Читать книгу War Everlasting - Don Pendleton - Страница 12

CHAPTER SIX

Maddie Corsack’s place was Spartan but comfortable. The house wasn’t very large—it looked like one of the smallest of the similar houses on the block—but it didn’t lack a woman’s touch.

“It doesn’t seem as if you’ve lived high off Haglemann’s proverbial hog like your neighbors,” Bolan observed with interest.

Corsack shook her head. “I take the payments. Haglemann calls them dividends, supposedly from investments of our union dues. But I don’t spend any of it on myself. I donate it to a fund for widows of servicemen killed in action.”

“Nice.”

“I’m sorry for what you had to go through,” she said hesitantly, canting her head in the general direction of the docks. “Back there, I mean. I know you didn’t want to have to do what you did. You’re not a cold-blooded killer.”

“How do you know that?”

“I see it in your eyes. I think you actually care about other people. I think it’s why you do what you do. And you clearly didn’t want to kill Rov. He left you no choice.”

“I’ll move past it,” Bolan said. “But thanks for your concern. I’m more interested to know how much you know about Rov. And about Lustrum.”

She nodded. “I call them the Red Scourge. I know, it’s not very PC of me, but then I’ve never been known for my tact.”

“So both Rov and Lustrum are Russian?”

“No, not Otto. But Rov is definitely Russian.” That piqued Bolan’s interest. The very low population on Adak, along with the high use of Alaskan native laborers, would have eliminated the place as a melting pot. Yet here was a business magnate, a union boss, operating with complete autonomy and using Europeans and Scandinavians as little more than thugs.

“How long have you known him?”

“A long time. Lustrum took over as chief of operations down on the docks for Haglemann’s various corporate ventures about eight years ago. Haglemann’s like a spoiled rich kid, and Lustrum, while he may try to be tough, is little more than another one of Haglemann’s errand boys. The way he goes panting after the guy sometimes is sick. Of course, he uses the thugs to enforce things and ensure they’re done his way, since nothing he does is in the interest of the workers. Other than the kickbacks and money he puts in everyone’s pocket. He somehow has managed to keep it all legal and aboveboard. And as long as people are getting paid, they’re willing to look the other way.”

“These union thugs he’s using—is that the job Lustrum’s going to recruit me for?”

“I don’t know for sure,” Corsack said with a shrug. “But it’s probably a good bet. He’ll either stick you on a dock crew or he’ll have you working security at the private club.”

“He has a club?” Bolan asked.

She nodded. “It’s really Haglemann’s club. Haglemann’s got everything here. He’s practically turned this into his own private island.”

“So where do we go from here?”

“Well, I assume someone has developed some sort of background identity for you.”

Bolan nodded.

“If it’s not too clean, you should be okay. Lustrum will definitely check it out, and when he’s satisfied he’ll be in touch.”

“No offense, and I appreciate the insight, but I can’t just wait around here for something to happen.”

“You may not have a choice,” she replied.

“There’s always a choice.”

“If you jump the gun on this, Mike, it could blow up in your face.”

“Listen to me,” Bolan said. “There are two US military assets missing, not to mention more than a hundred service members. Now, I think Haglemann had something to do with it, and even if he didn’t I’m betting he knows who did. If those men and women are still alive, I owe it to them to get results as soon as possible.”

“So, what are you going to do?”

“What I do best,” Bolan replied. “But I have some questions first, and you’re the only one who can answer them.”

* * *

VLADIMIR MOSCOVICH PLANNED to kill Davis Haglemann. Not right away—he needed the guy at the moment to keep the workers in line until he could accomplish his mission. But the time was coming soon, and when it did, Moscovich would act on it. For now, he had to entertain the liberal bastard’s whims and avoid doing anything that would arouse suspicions. If anything, the Russian understood that Haglemann commanded a much larger following. He knew the area better, and he had greater resources from which to draw.

Moscovich and his fifty men would be no match for the hundred or so guns at Haglemann’s disposal.

“Granted, they don’t have our experience,” Moscovich told his second-in-command, Alexei Vizhgail.

“But what they lack there they make up for in sheer numbers. That is not a battle I think we can win.”

“Agreed. It has always been my contention that we must avoid a fight if we’re to complete our mission.”

Indeed, it was critical that they finish what they’d started. The technology had now been used twice with very favorable results, and those back at headquarters in St. Petersburg were pleased with his reports and progress. But it still meant little this far north.

“Maybe it won’t have to come to that, my friend,” Moscovich said.

Once they were in the sedan and headed for the plane awaiting them at the harbor, he said, “Yet these small tests feel like a hollow victory, despite our success. I want to take this much further, to make the Americans pay for what they did to us. Well, at least what one American had done. One man! It is still almost unthinkable to me!”

Indeed, it had been difficult to believe even when he’d first learned of it. Famed network leader Yuri Godunov, head of the organization’s operations in New York City, had masterminded a brilliant plan to overtake America’s banking systems. Thanks to a cowardly hacker who’d managed to get himself captured, the plan was exposed and all the players were either captured or destroyed. Somehow, a lone government agent had managed to penetrate the Godunov family security and wreak havoc from the inside out. The trail eventually had led this enigmatic killer back to St. Petersburg where he’d murdered both Godunov and an NSA asset they had managed to turn, Gregori Nasenko. The pair had been shot dead in their downtown office, Nasenko in the head and Godunov in the back as he’d attempted to flee.

“Executed in cold blood” was how Moscovich’s masters had described it.

Those words had haunted him for the next few years. He’d been childhood friends with Stepan, Godunov’s nephew, who had also allegedly met his demise at the hands of the mysterious American agent. These events had affected him deeply, and when the opportunity to get revenge came, Moscovich jumped at it.

They arrived at Adak Port, the hive of activity for Nazan Bay. Of course, it was dark and there wasn’t much happening at that time of night. By the time they reached their destination in the nearby Rat Islands it would be daylight again, a common occurrence in this part of the world. Many thought that it was cold and dark most of the time, but, in fact, the opposite was true. At least from the aspect of sunlight. The more northern the territory, the more hours of daylight. Of course, even more sunlight could not stop the bitter cold and storms, but that was hardly news.

This environment didn’t bother Moscovich or his men. They had trained for it in some of the coldest regions of Russia. They were used to it, knew how to survive in its inhospitable embrace, and they were all the better prepared for it. Of course, their base of operations was another matter entirely.

Within minutes of arriving at the port, they were aboard their motor launch and traveling at high speed across the Bering Sea. Thanks to Haglemann’s influence, they could come and go at will without having to jump through hoops. They didn’t need any clearances, naturally—it wouldn’t do to slam into another boat just to protect their autonomy—but it was better than attempting to travel by aircraft. Especially since word had it that the military had turned most of the area into a no-fly zone. But nobody questioned them, and no customs or police agents showed up to inspect their boat. Not that it would have mattered. Haglemann had the Adak police department under his thumb, too. They operated independently, but they didn’t really concern themselves with Haglemann’s specific business interests.

Greed. The entire show was run by greed, and Moscovich had been trained to take advantage of that selfish desire, particularly among American citizens.

The boat reached the island four hours later at a makeshift dock nestled along the southern fringes of the Rat Islands. Moscovich and Vizhgail left the dock and headed toward an outcropping, making their way behind the rocks and eventually reaching the entrance to a cavern concealed behind a wall of brush. Mounted to an oval frame of aluminum tubes was a heat-scattering material designed to diffuse the signature that marked it as a heat source.

They had landed on Semisopochnoi Island, though their team had taken to calling it Semisop for short. The fact that it was uninhabited was one of the main reasons for choosing it, but also because it was highly challenging terrain for outsiders to negotiate. At only three-hundred-sixty square kilometers it had four peaks that were between seven hundred and almost thirteen hundred meters. Its last volcanic eruption, in Mount Cerberus, had occurred in 1987, more than one hundred years after the previous one. However, its magma chambers were still quite active and not as viscous, so they tended to flow much faster and build up gases at a higher rate, too. All in all, it wasn’t the safest place to be, but it was abandoned and drew very little attention outside the scientific community. Nobody would bother them there—nobody would even bother to look for them there, so Moscovich was convinced they could conduct their work undisturbed.

So far, he’d been right. Semisop also had the added advantage of being a perfect prison, as could attest the group of military personnel who sat under round-the-clock guard while jailed behind giant fishing cages.

After Moscovich and his team had successfully used the new jamming technology to down the plane—there had been no survivors—they’d tested its efficacy against the USCGC Llewellyn. The device had performed with spectacular results, although Moscovich didn’t really pretend to understand all the technical achievements behind it.

All he knew was that they now had a fantastic weapon to use against the Americans.

Of course, there had been some survivors aboard the cutter that they had been forced to take prisoner. Moscovich didn’t fancy himself a soldier, but he also wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. He did not murder unarmed personnel, be they American military or otherwise. He sought only to further the ambitions of his people by stripping America of her identity and her wealth. If he could do that, nature would do the rest, as history had repeatedly shown its abhorrence of a vacuum. Then again, the prisoners hadn’t proven to be much bother. Once the key troublemakers had been dispatched by Moscovich’s group of commandos, who’d been schooled in the finest tactics by former Spetsnaz and GRU trainers, the remaining navy personnel had fallen in line quickly.

Moscovich and Vizhgail moved past the group and advanced deeper into the cavern until they reached the main operations area. The lights were powered by long-life battery cells, which were recharged using a series of small diesel generators. They had plenty of potable water hauled in regularly from Port Adak, along with food and other supplies that could last them a month, maybe two if they had to ration.

They could have operated here perhaps indefinitely. But it was damn hot, the result of molten lava that rose through natural vents in the dense basalt and rock. The operations supervisor, Benyamin Tokov, one of the toughest and smartest men he had ever known, greeted them with a curt nod. “How did it go?”

“Not well,” Moscovich replied. “I had to exchange the usual pleasantries with Haglemann.”

“I wish we could just kill that sloth. He’s a thorn in our sides.”

“We can’t let him deflect us from our mission. And I’m more concerned about the recent reports from his people on Unalaska.”

Tokov’s brow furrowed. “What happened?”

“Apparently not twelve hours after our operation against the cutter, a man showed up at the main station. His flight was last minute, unannounced and not a regular scheduled courier or freight hauler. Naturally, Haglemann was suspicious and ordered his men at the airport on Unalaska to check it out.”

“Ultimately, there was a conflict, and Haglemann’s men got their collective asses handed to them,” Vizhgail added.

Tokov frowned and locked eyes with Moscovich. “That sounds almost like—”

“Yes,” Moscovich cut in. “That was my thinking, as well.”

“Could it be a coincidence?”

“I don’t know,” Moscovich said. “But it moves up the timetable, regardless. Haglemann won’t be able to keep this newcomer out for long. Eventually someone will come to Adak and begin asking questions, and that will inevitably lead them to us. We have to move before that happens.”

“But the sub is still a month or better out.”

“We’re going to have to ask for it to come sooner, then.”

Moscovich turned to Vizhgail. “Alexei, make contact with them and take care of it.”

When Vizhgail left them, Tokov guided Moscovich out of earshot of the technicians and guards. “I would assume if this is who we think it is, you don’t plan to let him leave alive.”

Moscovich put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, my brother. I would move Mount Cerberus if it meant I could have the pleasure of dispatching this man. We will find him and eliminate him if that fool Haglemann cannot. I swear it on my last breath.”

* * *

AFTER BOLAN LEFT Corsack’s house, he returned to the plane where Jack Grimaldi waited for him. The pilot could see from the grim look on Bolan’s face that things hadn’t gone well.

“What’s wrong?”

“A lot,” Bolan replied. “If my suspicions are correct.”

“Doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s not. Do you remember the mission I took a few years ago in Boston? The one that led to that terrorist operation against the banking system?”

Grimaldi frowned as he pondered the reference. He scratched his neck and finally replied, “Yeah, I think so. Wasn’t that when the Russian Business Network tried to use one of their computer hackers to develop a system that would run amok inside the framework right there on Wall Street?”

“One and the same,” Bolan said. “And I have a feeling it’s the RBN behind this current situation.”

“What? How’s that possible?” Grimaldi looked skeptical. “I mean come on, Sarge, I trust you all the way. But don’t you think that’s a bit of a stretch? I don’t see how the RBN could have the resources to pull off something like this, never mind a motive.”

“The motive’s unimportant. And the evidence the RBN’s behind this is overwhelming.” Bolan told Grimaldi the story of his encounter, leaving out none of the details. He concluded his narrative by saying, “The RBN may not have the resources alone to do something like this, but you can bet they would if they’re manipulating Davis Haglemann in some way. The guy’s practically established his own empire on Adak, and he’s done it right under the nose of the US government.”

“And you think the RBN’s been keeping it quiet in exchange for...?”

“A port free of customs inquiries,” Bolan said. “They can come and go as they like on Adak as long as Haglemann’s in charge. And meanwhile all the traffic looks legit, so nobody asks any questions. He’s paying the top brass big money to keep quiet.”

“So he gets rich and the RBN gets what?”

“That’s the answer we don’t have,” Bolan said. “Yet.”

“Okay, let’s assume you’re right. What’s the plan?”

“Corsack was able to give me the lowdown on information relative to a private club Haglemann runs here. I’m going to poke the bear and see what happens.”

Grimaldi chuckled. “Poke the bear—no pun intended, of course.”

“Of course,” the Executioner replied.