Infiltration

CHAPTER THREE

After Yuri Godunov finished listening to the report from the head of his internal security team, he slammed a fist on his desk.

Their operation, his operation, had taken an ugly turn, and Godunov wasn’t certain how to get it back on track. Thus far, his plans to slip Bogdan Lutrova into the country right under the noses of U.S. Customs had gone off without a hitch. What he hadn’t expected was the destruction of the four men he’d dispatched to liberate his premier hacker.

“This is what I pay you good money for, Volkov,” Godunov had told the mercenary leader known at large as the Wolf. “You were responsible for taking care of this for me. What went wrong?”

The Wolf cleared his throat. “I’m not sure. We weren’t expecting to meet that kind of resistance. I’ve been informed that our team was put down by one man.”

“One man?” Godunov’s expression turned apoplectic. “You mean four of your best men, trained by some of the finest methods I could buy, weren’t able to take out one man? You must be misinformed!”

“I’m not, sir, I can assure you. I verified the information as soon as it came to me.”

That was probably true. The Wolf had spies inside every major U.S. law-enforcement agency, not to mention plenty of civilian workers on the payroll. That kind of network took vast resources, and those resources were quickly diminishing. That was one of the main reasons for Godunov’s plan to crack one of New York’s largest financial institutions, Chase Manhattan, and pilfer everything he could before they got wise to his plan. Along the way, he expected to pick up quite a bit of information on those individuals who were financing the RBN’s activities.

Godunov’s organization spread far and wide. He didn’t head up the RBN—such a position could only be held by one who could walk the real halls of power back in the mother country—but Godunov occupied a prime position. He took his orders straight from the head of their worldwide society of profit and mayhem. Godunov then filtered that down to the hundreds working for him. Of course, he knew that a lot of them marched to their own drummer. Most he’d even caught skimming profits. But there was plenty of wealth to go around. As long as his superior didn’t miss it, Godunov was willing to look the other way now and again. It wasn’t as if he had a big choice, however. The RBN employed thieves, and that meant he had to expect his workers to steal here and there.

The RBN operations remained large only because Godunov had learned to be extremely cautious. The network survived through an infrastructure comprised of thousands of small front companies, many only on paper. A growing list of financiers actually invested in these companies, and as long as their “stock options” were showing steady returns—with the occasional bonus—they didn’t ask a lot of questions. But times were tough, with the world economy being what it was. That had forced Godunov to find more creative ways of getting money, and so they needed to get information on the funds of those anonymous financiers, so they could access those funds without attracting undue attention.

That was the plan Godunov had assigned Bogdan Lutrova to put into action. Now, though, it seemed that four of the Wolf’s team members were dead, and Bogdan had appeared to drop off the map.

“What’s your recommendation?” Godunov finally asked the Wolf.

“I could not make one until I have more information. Certainly, we need to find our…asset.”

“Indeed. I will leave that in your hands. But don’t screw this up again, comrade, or I will hold you personally responsible. Do you understand my meaning?”

There was a pause before the Wolf answered, “I do.”

Godunov bid him farewell by dropping the receiver into the cradle and muttering, “Incompetence. Sheer incompetence.”

He sat back, rubbed his eyes and sighed. Now he would have to play a waiting game. What he couldn’t understand was why they had moved Lutrova and, moreover, done so in secret. Such a move typically involved a considerable amount of time and bureaucracy, but the Customs officials had somehow managed to make it happen quickly. The bungled attempt of his men to liberate Lutrova meant they had shown their hand early. While faithful, and capable of following his script to the letter, Lutrova might see the cause as lost, and roll on their organization, figuring he could cut a better deal for himself by cooperating with the U.S. authorities.

What bothered Godunov most was the talk of this mysterious stranger the Wolf had spoken about. Godunov thought he’d worked every angle, but such a development could signal that the Americans had been onto their plans from the beginning. Either way, it didn’t matter, since Godunov hadn’t pinned all their hopes on Lutrova. He could implement a fail-safe if absolutely necessary, although he hesitated to do so unless the circumstances became dire. Such a fail-safe would involve ordering the Wolf to do whatever was necessary to find Bogdan Lutrova and terminate his life. There could be no loose ends—everything would need to be tied up neatly so as not to risk exposing the RBN leadership to scrutiny.

For now, all Godunov could hope was that it wouldn’t come to that.

“THIS ISN’T going to work,” Bogdan Lutrova said.

“You’ve already said that,” Mack Bolan replied. “Repeating yourself isn’t going to change my mind, so why not just shut it down for a while.”

“Because they’re going to figure it out.” Lutrova sighed. “Yuri is a smart man. He’ll see through the deception and he’ll kill you on the spot. And me, too.”

“He won’t if you play your part right,” Bolan said. “Besides, Godunov needs you. He wouldn’t have gone to such lengths to let everybody else know how important you are, otherwise. Or risked exposing his plans.”

Lutrova had no reply for that, and Bolan knew he’d struck a nerve. The soldier had never really bought the idea that Customs catching someone like Lutrova red-handed was merely a stroke of good fortune and nothing else. He’d suspected from the beginning the RBN had concocted this entire charade to throw them off the track, and Bolan’s plan to insert himself into the organization as a freelancer searching for employment was little more than a way to capitalize on their deception. The fact that he’d more or less blundered into the situation didn’t matter—Bolan would use every advantage to get at the heart of the organization.

He had contacted Stony Man, and Brognola promised to put Kurtzman and Price to work on identifying this Yuri Godunov. It surprised Bolan that he hadn’t heard of the guy when Lutrova first mentioned his name, and part of him wondered if he even existed; it seemed possible, however unlikely, that Lutrova was just lying to them to stall for time. Bolan didn’t think so. Lutrova was bright, sure, but he didn’t come close to being a criminal mastermind and this Yuri Godunov sounded like the type who would never hire an underling smarter than him, anyway.

As if on cue, Bolan’s cell phone buzzed inside his jacket pocket. He answered midway through the second ring. “Go, Bear.”

“We’ve got some updated info on your boy Godunov, Striker,” Kurtzman replied. “You’re not going to like it.”

“That’s usually a given,” Bolan said with a frown. “Talk to me.”

“Yuri Godunov’s been long suspected of ties to the Russian Business Network, but nobody’s ever been able to pin anything on him. In fact, he went as far as getting permission to operate business concerns within the United States quite some years ago, and is protected just one level beneath diplomatic immunity.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that he enjoys some sort of special consideration because his business concerns—which, by the way, are nothing more than probably shell and paper companies—are directly involved in dealings with Russian heads of state.”

“In other words, there’s a profit to be made by one or more of our politicians in Wonderland.”

“Right.”

“What else do we know?”

“Well, Godunov’s never made his presence in the country a secret,” Kurtzman replied. “He owns an estate in the West Hamptons and he regularly makes business trips to New York City. I’m sending the actual GPS coordinates to your phone as we speak. I also hacked into his computer network at his office. Can you believe this guy actually rents space at the Chase One Plaza in Manhattan?”

“I believe it.”

“According to his records, he’s in town all week on business. One entry we found was very cryptic at best, and we think it’s probably the meeting he had scheduled with Lutrova.”

“That would make sense,” Bolan said. “He’d be expecting that situation long resolved by now. What about the hit team in Boston?”

“None of them were Americans, and three of the four were here illegally. We think they’re part of a freelance team of mercenaries, but I can’t pin down which one.”

“So we’re not much further than we were before,” Bolan replied.

“Sorry, Striker. I wish I had more solid info for you, since I know going cold into a situation is tough, but there’s just not much there. If this Yuri Godunov is as crooked as the folks in the CIA’s counterintelligence unit say he is, well, you can bet he’s gone to good effort to cover his tracks and hide any goings-on that would even hint at impropriety.”

“Understood. Looks like I’ll have to work this one by ear.”

“If I get anything else, I’ll contact you.”

“Just hold on to the info and wait for me to reconnect,” Bolan said. “I don’t know what I’m up against yet and I wouldn’t want to put your end in jeopardy.”

“So don’t call you, you’ll call us?” Kurtzman replied with a chuckle.

“Just like that.”

“Okay. Be careful, Striker.”

“Out here.”

Bolan disconnected the call and spared a glance at Lutrova. The young hacker returned the look but didn’t say anything. “Seems like your pal Godunov is legit,” Bolan said.

“You doubted this?”

“I doubt everything,” he stated. “Call it a character flaw.”

“You are still convinced your plan to infiltrate Yuri’s organization will succeed.”

“I’ve already told you it’ll be fine if you just play along like you’re supposed to.”

“I’m not convinced.”

“You don’t have to be convinced,” Bolan said with an edge in his voice. “You just have to be convincing.”

“And how do you know that I will not simply betray you when we finally meet with Yuri?”

“I don’t. But I do know that if it goes hard, you’ll be the first person I take with me. You see, if Godunov doesn’t have you, then he really has no ability to move forward with whatever scheme he’s cooking up. And if you go along and he finds out later that you’ve rolled over to our side, he’s still going to kill you. At least you have a chance going the distance with me.”

“Some would call this blackmail, which is nothing less than a criminal activity in itself. That would make you no better than the rest of it.”

“I call it strategy,” Bolan said, savvy to the fact Lutrova was simply trying to bait him. “Now let’s get down to business. I have information that Godunov was supposed to meet you here. Is that accurate?”

“I am not sure where I was supposed to meet him. I had instructions only to wait once I’d been caught, and that he would send someone to collect me. That is the extent of my knowledge.”

Bolan considered his options. He knew the location of Godunov’s West Hampton estate, but taking Lutrova straight there concerned him. If he did, Godunov would be immediately suspicious about where Bolan had gotten his information, particularly since it seemed Lutrova didn’t know anything about it. That left the downtown offices at Chase One Plaza as his best bet. It would have been the logical decision if he hadn’t known anything about Godunov’s private residence.

The plan was designed to be simple and straightforward.

Godunov needed something desperately in order to execute whatever designs he had on the New York financial system. Bolan had that something in his grasp. It wouldn’t be much of a stretch to get Godunov bartering for the goods. Bolan had opted to use an old cover that Kurtzman was able to resurrect whenever needed. The alias Frankie Lambretta had served him well during his war against the Mafia, and later he’d used it on occasion when penetrating organized crime. On a couple of occasions, Kurtzman had killed him off or put the identity into the prison system. Once more, Bolan would be out on the streets with credentials as a former Mob hit man that just about any criminal organization would be proud to have on its rolls.

Bolan checked his watch and noted it was just past 1600 hours.

The Executioner had traded his government-issue suit and tie for slacks, a black polo shirt and a brown leather jacket to protect against the biting winter winds of New York City. He’d purchased baggy jeans and a sweatshirt for Lutrova, along with an overnight bag that contained a change of clothes and a toothbrush. The hacker’s hands were free, but Bolan had bound his feet with thick plastic riot cuffs to lessen the risk that the guy would try to take off. The Beretta 93-R rode in shoulder leather, and Bolan had stashed the remainder of his arsenal on the backseat of the rental.

His bag of tricks included twin satchel charges of C-4 plastic explosives configured with blasting caps and a remote detonator. It also contained a .44 Magnum Desert Eagle with spare magzines and ammo, a carbine version of the Fabrique National Herstal SA FNC with plenty of spare 5.56 mm NATO ammunition. Bolan didn’t expect too much in the way of serious trouble at this point, but better prepped than dead.

He made a right off Chambers Street onto Broadway, and could see the Chase Manhattan Plaza building towering in the distance, one of the tallest structures in New York City. Construction on the sixty-floor building had been completed in 1961, and it was still one of the fifty tallest buildings in the world. The only other tenant beside J.P. Morgan Chase & Co. was Milbank, and the recent addition of Godunov’s puppet firm Vastok & Karamakov, Ltd.

Bolan had to admit that Godunov’s attempt to operate like an open and legitimate enterprise was a gutsy move. It also spoke of the man’s great arrogance that he thought he could actually get away with it and not fall under the scrutiny of the federal government. Still, he’d proved adept at avoiding trouble so far. Bolan planned to change all that. He wondered exactly how Godunov would react when he walked straight into the man’s offices with the RBN’s prize puppet under his arm.

They arrived at One Chase Manhattan Plaza, and Bolan circled the block twice before choosing a belowground parking structure two streets over. After he parked and killed the engine, the soldier flipped out a knife and cut the riot cuffs from Lutrova’s ankles. Some mixture of surprise and relief spread across Lutrova’s features, but Bolan ignored that. Instead, he favored the hacker with a warning smile.

“You’re liberated only for the time being,” Bolan said. “Don’t forget you’re still on a very short leash. You double-cross me, and I’ll kill you in the blink of an eye. Understood?”

The relief in Lutrova’s expression melted. “Yes.”

“Good. Now let’s go met Yuri.”

CHAPTER FOUR

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.