Читать книгу Infiltration - Don Pendleton - Страница 10

The walk to One Chase Manhattan Plaza took under five minutes, but another ten elapsed before Bolan located Godunov’s office suites on the twenty-eighth floor.

He’d managed to get through the security with his firearm, thanks to the forged credentials provided by Stony Man. It never ceased to amaze him how easy it was to get past a uniformed security detachment with an itty-bitty gold badge. The officer in charge had barely scrutinized his identification, taking more of an interest in Bolan’s companion. And with good reason. Despite the new threads, Bogdan Lutrova hardly carried the demeanor or attitude of a model citizen. Fortunately, Bolan had been able to explain it all away by letting them know that Godunov was expecting him, and they were eventually waved through.

When they stepped off the elevators, Bolan heard Lutrova take a sharp breath. He scanned the hacker’s face and then followed his gaze until his eyes came to rest on a tall, bald man with a beak-like nose and pursed lips.

“Godunov?” Bolan asked.

Lutrova nodded.

The soldier grabbed Lutrova’s arm and guided him steadily in Godunov’s direction. The Russian crime lord was standing at the reception desk, flirting with the secretary. Bolan would have paid a nickel to have a picture of Godunov at the moment the man’s attention focused on the pair. For a long time—or so it seemed— Godunov didn’t say a word. At first, Bolan thought the guy might try to act as if he didn’t know Lutrova, but a glance at Bolan told him attempting any such charade would be pointless.

“Mr. Godunov?” Bolan said in greeting.

The Russian nodded, taking up the act, and offered his hand. Bolan decided to shake it so the secretary didn’t get nervous and start punching buttons. Godunov immediately released Bolan’s hand and then turned to look Lutrova in the eyes. A patina of disgust washed over Godunov’s expression and then dissipated just as quickly into one of cordiality.

“Bogdan, it is very nice to see you.”

“And you, sir,” Lutrova muttered.

Godunov didn’t miss a beat. “I trust your trip was…uneventful, gentlemen?”

“It was,” Bolan replied. “Our apologies for being late.”

“Not at all.” Godunov swept his arm in the direction of the hallway behind the massive main reception desk manned by four young women. “Why don’t we adjourn to my office, where you can get off your feet? I’m sure you’re both exhausted.”

“Thank you,” Bolan said.

With the show of pleasantries dispensed, Bolan and Lutrova followed Godunov down the hallway to a pair of double doors at the end. As the Russian opened them, Bolan reached into his jacket and rested his hand on the butt of the Beretta 93-R as he shoved Lutrova between Godunov and himself. If any trouble waited on the other side of the door, he figured Lutrova would buy it first and give him time to react.

The office was devoid of combatants, and while Bolan relaxed somewhat, he didn’t completely let down his guard. Being a paranoid and suspicious type was just part of the role camouflage. It would take quite a bit of convincing to make Godunov buy the story he was about to spin, and prove even more difficult to earn Godunov’s trust enough to hire him. He was hoping that Lutrova would be the trump card in his hand, and it was one Bolan planned to play very early.

Once they were inside, Godunov’s demeanor became venomous. “Who the fuck are you?”

Bolan remained calm, with an expression that implied Godunov didn’t intimidate him. “Not important. What’s important is that I have something here I think you want.”

Godunov exchanged glances with Lutrova, and then asked Bolan, “What makes you think that?”

“I have my sources.”

“Maybe your sources are wrong,” Godunov said, moving to a position behind his desk.

Bolan reached into his jacket.

Godunov raised a palm. “Easy.”

“As long as you keep your hands where I can see them. Try anything and you’ll be dead before help can arrive.”

“You seem a bit jumpy, Mr….”

“Just never mind that right now. What I want to know from you is if pretty boy—” Bolan jerked his head in Lutrova’s direction “—is worth anything to you. If not, I’ve got some buyers who could put him to work on some pet projects they got going.”

Godunov laughed. “You’re not actually here to sell him to me. Are you?”

“So you’re saying he’s not worth anything to you.”

“That’s not what I said,” Godunov replied.

“Look, don’t make a jerk out of me, pal.” Bolan bristled in true mobster fashion to help sell the act, then continued, “You want to pull someone else’s rod, then you go ahead and do that. Me, I’m just a man who looks for business opportunities wherever I can find them.”

“Well, you must understand my position,” Godunov said, switching tact to appeal to Bolan’s sense of reason. “You’re asking me to basically turn over my own hard-earned cash for this young man. What makes you think he’s of any value to me?”

“Because I know where I took him from,” Bolan said. “How do you think I knew you’d be here?”

Godunov appeared to seriously consider this, and then gave Lutrova a look that was murderous, at best. It seemed Lutrova had given away information he shouldn’t have—or Bolan had given away something he shouldn’t have, slipped up in some way, and that had made Godunov very suspicious. In any case, it didn’t appear the Russian crime lord planned to show his own hand, since his original demeanor returned in a moment.

“You’re saying that it was you who snatched him from U.S. Customs?”

“That’s right,” Bolan replied. “That so hard to believe, pal?”

“Put yourself in my shoes,” Godunov replied, spreading his arms. “You show up here, armed, with something that doesn’t really belong to you. You tell a crazy story about how you wrested this man, whom you do not know, away from a group of armed U.S. Customs agents—”

“Not a group,” Bolan interrupted.

“Excuse me?”

“You said I took him from a group of agents. Not true. He was with just one man when I found him.”

“And who was this man?”

“Don’t know and don’t care,” Bolan said. Inside, though, the statement confirmed his suspicions that Godunov—or someone in his employ—had a mole inside the U.S. Customs offices.

“And how did you even know where to look?”

“I got my sources,” Bolan said. “Listen, let’s cut out all the BS and get right to the chase. I have some inkling of who you are, and you can, and most likely will, find out who I am before too much longer. Hell, I wouldn’t doubt you got cameras all around this room right now, and you’re running that high-tech face recognizing stuff. Well, fine with me, then we don’t have to waste a lot of time. Now I’ve got something here you want, and I went to a lot of risk to get it. The question is, are you willing to pay for it, and if so, how much? That leads to another question, and that is whether or not you’re impressed enough with my work that you might want to offer me a job.”

“You’re looking for work?”

“No,” Bolan said flatly, “I’m looking for an opportunity. You can provide something solid, then we talk. Otherwise, I’m walking out of here now and taking your prize with me.”

“Then I guess there’s nothing more to discuss,” Godunov said.

That’s when Bolan’s senses went into high gear.

The pair of goons who emerged from two separate panels hidden in the walls came bearing sound-suppressed .22-caliber pistols. Bolan half expected a bit more firepower, but Godunov would have had trouble getting anything more past building security. Bolan had counted on that, and it looked like he’d proved his theory.

They came hard and fast, but the Executioner was ready. Bolan brought the sound-suppressed Beretta 93-R smoothly into play and took the first hood with a 9 mm Parabellum slug to the chest. The impact spun the gunner into the thick plate-glass window of the big corner office, and he bounced off, leaving a bloody splotch as the only evidence of his presence. The goon from the panel about sixty degrees to Bolan’s left tried to flank his position, but the Executioner found cover behind a leather couch that provided him with a good defensive posture.

Bolan got the second target with a double-tap to the head. The first round punched through the gunman’s face even as he was taking aim: his finger curled reflexively against the trigger and a bullet discharged into the carpeted floor. Bolan’s second round creased the top of the guy’s skull as his body started to topple, and deposited a patch of blood and flesh on the wall behind him.

The subsonic cartridges from the Beretta 93-R had suppressed any significant reports. Coupled with their distance from the front desk and the fact that the heavy door was closed, Bolan figured the fight hadn’t been heard. He doubted that anyone even occupied the adjoining offices, but if they had it still might not have made enough noise to cause alarm. Either way, Bolan now had another hurdle to overcome with Godunov.

“This isn’t what I came here for,” Bolan said as he leveled the pistol at the Russian. “I’m not looking for a fight.”

Godunov’s voice was icy. “Then you shouldn’t have come here with your deals.”

“I guess I shouldn’t have,” Bolan said.

He looked at Lutrova and said, “Let’s go, pal.”

They were nearly at the door when Godunov said, “Wait!”

Bolan turned and eyed him.

“I didn’t say I couldn’t be reasonable,” the man continued with a mock smile. “After all, only a fool wouldn’t explore all his options. Such relationships are built on an equal measure of trust.”

“Trust and loyalty aren’t my problem,” Bolan said. He grabbed Lutrova’s arm and thrust him into a nearby seat. Lutrova hit it with surprise on his face, and glanced at Bolan, who pretended as if he wasn’t there. “I’m a freelancer. I’ve built a reputation on getting a job done. You want what I have, then you have to pay for it. Keeps things simple.”

“Then you won’t mind giving me your name,” Godunov replied.

Bolan made a show of considering it, and then shrugged. “Guess I’ve got nothing to lose. Name’s Frankie Lambretta. I used to work for the Righetti Family until this last stint in Otisville.”

Godunov nodded knowingly. “The upstate New York prison facility. I’m familiar with it. But surely you have a parole officer you answer to.”

“Not anymore,” Bolan said with a cool smile. “He met with an unfortunate accident.”

“You are a man of style then.”

“I’m a man of profit, plain and simple. Now are you interested in doing business with me or not?”

Godunov sighed and took a seat. “What’s your price?”

“I’ll take twenty-five g’s for the genius there,” Bolan said. “And a job.”

“I’m not sure I have a place for you directly in my organization,” Godunov replied.

“Don’t be sly, pal.”

“Not at all.” Godunov reached carefully for a card on his desk and extended it to Bolan. “But I believe I know someone who would be interested in your work.”

Bolan cast a cautionary glance at Lutrova before walking to Godunov’s desk and snatching the card. He studied it a moment, a plain white card with only a phone number. “What’s this supposed to do for me?”

“Call that number and ask for the Wolf.”

Bolan cocked his head with skepticism. “You pull anything on me and I’ll kill you, friend. You can bank on it.”

“Again, we agreed that any relationship should be built on trust.”

Bolan gestured toward the two corpses on the carpet. “Like that? That’s your idea of trust?”

“Surely a man of your talents must understand my position. I have gotten this far by being cautious. The people I work for absolutely demand this. If I weren’t, neither my life nor that of our friend here—” he waved at Lutrova “—would be worth anything.”

Bolan nodded and pocketed the card. “Fine. I’ll just hold on to my catch until you have the money.”

“No need.” Godunov reached into a drawer, again careful not to make any sudden moves, and withdrew three one-hundred-dollar-bill bundles. He tossed them on the desk and said, “There’s thirty thousand in cash. Let’s call the added five a measure of my good faith.”

Bolan didn’t hesitate before scooping them off the desk and pocketing them. “Fine. Consider us square.”

He wheeled around and headed for the exit.

“One more thing,” Godunov said as Bolan reached the office door. “I will be looking into your background. If you are not who you say you are, I will find out. And when I do, you would be better to take the money and disappear rather than attempt to deceive me.”

Bolan flashed a cocksure grin and replied, “Yeah. You do that.”

ONCE BOLAN LEFT the building, he walked several blocks past the parking garage to check for marks. Nobody appeared to be tailing him, so he circled back to the garage and retrieved his rental. He contacted Stony Man after putting some distance between him and Godunov’s offices.

Barbara Price answered. “How did it go?”

“I think I’m in,” Bolan said. “I need another favor. Do some looking into any mercenary groups operating in the U.S.”

“Sure. Are we looking for anything in particular?”

“Not certain yet, but I have a moniker called ‘the Wolf.’ I don’t know if it means anything, but I if you cross-reference it with known freelancers, you may come up with something solid.”

“Will do. Hal’s here now, too. Anything else you can tell us?”

“Godunov’s definitely careful,” Bolan replied, “but I don’t think he’s calling all the shots with the RBN. He specifically mentioned that the people he works for expect him to be careful, which tells me someone sits above him in the ranks. Still, I get the impression he’s close to the top.”

“Any idea what he’s up to, Striker?” Brognola asked.

“Hard to tell this early on,” Bolan said. “He’s going to check into my background, and I gave him the Lambretta cover just as we discussed. Bear’s got that tightened up?”

“Definitely.”

“So what do you have in mind for your next move?” Price asked.

“I’m going to get in touch with this contact he called the Wolf,” Bolan said. “See where that leads me.”

“You could be walking into a trap.”

“Probably. But I’m banking on the fact that whoever this contact is, he’ll be chomping at the bit to recruit some new talent, particularly since those I took out in Boston were likely part of his team. One thing’s for sure—Godunov doles out all the wet work to specialists. I don’t think he’s got any internal people other than for personal security. So the sooner you can get me some intel on this contact I’m supposed to make, the easier it will be to gain a picture.”

“We’ll get on it right away,” Brognola promised. “Give us two hours?”

“Fine,” Bolan said. “I can lie low for that long.”

“What about Lutrova?”

“I left him there for a price,” Bolan said. “That should firm up my cover some as being in this strictly for profit. I just hope our timing’s good.”

“Well,” Price said, “we’ve done some other snooping into Godunov’s background. He’s operated here in the U.S. for about the past five years. That’s left significant paper trails, even if they only lead back to shell or paper companies.”

“I imagine he’s attempted to deal in smaller transactions?” Bolan inquired.

“You’re absolutely correct,” Price replied. “After 9/11, the federal government instituted new policies relative to financial transactions. Any single transaction of ten thousand dollars or more requires the receiving institution to generate what’s known as a currency transaction report. The CTRs are typically routed to the compliance departments for those banks, who then file them with a central database. These CTRs are then analyzed and flagged against a list of known financiers for terrorist or other national and international criminal organizations.”

“So Godunov’s managed to slip through the cracks by keeping the amounts of his transactions low?”

“Exactly. And since he’s never directly involved, his name has never been on the list,” she explained.

“We’ve taken care of that, though,” Brognola interjected. “We had him added as soon as you contacted us with Lutrova’s story. Speaking of which, do you think he’ll roll on you?”

“It’s always a possibility, but I’m confident he’s scared enough to keep his mouth shut. He knows if he tells Godunov that he was coerced into cooperating with us, it will likely cost him his life. I think he’ll pull through it.”

“Agreed,” Brognola said. “It’s not like he has a choice.”

“Well, we still don’t know what Godunov plans to use him for,” Price said.

“We know Lutrova’s an expert hacker and a technology genius. I think Godunov plans to exploit his talents in some way, and I’m guessing it has something to do with the funds they’re channeling through all the bogus investment accounts.”

“You think it’s money being used to fund RBN operations overseas?”

“Why not?” Bolan said. “It makes complete sense in light of what you’ve uncovered.”

“You could be on to something, Striker,” Price replied. “Given the state of the world economy, it’s likely they’re starting to see a rapid depletion of funds. The only way for them to continue their efforts would be if they get more money from their investors, or find new ones. The latter would take too long, so for the sake of expedience they may be attempting to tap the current list.”

“Which means they’d need to get all the financial data they could on those financiers,” Brognola concluded.

“Right,” Bolan said. “And I think that’s what Godunov may have brought Lutrova in to do.”

“You think Godunov’s looking to crack that list?” Price asked.

“I think he’s going to do a lot more than that,” Bolan replied. “I think he plans to make Lutrova crack the New York financial network.”

“Okay, but to what ends?”

“To suck it dry in one fell swoop,” the Executioner replied.