Читать книгу The Judas Project - Don Pendleton - Страница 12

Mack Bolan picked up his rental car from the agency and headed for the city. His task here was relatively simple—liaise with the Grand Rapids P.D. and take a look at the computers the police had seized as evidence. It was normal procedure for the police to check personal and business computers following unexplained homicides. Vital information could be stored on hard drives, something that could point to the reason why the victim had been murdered.

The call from Hal Brognola, explaining to the G.R.P.D. that the Justice Department needed some cooperation, had fixed the visit for Justice Department Special Agent Matt Cooper. All Bolan needed was to have access to the victims’ computers and a modem so that he could set things up for Aaron Kurtzman to download the contents of the hard drives. The operation would be completed without any outward sign and the original data would still be left intact.

Bolan had already completed the first part of his assignment by visiting the police in Spokane, where he had performed the same routine on the laptop owned by Harry Jenks—Leon Grishnov. He had also carried out the same routine on the one from the bank where Jenks had been employed. Stony Man was already analyzing that data.

Clad in a smart gray suit, white shirt and a dark blue tie, Bolan approached the desk sergeant. He showed his Justice Department credentials and asked for the cop whose name he had been given by Brognola. He was shown to the squad room and introduced to the homicide detective in charge of the double investigation.

Homicide Detective Rick Hollander was in his midthirties, fit, but looked as if he had just emerged from a war zone. The guy looked weary, a little pissed off, struggling with the myriad complications that together make up the working life of a police officer.

“What I hate the most is the paperwork. It just never stops coming. Fresh forms to fill in. New rules to follow. And I keep asking myself, why did I want to be a cop? You know what else? I can’t remember.”

Bolan grinned, sympathizing with the cop. “Paperwork? Tell me about it. It’s all I get to do most days. A field trip like this is heaven.”

Hollander led Bolan across the squad room to his office. He showed Bolan the table that held the computers that had belonged to the two victims.

“Both plugged in and connected to phone lines. Anything else you need, Agent Cooper?”

“That’s fine,” Bolan said gratefully. “Hollander, thanks for your cooperation. I know you’re busy and probably figure I’m a pain in the ass, so I appreciate your help.”

Hollander grinned. “Hey, we’re supposed to be helping each other these days. Right?” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the computers. “Knock yourself out, pal. I’ll go get you copies of the case files I was told you need.”

He left Bolan alone, closing the door behind him. There were two units on the table, a desktop computer and a laptop. Bolan set up the connection that allowed Kurtzman to access the first computer. While the download took place Bolan sat in front of the monitor, going through the motions of checking it out, jotting notations into a notepad. When the signal came through that the download was complete, Bolan made the second connection. Once the two machines had sent their data to Stony Man, Bolan used his cell to contact Kurtzman.

“We done?”

“My man, you have performed sterling work here today. Have the rest of it off.”

“As generous as always.”

Bolan switched off the computers and slipped the notepad into the pocket of his gray suit.

RICK HOLLANDER THREADED his way back across the busy squad room, a buff folder in his hand. One of his fellow officers waylaid him, discussing an ongoing case. As he listened, Hollander noticed Agent Cooper, back in the noisy squad room, watching Detective Steve Cross who was in a conversation with a striking young woman. Cooper seemed to be taking particular notice of the woman. Not that he could be blamed for that. She was, Hollander saw, a looker. Very attractive, with dark hair and a supple figure that couldn’t be hidden beneath her slacks and jacket.

What Hollander was not aware of was the reason Bolan had taken an interest in the dark-haired beauty. She and the police detective were close enough for Bolan to have picked up on their conversation.

Bolan heard the words Commander Seminov.

And OCD.

He had turned his attention on the woman, just as Hollander appeared in front of him, holding up the file.

“Hot off the copier,” he said.

“Good,” Bolan said, neatly sidestepping the cop.

“I thought you said this was urgent.”

“Thanks. It is. Keep hold of it for me.”

In that moment the squad room erupted in a burst of shouting and general mayhem as a group of suspects decided they had taken enough time and decided to cause trouble. Fists flew and bodies were shoved back and forth. Desks were pushed across the floor, chairs thrown. Bolan was caught in the human swell, and the last glimpse of the dark-haired woman was of her being hustled out the door and into the corridor. By the time he shoved his way through the melee she was gone and so was the cop who had been talking to her. Bolan stood, glancing up and down the corridor, wondering who she was and why she had been at the precinct.

It was at least a good ten minutes later before the squad room was restored to what was considered normal. Bolan spotted Hollander, still clutching the file and nursing a bruised cheek, leaning against a desk. He made his way over to the detective.

“You okay, Hollander?”

“All in a day’s work.” He held up the file again and Bolan took it. “I thought you’d run out on me.”

Bolan grinned. “Sorry. That woman talking to one of your detectives. You know who she is?”

“No, but we can find out. What’s the interest? You figure on dating her?”

“Nothing as easy as that. I think she might be connected to an ongoing investigation.”

“How so?”

“Something I overheard her say. It meant something.”

“Oh? You sure it wasn’t ‘Hey, I’m available and I have an inheritance’?”

“For a cop you have one hell of an imagination.”

“Yeah? Cooper, I’m not sure whether to take that as a compliment or a put-down.”

“Believe me, it was a compliment.”

“I made copies of everything we have on our two vics. Right now you’re as up-to-date as we are.”

“I’ll leave my cell-phone number,” Bolan said. “If anything else crops up, I’d appreciate a call.”

Hollander turned and beckoned to the cop who had been talking to the young woman. When he came over Hollander introduced him to Bolan as Steve Cross, explaining that Bolan was a Justice Department agent. Bolan shook the young man’s hand.

“Some kind of Fed, huh?”

“Something like that.”

“Steve, Agent Cooper would like to get a line on that young woman you were talking to.”

Cross rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, a grin forming. “Who wouldn’t? You know her, Cooper?”

“Not personally, but I recognized a couple of things she said—OCD and Commander Seminov.”

“Still think she’s part of your investigation?” Hollander asked.

“I’m going to check that angle,” Bolan said.

“Turns out she’s a Moscow cop,” Cross explained. “Showed me her ID and said if I needed confirmation all I needed to do was to call this guy in Moscow. He’s her boss. By the way, her name is Natasha Tchenko.”

“What was her reason for calling here?”

“She saw a TV report about a drug-related homicide we’re dealing with. Said she might know the guy from Russia. Said she’d be grateful for any information we could give her. Said it was in-line with an investigation she was working on and she would give us feedback.”

Bolan found the information interesting, wondering what an attractive female Russian cop was doing in the U.S. with a connection to a murdered man.

“How did you leave it?”

“I told her we’d need to check out her credentials before we could pass along anything. Said I’d get back to her.”

“Did she leave you a contact?”

“Cell phone and the hotel she was staying at.”

“Can you let me have that information?”

“Sure.” Cross wrote the details on a sheet and handed it to Bolan. “Hey, Agent Cooper, if you see her, tell her I said hello.”

Bolan patted the young cop on the shoulder. “I’ll do that, Cross. In the meantime try to stay cool. And thanks for the assist. Both of you.”

“No problem,” Hollander said. He handed Bolan a business card. “That’s my cell number. Anything you need, you call.”

BOLAN SAT IN HIS CAR outside the Grand Rapids P.D., ready to talk to Commander Valentine Seminov of the Moscow Organized Crime Department. He had contacted Kurtzman on his cell and a solid connection had been made via Stony Man, then routed to Bolan’s cell.

“So how are you, my friend?” Valentine Seminov asked.

“Surviving. Have you brought down the crime figures in Moscow yet?”

“Ha. I see your sense of humor is as weird as ever. So, Matt Cooper, how can OCD help you this time?”

“A cynical attitude, Valentine. Maybe I’m just calling out of the goodness of my heart.”

Seminov’s throaty laughter rattled the telephone in Bolan’s hand. “How remiss of me not to realize that.”

“Natasha Tchenko.”

The line appeared to go dead for a long few seconds before Seminov spoke again. When he did, all traces of humor had vanished.

“Is she safe?”

“As far as I know right now.”

“You have spoken to her?”

“No. Only seen her once from a distance. She disappeared before I could get to her. She was in a police station asking questions. Identified herself as a cop working out of OCD in Moscow. Gave your name as a reference.”

“Damn. I told her not to…”

“Valentine, I need to know why she’s here and what it is she’s after.”

“Is it involved in something you’re investigating?”

“Right at this minute all I can say is it could be.”

“Are you sitting down?”

“Why?”

“Because this may take a little time.”

“Go ahead.”

“Tchenko is one of my officers. A very qualified member of the OCD. Determined. Single-minded. Resourceful. And stubborn. Like someone else I know.”

Seminov detailed Tchenko’s background. She came from a family with a long history of law enforcement. It seemed to be in the family genes. Her father had been a captain in the civil police, stationed in Moscow. “Had been” were the operative words. Tchenko’s family—father, mother and her teenage brother—had all been murdered a couple of months back. Her father, Captain Pieter Tchenko, had been handling a case that had delved deep into matters that had moved far beyond his normal investigations. He had, it seemed, stumbled onto a deeply covert operation involving the FSB and former associates of the old KGB. When his inquiries started exposing names, Tchenko was asked to back off. When he continued his investigation, he was officially ordered by his superiors to let the matter drop. The case had been referred to internal FSB jurisdiction. Word came through that Tchenko was putting his life at risk if he did not back off. It had been the wrong thing to say to Pieter Tchenko. While he considered his options, something happened that forced his hand. His wife received a telephone call promising extreme violence if he did not walk away. The same evening Tchenko himself was tailed as he drove home and someone fired on his car with an automatic weapon. A second phone call, just after he got home, told him that next time the bullets would not miss. The physical and verbal threats simply increased Tchenko’s determination. He upped his pressure on his contacts and concentrated his searches into the background of his investigation.

Less than a week later his Moscow home was broken into by hooded men. Tchenko, his wife and his son were tied to chairs and subjected to savage beatings. Worse was to come. Tchenko’s son underwent a terrible attack by one of the invaders who tortured him with a knife and finally eviscerated him. The house was ransacked as the invaders searched the place for any files of evidence Tchenko might have put together. When they found nothing, Tchenko was shot twice in the head. The same happened to his wife.

“Natasha was on an OCD investigation at the time, out of the city,” Seminov concluded. “She came back to Moscow to find her family slaughtered. Then she had to identify the bodies officially.”

“Had she been aware of what was happening?”

“Yes. She and her father were very close. They discussed work all the time. She knew about the threats. She also knew that Pieter Tchenko would never give in.”

“How did she take it?”

“That was the odd thing. She was calm. Even when we went to identify the bodies. I knew she was grieving but she refused to let it out. Not one tear showed, Cooper.”

“Valentine, are you sure the killings were connected to the investigation? Couldn’t they have been caused by a crime that went wrong?”

“We considered that but I don’t believe so. From the way the family had been beaten and tortured it was obvious the raiders were looking for something. It was all very methodical. These people knew their business. They were more than street criminals. Oh, one more thing. Two days later Tchenko’s office was found to have been searched, too. And the small dacha they owned outside the city. These people were searching for something.”

“And Natasha?”

“She told me that on the day of the funeral she was followed to her apartment. Being Natasha she turned the tables and waylaid him in the basement parking garage. He went for her so she defended herself and broke an arm and gave him a good thrashing. We brought him in and questioned him for some time. He refused to talk until I threatened him. He broke down soon after and admitted he had been hired to follow Natasha and get her alone in her apartment. It seemed he was looking for data her father might have left with her.”

“Who was he?”

“An ex-soldier. Hired by a voice on the telephone. That is how he described it to us. Even threats from Natasha couldn’t get any more from him. We arrested him but by the next morning I had instructions from above to release him. I suspected OCD had been put under pressure from Lubyanskaya Square. My superiors told me not to make any protests and to let it go. Two days later that ex-soldier was pulled out of the Moscow River. His throat had been cut. Explain that if you will. I have a theory that when he attacked Natasha at her apartment she got something out of him. She never gave me any indication she had, but I think this is what she must be following up.”

“Silencing that suspect could have been his employers covering their tracks. Making sure he couldn’t be picked up again.”

Seminov grunted.

“There is something going on here that is driving me crazy, Cooper. It has me by the throat and won’t go away until I find out what is happening. This has the oily hand of the FSB involved. A shady deal.”

“You watch your back, Valentine.”

“I wish you were here to do that for me, Cooper.”

“Was any data retrieved from Tchenko’s investigation?”

“Nothing yet,” Seminov said.

“Let’s talk about Natasha Tchenko some more,” Bolan said.

“I saw how restless she was so I insisted she take an extended leave. It was as much for her own state of mind as to get her out of the way for a while. Maybe I should have become suspicious when she accepted my suggestion so readily. I reminded her that she was not authorized to look into the case of her father’s death. I should have known better. A day after she left I telephoned to see how she was and there was no reply, just a message saying she was taking a break, going to stay with family in London and she’d be in touch when she got back. Now you have told me where she has gone, Cooper, I can’t prove why she went to the United States. But my guess is it has something to do with what happened to her family. As I said, I believe she learned something from that thug who attacked her.”

“When I meet her I’ll ask.”

“You can tell her I’m mad at her, too.” Seminov paused, clearing his throat. “But don’t tell her I was worried. I like that young woman. She is a good cop. Intelligent. Capable of becoming a high-ranking officer. I would hate for anything bad to happen to her. Cooper, one more thing. I think you should hear about it. I did receive an e-mail from Natasha some days after she left Moscow. There were names she had learned about that only increased my curiosity. Enough to keep me looking. But I have to stay low key. You understand? In the e-mail she mentions a name. Mischa Krushen. He is FSB, and from what Natasha e-mailed he has some covert connection to a man in Moscow called Leopold Bulanin. Bulanin is a racketeer. His greasy hands are in everything illegal. The e-mail got me thinking. And I am still mad at being told to drop my investigation into Pieter Tchenko’s death. I do not enjoy being made to back off.”

“The more people make a fuss over something usually means they have a reason not to have it dragged into the open.”

“We think alike, my friend.”

“Valentine, I’ll be in touch once I have some answers.”

“Good. If I turn anything up here I will pass it along. You be careful, too. If there is a connection to the FSB, and maybe former KGB thugs—we need to be cautious. There is nothing nice about them. These are bad people.”

“Hell, Valentine, if there weren’t any bad people, you and I would be out of a job.”

“That is very true. If I find anything I will let you know.”

“I owe you, Valentine.”

“Again? One day, Cooper, I will collect.” Seminov’s booming laugh echoed down the line. “Take care, Cooper. I have a feeling these people have something to hide and will do anything to keep their secrets.”

“Remember that when you start poking around again.”

“Of course. I am always careful.”

“I remember that, Valentine. Goodbye, my friend.”

Bolan ended the call, started the car and headed across the city in the direction of the hotel where Natasha Tchenko was staying. His conversation with Seminov had alerted him to the fact the young woman could be pitting herself against extremely dangerous opponents. It crossed his mind that they might be watching her and could decide to take some kind of offensive action.