Читать книгу War Everlasting - Don Pendleton - Страница 11

CHAPTER FIVE

They were near a dockside tavern similar to the one Bolan had visited on Unalaska when the roar of a crowd reached them.

Bolan thought Corsack would lead him into the tavern, but instead she made a beeline off the main path and headed for a short, squat metal building that looked to be some sort of small warehouse. The main door to the building was cracked, and the noise had come from there. “Is this the part I’m not going to like?” Bolan asked as they approached.

“Yes,” she said with a wicked grin. “But don’t worry—I’ll protect you.”

“Who’s worried?” Bolan asked.

They passed through the small crack where the massive doors parted, and Bolan realized it wasn’t a warehouse but a small plane hangar. Just on the inside of the door two burly men stopped them, nearly identical with their towering heights and rippling biceps adorned with tattoos, scars and other marks of dubious origin. They relaxed when they recognized Corsack, who just tossed her head at Bolan. The men parted like mechanical pillars to admit the pair.

Beyond them the crowd had formed in a circle, and Corsack had to push and shove a path to the edge. A massive rope, thick like the kind used to moor freighter ships, lined the inner circle. Three men occupied the center, two circling each other attired in nothing but shirts, pants and plenty of blood. The third, the referee, kept watch on them.

The two fighters had been searching each other for an opening when Bolan first laid eyes on them, but now one had obviously seen an advantage and attempted to seize it. He went low for a single-leg takedown, but his opponent countered by driving an elbow into his spine. The blow missed direct contact, glancing off the right shoulder blade at the last moment. That was good for the attacker, Bolan knew, because the counter might otherwise have paralyzed him.

Men and women all around them shouted, one very close to Bolan’s right ear. He could almost feel the crowd’s bloodlust. The fight continued for several minutes, neither of the fighters really gaining much of an advantage, until one of them finally scored a lucky punch to the jaw that dazed his opponent. Seeing how the blow rocked the guy’s head, he immediately followed with another and another. Finally, a well-placed haymaker floored the dazed fighter, and the crowd erupted into a mixture of cheers and groans. The referee knelt, made a quick inspection and declared the fighter left standing a winner by knockout.

The cheering resumed for another minute, but then it passed, and the noise died to excited chatter as the crowd dispersed. Some moved away with swaggers, and others with dejected expressions. From this alone, Bolan could tell the winning betters from the losers. Corsack didn’t move, and he waited patiently beside her for a sign. She continued to scan the area around the roped section, searching for someone specific. Finally, she nodded and gestured for Bolan to follow.

The two made their way down to the rope barrier, shouldering through the spectators who were now rushing to get out what appeared to be the only main door. Eventually, they arrived at a point that seemed to serve as the entry and exit for the participant fighters. Bolan sized up most of the men and the couple of females present, but none of them seemed extraordinary. Two of the fighters parted at the last moment, accompanied by their managers, who were obviously pocketing the winnings, to reveal a metal-gray card table.

An old man, with a grizzled countenance and gray-white hair that seemed to erupt from his head in shocking tufts, sat at the table. Three formidable types, all built similarly to the pair at the door, stood behind him like stone-faced statues. Bolan’s eyes noted the metal lockbox on the table next to the old man. The guy sat calmly counting a massive wad of cash. Bolan wondered why Corsack hesitated, but then realized she was waiting until he’d finished counting.

He finally completed his task, loaded the cash into the lockbox and secured it. He then passed the box to one of the men behind him with a grunt before rising from the table. Once he was on his feet, he looked at Corsack.

“Well, hello, Maddie. Haven’t seen you down here in a while.”

“Hello, Otto.”

The old man nodded toward Bolan. “Who’s your friend? I don’t recognize him.”

“He’s new in town.”

Lustrum sighed deeply and shook his head. “And naturally you thought you’d bring him here to me. Honestly, Maddie, you really need to stop picking up strays. People are starting to talk, you know.”

“Talk about what?” Corsack remained impassive, but there was no mistaking the icy tone.

“Let’s save that conversation for a more private venue,” Lustrum replied with a deflective wave. “For now, what can I do for you?”

“My friend needs work.”

Lustrum gave Bolan the once-over. “Looks strong. Capable. You’re willing to vouch for him?”

“I am.”

“And he understands what’s required in order to earn a place among us?”

Bolan had been patient as long as he could. “Talking about me as if I’m not here doesn’t really work for me, friend. I’m good to speak for myself. Just what exactly is it I have to do to get some work?”

“You can start by showing a little more respect...friend,” one of the bodyguards said.

Lustrum raised a hand. “Easy, Rov. There’s nothing wrong with showing a little backbone. We need more men like this here on Adak.”

“Like what?” Bolan asked.

“Tough men, resourceful men. Working on the docks is a hard life. If you don’t—”

“I think you misunderstand,” Bolan said with a cool smile. “I’m not here to become a dockworker. My talents lie in other areas.”

“I see.” Lustrum looked at Corsack. “I think, Maddie, you’ve brought your friend to the wrong man. I’d be more than happy to get him work here at the port. But that’s it. I can’t relegate him to any other position.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Corsack asked.

“We’re at a critical juncture right now. Davis doesn’t want to risk any more poor decisions. His business concerns are under scrutiny.”

“Davis doesn’t run things at this end, Otto,” Corsack pointed out. “You do—or at least you did.”

Lustrum’s expression went hard, but there was something more to it than that. Bolan understood what Corsack was trying to do, and he had to admit the lady knew her stuff. Bolan wasn’t sure exactly what Lustrum did, but from what Corsack had just said, there was some relationship between Lustrum and Davis Haglemann. Chances were good this would get him on the inside if he played his cards right.

“Okay, Maddie. Okay.” Lustrum scratched the back of his neck. “You’ve done me a lot of favors over the years, so maybe I owe you one. I’m willing to give your man a shot here. But no way am I letting him into one of the crews overseen by Davis. He works for me or not at all.”

“Fine.”

Lustrum returned his gaze to Bolan. “Of course, the only question remains is, are you up to it, Mr.—?”

“Mike Blansky. Depends. What do I have to do?”

“If you want to work for me, I’ve got to know you can hold your own, no matter what.” Lustrum turned to the man who’d lipped off to Bolan earlier. “Rov, you seem to have taken a personal shine to Blansky here. I think I’ll give you the opportunity to put him to the test. His mettle against yours until one of you stays down.”

Bolan chuckled. “You want me to fight him to prove myself?”

“That’s right.” Lustrum grinned.

Bolan looked the man called Rov in the eyes. He saw the killer instinct there, understood it because he’d seen it before. But the soldier saw something else; an uncertainty that he knew he could exploit. Rov might have acted tough, maybe even been tough, but he was young, and that meant he didn’t have the experience that the Executioner did.

“Fine,” Bolan said. “It seems a little sadistic, but I’m willing if he is.”

Without hesitation, Bolan turned and ducked under the rope barrier, glancing to ensure Rov was following. It wasn’t the way he would have preferred to get on the inside, but he had to play the role if he was to gain the trust. Whatever had been going on in this region of the world the past few days, Bolan was sure Davis Haglemann and his people had something to do with it. Or at least they were involved somehow, if he were to believe even half the things Corsack had told them on the flight.

Rov came under the rope from the same point Bolan had, but instead of squaring off he lunged at the Executioner with surprising speed, arm already cocked to land a punch. The soldier sidestepped in time to take the blow to his right shoulder, thankful he had since the blow landed hard enough to cause pain. Had it connected, it most likely would have broken Bolan’s jaw. Bolan waited until the last moment when Rov’s impetus carried him past, then stuck out his foot and dropped to his side with a slap against the thin mat. He executed the leg sweep perfectly, and Rov went down like a ton of bricks. The soldier immediately regained his feet and waited for the next attack to come. He didn’t have long to wait.

Rov got to his feet and charged low, encircling his beefy arms around Bolan’s waist in a body-block tackle. The soldier had no way to move out of the line of attack and had to go down with his opponent, but at the last moment he twisted so that Rov would land on his back. He used the brief opportunity in the superior position to drive a palm strike into the man’s sternum just below the notch of the breastbone. The air left Rov’s lungs as the strike winded him. He gasped and wheezed, trying to suck in air, finally jostling Bolan out of position with a buck of his hips. The Executioner tried to maintain superior position, but his thighs couldn’t find purchase and he came free.

Rov moved with surprising grace and speed, gaining the top role and driving his forearm against Bolan’s throat. The Executioner tried to break the choke, even knowing that brute strength would never accomplish it—especially not with Rov using all his weight behind it. The only way to counter such a move was to gain leverage, and he knew exactly how to achieve it. The Executioner wrapped his right hand against the hand of the forearm holding him down and drove his thumb into a pressure point, a move meant to distract more than debilitate. Hot, stale breath gushed from Rov, who was already sweating profusely at straining to hold his adversary down. The distraction did its job, enough so that Bolan could get his left arm snaked into the crook of the elbow.

Twisting his body and using the motion of his hips to put strength behind the joint lock, the maneuver broke the choke hold and took Rov off balance. Bolan continued the twist until he’d executed a full-on arm bar with enough pressure to bring Rov’s elbow to the point of snapping. The soldier used that leverage to pry off his adversary and continued the motion until he’d regained his feet. Rov tried to break free by yanking his arm, but Bolan now had him in a jujitsu hold that proved very difficult to counter, unless one was well-experienced in such tactics.

Every time Rov tried to move, Bolan applied more pressure to remind the bigger man of his precarious situation. Despite the pressure on his arm, Rov continued to resist his opponent until the Executioner thought he might have to break the man’s arm. Finally, Bolan extended the technique so that he could maintain the hold while actually driving Rov’s force toward the ground. In that moment, gravity did the rest until Bolan had Rov’s right arm pinned to the floor and a knee in the back of the man’s neck. He tried to rise, but his position proved so unwieldy that Bolan had little trouble holding the man pinned to the ground.

The soldier finally looked in Lustrum’s direction. “He’s not going anywhere. I can hold him this way all day. Are we done?”

Lustrum thought about it for a minute, while Rov continued to shout and curse, the sounds almost unintelligible. He knew if Lustrum declared Bolan the victor that it would not only mean they had to accept him, but Rov would lose face and reputation in front of his peers. That didn’t matter to Bolan. Even if it had gone another way, or he beat Rov without disgracing him, he’d have to watch his back all the same. This was a closed society, just as Corsack had said, and no matter how this ended, Bolan would still be considered an outsider.

“Tell me we’re done!” Bolan commanded.

“You’re done,” Lustrum said.

Bolan released his hold, and Rov produced a small grunt of relief.

As the pair climbed warily to their feet, and Bolan started to turn, the reflection of light on metal flashed in Bolan’s peripheral vision. Rov was charging once more, but this time he held what looked like a fighting knife in fist. Bolan’s reflexes saved him from being gutted like a fish, the blade whistling past as it narrowly missed his midsection. Bolan managed to grab hold of Rov’s wrist as it went past. He locked the elbow and yanked back while simultaneously driving the meaty portion of his forearm against Rov’s elbow. The bone snapped with an audible pop, and the knife jumped from fingers numbed by nerve damage.

With a guttural roar of pain, Rov managed to draw a Beretta Tomcat pocket pistol with his other hand.

Before his opponent could make a move to fire the weapon, Bolan swung him in an arc, then ducked through and executed a throw that landed the guy on his back. He twisted down on the damaged arm, locking the shoulder to the floor, before stomping one boot onto Rov’s throat. Pink, frothy blood spewed from the man’s mouth as the cartilage and bone cracked beneath Bolan’s heel.

The Executioner stepped back, breathing heavily with the exertion and sudden charge of adrenaline, watching with a flare of anger tinged by sympathy while the light left Rov’s eyes. Quickly and inevitably, Rov’s breathing slowed to a stop.

Bolan turned to look at Lustrum who sat with his two remaining bodyguards. They had seemed to watch the entire thing with utter impassivity.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Bolan said.

“Couldn’t end any other way, Blansky,” Lustrum replied.

Bolan’s eyes shifted toward Corsack, and she gave him a sad half smile. He could tell behind that small gesture she felt tortured by what he’d been forced to do. Part of Bolan understood it, and they shared a moment in that glance, but it still stung his sense of fair play. Rov had been silently challenged and committed to a fight, one that couldn’t have ended any other way unless he risked disgrace.

“So you got what you wanted,” Lustrum said. “What are you crying about? Rov wasn’t going to let you live, and he wasn’t going to give up. If he’d allowed you to shame him, he would have found a time to reclaim his honor or he would have been forced to leave.”

Lustrum rose slowly from his chair and turned to leave. “Relax, Blansky. Nobody has to know it was you. The waters of Nazan Bay run cold and deep. Heh. Yeah, many untold stories at the bottom of that puppy. Many stories.”

Bolan thought he could hear almost a cackle as he watched the old man saunter away accompanied by his two bodyguards. He stared at Rov’s motionless body one last time before turning on his heel and heading toward Corsack.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t know he’d do anything like that. He’s always just...well, I mean in the past he—”

“Forget it,” Bolan said. “I did what I had to do. Rov didn’t leave me any choice. And this is too important to worry about right now.”

Corsack just nodded.

“Now what happens?” Bolan asked, watching Lustrum make his way toward the exit.

“He’ll be in touch,” Corsack said, laying eyes on Lustrum, as well.

“When?”

“Soon. Or as soon as he can check you out.” She lowered her voice and continued, “So I sure as hell hope whatever you got set up wasn’t done in a slipshod manner, or we’re going to have bigger problems than we’ve got right now. Otto likes me, but he won’t hesitate to come to my house in the middle of the night and cut both our throats.”

“Maybe I should go back to the plane and wait,” Bolan said.

“No, it’s much better if you stay at my place,” she replied. “You go back there, it’s going to look suspicious.”

As they made their way out of the hangar, Bolan remarked, “You were right about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I didn’t like it.”