Читать книгу Infiltration - Don Pendleton - Страница 8

The receptionist seemed dazed, but got the message as Bolan cleared his Beretta 93-R from its shoulder leather and went prone. The gunmen opened up simultaneously with their machine pistols. The glass entrance shattered under the assault, and dangerous shards flew in every direction, while others rained onto Bolan and the secretary, who was now under the cover of her desk. Hot lead burned the air above the soldier’s head before it shattered more glass or punched through the plasterboard walls to leave heavy, choking dust in its wake.

Bolan sighted on the surest target and loosed a double-tap. The weapon bucked in his grip as two 185-grain 9-mm hollowpoint rounds traversed a path to one gunner’s chest. The impact drove him into a large potted plant and carried him over the other side. The heavy ceramic pot teetered and landed on top of him, spilling soil everywhere.

The first man going down distracted the one next to him, and Bolan seized the advantage. He triggered another pair of shots. The first one went low and to the left, but the second struck the man’s hip. The guy screamed and his weapon flew from his fingers. His hands went to his shattered bone and he dropped to his knee on his uninjured side. Bolan sent a third round downrange, which struck the target in the forehead. The top of the enemy’s skull came away with devastating effect, and he toppled prone to the carpet.

The remaining pair got wise to the fact that their numbers were halved, and quit firing to find cover from the Executioner’s bullets. As one guy dived for a chair in the hallway, Bolan caught him with a slug to the left side. The bullet went clean through, narrowly missing the heart and instead ripping through shoulder muscle. The clip brought a cry of pain from the gunner, but it wasn’t lethal.

The injured man’s partner managed to get behind a support beam jutting from the wall, but the thin plasterboard proved hardly adequate to stop Bolan. The warrior flicked the fire selector switch to 3-round burst mode and triggered two volleys. The first trio of rounds punched through the flimsy wall. One of them grazed the gunner, and he twisted away, straight into the line of the second 3-round burst. The bullets drilled through the man’s ribs and shoulder, one of them puncturing both lungs before the man sprawled into the hallway on his back.

The surviving gunman broke cover and swept the area with his muzzle, trying to keep his head down as he reverse-stepped toward the elevator bank. Bolan switched out magazines in a heartbeat and leveled his pistol. He triggered another 3-round burst, and then a second, and all six rounds hammered his opponent. The impacts drove him backward, causing his arms to windmill, and making him stagger like a drunken puppet until he crashed into the far wall. He slid to the ground and left a gory streak in his wake.

The echoes of gunfire hadn’t even died when a half-dozen Customs and Homeland Security officials, accompanied by a near equal number of FBI agents, fanned into the room with their weapons drawn. They spotted Bolan and began to yell at him to drop his weapon. The Executioner knew that, in the heat of the moment, anything other than compliance would be suicide, so he laid the weapon on the ground and kept his hands where he could see them.

One of the agents stepped forward and retrieved the pistol quickly, while a second bent to put handcuffs on him. Too far.

Bolan grabbed the man’s wrist. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Stop resisting!” the man said.

The Executioner whirled onto his back so fast the agent didn’t have time to react. Next thing he knew, Bolan had a forearm around his neck and his legs wrapped against the man’s hips, effectively pinning him in place.

“I said, that’s not going to happen,” Bolan repeated. He looked at the other agents, all of whom had guns pointed at him, and added, “you have my weapon and that means I’m no longer a threat. But I’m on your side and there’s no way you’re going to handcuff me like a criminal.”

“Okay, okay!” one of them replied. He holstered his pistol and gestured at the others to back off. “Put them down for now, boys. Everybody just take it easy.”

When they had complied, Bolan released the agent who had tried to cuff him, and got up, before hauling the dazed man to his feet. The agent stepped a respectful distance away as he rubbed his neck and eyed the soldier with venom. Bolan didn’t let it affect him, instead turning to the balding man who seemed to possess the air of command among the others in the group.

Bolan indicated that he was going to reach for his credentials, and once he got a nod from the head agent, he flipped them out and held them high. The agent stepped closer, quickly inspected them and then nodded with a satisfied expression.

Bolan stuck out his hand. “Name’s Cooper. I’m with the intelligence sector of Homeland Security.”

The man nodded again and took his hand. “Scott Hampton, deputy chief of U.S. Customs, New York. You’re here about Lutrova?”

“Yeah,” Bolan said with a nod.

Hampton looked in the direction of the four deceased. “You always bring this kind of entertainment to the party?”

Bolan couldn’t help but crack a smile, wondering if he might get along with Hampton, after all. “I like to keep things lively.”

“I don’t suppose you could tell me…” Hampton’s voice dropped off suggestively.

“Not a clue,” Bolan said. “But if I had to guess, I’m betting they’re Russian.”

“You think they were after Lutrova?”

“Right.”

“Any idea how they might have known about you? Maybe how they managed to follow you?”

Bolan shook his head. “I spotted them tailing me the moment I left Logan.”

“And you came here anyway?”

“Look,” Bolan said, putting a little edge in his voice, “I didn’t think they’d actually storm this place with guns blazing.”

“Okay, okay, don’t get your panties in a wad.”

“Let’s just focus on finding out who they are and who sent them, Hampton,” Bolan said. “We can worry about blame later.”

“And how do you propose we do that?”

“If they were here to punch Lutrova’s ticket, it’s logical we start with him. Especially since that’s why I’m here to begin with, and they latched on to me instead of one of your people.”

“Christ,” Hampton replied under his breath, rubbing his temples.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he told Bolan. “It’s just I feel a migraine coming on. Along with a whole hell of a lot of paperwork.”

BOGDAN LUTROVA didn’t come off as particularly special. He didn’t seem all that bright, either, but Bolan knew appearances weren’t trustworthy. Lutrova’s long, blond hair hung in unkempt and dirty strands. Brown eyes, deeply set and lined with circles, peered with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity at Bolan’s imposing form entering the room.

Bolan met the look with frosty indifference as he stood opposite Lutrova, who was seated at a gray metal table in one of the U.S. Customs holding rooms.

“Who are you?” Lutrova asked in a heavy Georgian accent.

“Shut your yap,” Bolan said, jabbing a finger at him for emphasis. “Four of your friends out there just attempted to kill me.”

Lutrova scoffed mockingly. “What friends? I have no—”

The Executioner reached across the table and one-armed Lutrova out of the chair. He dragged the Russian computer hacker across the table and pushed his head down so that the edge buried itself in a painful nerve just under Lutrova’s chin. The man squealed something in Russian, but Bolan doubted the outrage would have been intelligible even in English.

“Let’s start again,” Bolan said with a steady increase of downward pressure. “We’re not going to play games right now because I’m not in the mood for them. You’re also not going to play the victim, since we both know better than that. You know where I’m coming from now?”

The man made some additional sounds the Executioner couldn’t understand, but the furious movement of Lutrova’s head made it apparent he understood the new terms of their relationship. Bolan nodded in satisfaction and released his hold, propelling Lutrova into his chair with a shove. The door opened and Hampton entered—followed by a short, swarthy man Bolan recognized as the guy that had earlier attempted to cuff him—in time to see Lutrova’s scrawny form land hard in the seat.

“I see you’re getting along,” Hampton said with a smirk.

“I was just explaining the rules to Mr. Lutrova,” Bolan said.

Hampton nodded, gestured for the other agent to close the door behind them, and then sat on the edge of the table to one side of Lutrova, dropping a thick manila folder in front of him. It hit with enough force that Lutrova jumped in spite of himself. A red divot had formed on his chin, a lasting reminder of Bolan’s “explanation.”

“You’re in deep shit, Lutrova,” Hampton said. “You know what’s in that folder? It’s a list of names, the names of the hit team sent to kill you and anybody else who got in their way. It seems your friends in the Russian Business Network don’t like you too well.”

Lutrova didn’t say anything at first, but a slight movement of Bolan in his direction made him quickly change his tune and throw up his hands. “Wait! Wait! Don’t touch me. I’ll tell you what I know. But you must protect me.”

“No way,” Hampton said. “Your associates out there just tried to kill a bunch of my people. And the fact that they’re foreigners here on American soil, attacking American federal buildings, makes that an act of terrorism. Which means you’re not entitled to any protection.”

Lutrova looked at Bolan, who was staring at him, his arms folded. When he looked back at Hampton, who raised his eyebrows to indicate he was serious, Lutrova’s defiant expression transformed into defeat. They had him dead to rights and he knew it; worse yet, Lutrova knew he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. And that’s exactly where the Executioner wanted him.

“You can see, Lutrova, you don’t have many options,” Bolan said. “You can take a risk with us, spill everything—”

“And we mean everything,” Hampton interjected.

Bolan continued without missing a beat, “Or you can take your chances with your friends in the RBN. But you should know, if you don’t already, that whoever you’re working for has the means and connections to make you dead very quickly.”

“We put you in protective custody, you might have a chance,” Hampton said, taking Bolan’s lead. “But you’re definitely a dead man if you go inside the system.”

“And what do you wish in return?” Lutrova asked.

“Everything,” Bolan replied.

“Which is?”

“All information you have about your comrades in the Russian Business Network, including why you entered the country illegally and why they want to kill you.”

“I keep telling you, I don’t know—”

“Don’t play games, Lutrova,” Bolan said, putting an implicit edge in his voice. “You’ve already spilled the fact you’re in bed with the RBN, and I know all of your qualifications.”

Lutrova sneered. “Like?”

“You were formally trained at the Moscow Power Engineering Institute, top of your class. After that, you dropped off the face of the earth for ten years. For the past three years, the RBN cybercrime network activities have increased a hundredfold or more. And then you suddenly show up here and now.”

Hampton folded his arms. “So once more, what’re you doing here?”

Lutrova took a deep breath and a hint of resignation appeared in his expression. “I was sent here by Yuri Godunov. You know this man?”

Bolan scanned his mental files but couldn’t recall the name.

“What about Godunov?” he prompted.

“He is perhaps one of the greatest leaders we have ever known. He is connected to people in nearly every country, and extremely elusive. There is nothing you can do to stop him now.”

“What’s the angle?” Hampton asked.

“What do you mean by this angle you speak of?” Lutrova asked in turn.

Bolan put both palms on the table. “He means what’s Godunov’s plan?”

“Mr. Godunov does not reveal his plans to me. I only know that he sent me to break into the New York banking sector. I was ordered to fly in through Boston, and once here I was to then take a rental car to New York. I was to meet him there. But now that you have taken me, I am a liability to him. He will come after me and kill me, and there is nothing you can do to stop him.”

Bolan couldn’t be sure they were getting the truth. He’d have to run Yuri Godunov’s name through Stony Man Farm’s data banks to get more intelligence. If anyone could come up with something on Godunov, it would be Aaron Kurtzman and his team. Meanwhile, he would be forced to sit on Lutrova—keep the Russian computer hacker on ice—while he waited to find a way inside Godunov’s organization.

“Let’s take a break,” Bolan suggested to Hampton.

When they were outside the interrogation room, he stated, “I don’t like it.”

“You think he’s lying.”

“On the contrary. I think he’s completely legit. Lutrova might be a cybercriminal, but I know the type. He’s scared and with good reason, and he’s looking to make a deal.”

Hampton sighed and leaned against the wall, the resignation obvious in his tone. “I don’t have any deal to offer him, Cooper. I’m a government hack, just like you, and the policy on terrorism is strict. It looks like we’re going to have to turn him over to the boys from Homeland Security.”

“You let me worry about that.”

“You’re not really from its Intelligence, are you?” Hampton inquired with a smile.

Telling Hampton anything more than absolutely necessary might compromise Stony Man’s security. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the Customs official, but the plain fact of the matter was that this kind of red tape was what made Bolan’s job harder. He’d have to get clearance to take Lutrova with him. They would go straight to New York so Bolan could find out exactly what was going on through other means best left unexamined. If the Executioner tried to get chummy with Hampton, or left Lutrova under the protection of U.S. Customs, Godunov’s people would try again and that would only leave Hampton in a predicament. No, he’d have to keep tabs on Lutrova and take him to New York.

“Who I am or work for isn’t important,” Bolan said. “I’m with intelligence and that has to be good enough. I need to make a phone call. That call is going to generate another call, and I’m betting within the hour you’re going to be able to get this completely off your hands.”

“What are you saying?”

“Lutrova has to come with me.”

“Where? To New York?”

Bolan nodded.

“No offense, Cooper,” Hampton replied, coming off the wall now, “but I’d have to say that’s going to be pretty dangerous. If you are nothing more than an intelligence analyst, which I highly doubt based on the handiwork I just saw out there, you’d be committing suicide.”

“Again, that’s my worry. Not yours.”

Hampton shrugged. “Well, I can’t say as I like it, but I have the sneaking suspicion it isn’t going to make much difference what I think. I’d bet somebody in a much higher pay grade is going to make the decision for me.”

“That would be a safe bet.”

Bolan turned to leave and Hampton said, “Hey, Cooper? Just watch your ass out there. If these guys tried once, no doubt they’ll try again.”

“That’s what I’m counting on,” Bolan replied.