a perplexed expression and turned to Grimaldi, speaking in Russian. Although he knew very little of the language, he played along. “She says if she knew that it wouldn’t be lost.”

  The policeman’s mouth pursed. “How do you expect us to help you if you will not tell us where to look?”

  “Try looking on the other side of your boat,” Grimaldi said.

  Several of the policemen moved to the far side of their vessel. Grimaldi heard a commotion coming from the port side of the fishing boat. He glanced behind him and saw Bolan clambering over the rail, minus his scuba gear, holding a black bikini top. He held it up and grinned. “Found it.”

  The men raised their weapons again and one shouted, “Who is that?”

  “Relax,” Grimaldi said. “He’s my brother-in-law. On my wife’s side.”

  Ivan climbed over next, also without his diving gear.