“And him?” the officer asked. “Who is he?”
“He’s my brother,” Grimaldi said. He took in the policeman’s skeptical expression and added, “We’re twins. He got all the muscles and I got all the brains.”
The policeman shook his head in exasperation. “No matter. You must leave now. Immediately.”
“Okay, okay,” Grimaldi said, turning to the fishing boat captain. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
The man fired up the engine and began backing away from the patrol boat.
Bolan walked up the stairs to the foredeck and handed Kournikova her top.
“Here you go, sis,” he said with a wide grin.
* * *
GRIMES WATCHED AS Everett lowered his high-powered binoculars and turned to face him. They stood on the catwalk, a mild sea breeze blowing over them. Everett didn’t look pleased. “The Russians have teamed up with the Americans. Who ordered that blood to be dropped?”
“Unknown,” Grimes said, glad it hadn’t been him. “I can check.”
“Do that. And tell the dumb son of a bitch not to do it again. Not unless I personally authorize it.”
“Understood, boss,” Grimes said. “I can have the police stop the fishing boat and bring them back here if you want.”
Everett’s frown deepened. “Negative. The last thing I want is another incident like we had with that goddamn yacht.”
Grimes turned to leave. The last thing he wanted was to be the focus of another one of his boss’s rants.
“Hold on,” Everett said. “I wonder how much they saw, and where they saw it from.” He walked over to the control panel and gazed at the array of monitors. “Play back the video streams for cameras seven and eight for the last twenty minutes.”
The technician at the controls nodded. He pressed a few buttons and brought up the feeds. The picture showed stagnant, murky water. Everett asked the technician to fast-forward, then stop as two men in scuba gear appeared, swimming near the support beam. He tapped the screen.
“Cooper and the Russian. Snooping around.” He rubbed his cheeks. “How many more of the warheads are down there?”
“Only one,” Grimes said. “But the going’s slower now. Taking more time.”
“Time is something I don’t have a lot of,” Everett said. “Damn it. I wonder what those bastards saw? I didn’t see any gamma ray detectors.”
“You want me to increase the number of patrol boats?”
Everett continued to stroke his face, then shook his head. “No, those cretins are basically useless, anyway. Make sure that next recovery is well-disguised before it’s brought to the compound.”
Grimes nodded. “What do you want to do about Cooper and the others?”
The boss locked eyes with him. “You ever see Jerry Quarry box?”
“No, sir.” Here we go again, he thought. Another boxing metaphor.
“Yeah, I forgot. Before your time,” Everett said. “Quarry was a great counterpuncher. Here, I’ll show you. Put up your guard.”
Grimes warily assumed a boxing stance. Everett frowned and moved Grimes’s hand to a set position. “His greatest strength was in waiting for his opponent to make the first move.” The boss grabbed Grimes’s left arm and stretched it out, ducking under it. “Then he’d step inside and belt the guy with short, powerful hooks.” Still holding Grimes’s arm, Everett pivoted and sent a quick, hard left into his abdomen.
Grimes felt the power of the blow and sank to one knee. His gut hurt like hell, but he knew Everett had most likely pulled the punch. The rich little prick was short, but he could hit.
“But he couldn’t win the big ones. If he hadn’t lost sight of his major strength during those fights, he would’ve been heavyweight champ.” Everett helped Grimes over to a chair. “Quarry died probably thinking about what might have been.”
Yeah, right, Grimes thought. How did I end up working for this nut job, anyway?
“But back to the case in point,” Everett continued. “Remember what I said about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer?”
Grimes managed a nod.
“Let’s give Mr. Cooper enough rope to hang himself,” the boss said. “Have some extra men in the hotel during the big party. And start some underwater patrols around the platform, especially at night.”
“Will do.” Grimes was finally starting to get his breath back.
Everett smiled down at him.
“You think...” Grimes paused and took another shallow breath “...he’ll try something at the party?”
Everett’s smile widened. “I’ll be disappointed if he doesn’t.”
Chapter 10
As they walked back to the hotel from the docks, Bolan and Kournikova separated themselves from the others and took out their respective satellite phones.
She’s probably giving a sitrep to her superiors in Moscow, Bolan thought as he dialed Brognola’s number. The big Fed answered with a brisk “About time you called.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say it sounds like you miss me,” Bolan drawled.
“Yeah, right,” Brognola said with a laugh.
“Any new developments?” Bolan asked.
“We know that the Feds sent a contingent of more agents down that way. I figured that was good news. Give you guys some extra help.”
Between meeting up with Kournikova and undertaking the scuba diving mission, Bolan hadn’t had a chance to touch base with Tyler. Now he was curious to know how the pickup had gone, and to check on the FBI man’s latest activities. “It could be. That Tyler guy’s a little inexperienced, and you know how much patience Jack has for greenhorns.”
“Yeah, I can imagine. You find out anything concrete yet?”
“We did a little underwater exploration around Willard Everett’s platform and caused some waves.”
“That floating rig he’s got down there? Give me the coordinates and I’ll set up some round-the-clock satellite surveillance.”
“That’d be good. Something’s up with him, I just don’t know what. We’ll probably go back again tonight for a closer look. Might need some shark repellant, though.”
“Sharks? Are you sure Everett is responsible for them?”
“His men are keeping them interested by dumping blood in the water. And besides the big fish, there’s way too much security around that rig for some kind of movie set. I texted you two names earlier. You get them?”
“I did,” Brognola said. Bolan heard the shuffling of papers over the phone. “Okay, here. Vladimir Zelenkov, ex-Spetsnaz, was accused of too much brutality during their Chechnya campaign, if you can believe that, and retired from the military. He was also involved in that botched hostage rescue at the opera house. Got recruited by the Russian mob soon after and has a reputation for getting the job done.”
“So I’ve heard,” Bolan said. “What about Andrei Rinzihov? Find out anything I don’t already know?”
Brognola sighed heavily. “No, I think you’ve got as much info on him as we do. Jesus, if he’s involved there must be some kind of connection to nukes. You finding anything along those lines?”
“Kournikova says he’s affiliated with Zelenkov now.”
“Probably as a measure of self-preservation. Of the six Soviet nuclear pioneers who were selling out to the highest bidders, he’s the only one left. The others mysteriously perished in a plane crash in the motherland.”
“I remember that one,” Bolan said. “And Rinzihov was supposed to be on the same flight. Anyway, Natalia says she’s down here to look into him.”
“Natalia? Sounds like you two might be getting pretty close,” Brognola said. �
�But it makes sense they’d send somebody down there to try and finish the job. Still, remember that she’s SVR. I’d trust her about as far as I could throw her.”
Bolan caught a glimpse of the exceptionally beautiful woman perhaps forty feet away. She was talking animatedly on her phone. Their eyes met for a moment and she smiled and waved.
“Don’t forget,” Brognola said, “she’s probably racked up more kills than the Red Baron ever did.”
“I’ll bet she has,” Bolan said, as he waved back to her.
* * *
WILLARD FORSYTHE EVERETT III deftly tied the knot in his black bow tie. Grimes was standing by, but he knew the boss preferred to tie them himself. Grimes, on the other hand, could never get the hang of it and resorted to clip-ons in the rare instances when he had to dress formally. His tuxedo jacket was specially made to allow for proper concealment of the shoulder rig that held the Smith & Wesson Bodyguard .380 that he liked to carry for such occasions. Small and light enough not to be noticed, except by the trained eye, and still packing a good wallop with six in the mag and one in the pipe. He wondered if he’d get a chance to use it tonight on Cooper.
“Everything set with the extra guards by the penthouse and in the stairwells?” Everett asked.
“Two of Zelenkov’s boys are stationed in each stairwell with a couple of Boudrous’s thugs, and a three-man patrol of ours is roving the fifteenth floor. They have an access card to get in the penthouse if necessary, but they have been briefed not to enter unless it’s an emergency, and even then, not without authorization.”
Everett pulled the looped portion of the tie through the knot and tugged it to a perfect bow. “Sounds like you’ve got it all covered,” he said. “Let’s go down and join the festivities and see what the evening brings.”
Grimes smiled and licked his lips. He hoped that Cooper would try something, and he also hoped he’d get a chance to go head-to-head with the son of a bitch. It would be a good release for all the tension he’d built up from taking Everett’s shit. “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s hope.”
* * *
BOLAN AND GRIMALDI, clad in black and white tuxedos, respectively, stood by the elevators and watched as Kournikova and Ivan made their way toward them through the moderately crowded lobby.
“You look lovely,” Bolan said, taking in Kournikova’s low-cut blue evening gown. Ivan stood next to her, looking like a gorilla with a shaved head in a tux.
“You look very handsome as well, Cooper,” Natalia said with a smile.
“Thanks.” Bolan offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
“Most assuredly.” She hooked her hand around his elbow.
Ivan and Grimaldi exchanged glances and fell in behind them.
The Mr. Galaxy party was in the Omni’s main ballroom, which was resplendent with beige walls periodically bisected by fine white pillars. In front of each pillar was a large vase containing luscious green leaves caressing a floral spray. Silver netting was artfully draped around several chandeliers suspended from the ceiling. In stark contrast to the palatial effect, several large flat-screen televisions had been positioned around the room, playing a continuously looping video about the Mr. Galaxy contestants, past and present, and centering on former bodybuilding champion Mark Steel. The film periodically advised that Steel had recently traded bodybuilding for a movie career. He was currently set to make his debut in Undersea Warriors, a motion picture from Everett Unlimited, the new production company of W. F. Everett III. “It’s guaranteed to be a blockbuster,” the announcer kept repeating.
“Looks like quite a shindig,” Grimaldi said.
“And there’s the undersea warrior himself,” Bolan said, pointing to the massively proportioned Mark Steel, who was standing in the center of the room with a cocktail glass in one hand and a beautiful starlet in the other.
Grimaldi moved closer to Bolan. “I don’t see Tyler,” he whispered.
“He texted me,” the soldier said. “He and his two new backup agents are lying low until I need their assistance for my little visit upstairs.”
Grimaldi nodded. “Smart move.”
“Mr. Cooper, I presume,” a voice behind them said. “I’ve been hearing a lot about you.”
Bolan turned to face a short, but powerfully built man with a wide grin and his right hand extended. A taller guy with dark hair and equally broad shoulders stood next to him. Bolan recognized them both from the pictures Brognola had emailed.
“I’m Will Everett,” the man said.
Bolan shook Everett’s hand. He could tell the other man was exerting a bit of an extra squeeze, so the soldier returned the effort. They stood locked there for a few seconds, each sizing the other up, until Everett released his grip and cocked a thumb back toward his companion. “This is my chief of security, Edwin Grimes.”
Grimes’s handshake was smooth, but with a hint of power.
“Please introduce me to your friends,” Everett said.
Bolan made the introductions and Everett made a show of bringing Kournikova’s hand to his lips for a quick kiss. “It’s always a pleasure to meet such a beautiful woman.”
She smiled graciously and immediately abandoned Bolan’s side for Everett’s.
The soldier watched, pleased that the evening was all going according to plan.
For the moment, that is, he added mentally.
“So tell me,” Everett said to him. “Are you enjoying your stay here on St. Francis?”
“What’s not to enjoy?” Bolan replied. “It’s a beautiful place.”
“Beats the hell out of the weather in Chicago,” Everett said. “Or are you based out of someplace nice, like Washington?” he added with a wink.
“I travel a lot,” Bolan said.
Everett nodded. Before he could say anything else, Kournikova asked to be introduced to Mark Steel.
Everett paused and took a breath. “Certainly.”
“Get ready,” Bolan said as he watched Kournikova conversing with the bodybuilder in their native language.
The planned diversion should be easier to set up than anticipated, he thought as he signaled to Grimaldi and Ivan that he was ready to head for the exit. A loud laugh, followed by more Russian, emanated from Steel, with Kournikova’s soft laughter as an accompaniment. The starlet on Steel’s arm was laughing, as well.
One big happy party, Bolan thought. Until now.
Grimaldi moved forward, assuming a cocky strut, with Ivan trailing behind him.
“You know, you’re big, but you don’t look so bad,” Grimaldi told Steel. “I heard those bodybuilder muscles are all for show. Is that right?”
Steel stopped laughing and turned toward him. “What are you saying?” The Russian had obviously had a bit too much to drink already.
“I’m saying,” Grimaldi continued in a loud voice, “that I know somebody who could beat you at arm wrestling. Unless you’re afraid we’ll find out that those big biceps are only for show.”
“I’ll show you for show,” Steel said, pushing the starlet away and stepping toward him. “I’ll break your arm like a twig.”
“Break my arm?” Grimaldi flashed a grin. “I don’t think so. Anyway, I wasn’t talking about me. I meant my brother here.” He pointed at Ivan, who had stepped up beside him.
“Your brother?” Steel’s face registered surprise and wariness as he sized up Ivan.
“Yeah,” Grimaldi said. “We’re twins. I got all the brains and he got all t
he muscles.”
Steel stared at Ivan, who was a bit taller than the muscleman, but not quite as wide.
“Go ahead,” Everett said. “Let’s see who’s really the bigger man.” He turned to Grimes. “Clear off one of those tables.”
It was working better than Bolan had hoped. Ivan knew what he was supposed to do—posture and show a lot of reticence before finally sitting down opposite Steel. Then it would be up to him to keep the arm-wrestling contest going for as long as he could. Hopefully, the whole thing would draw everyone’s attention for the next fifteen minutes or so.
Bolan slipped out of the ballroom and texted Tyler that he was on the move. He had the phone set to vibrate, and felt the buzz of Tyler’s reply a few seconds later. When Bolan got to the elevators, the FBI man was already there. The two didn’t acknowledge one another as the elevator doors opened and they both got on. They rode up to the third floor and Bolan stepped off as Tyler pressed the lobby button. As the doors closed, Bolan removed a thin, six-inch piece of flat metal from his pocket and glanced down each hallway.
No one around. Good.
He turned back toward the elevator. He could hear the car descending. He started his count as he turned and pressed the metal blade into the round hole in upper part of the door—the release pin. The elevator door popped open, revealing the thick Plexiglass wall enclosing the shaft. Bolan glanced down in time to see the car ascending from the lobby.
The view through the glass had already acquainted Bolan with the design of the top of the elevator car. It was quite standard, equipped with the lifting mechanism. Two sets of parallel cables were lopped through the pulley system to raise and lower the elevator. When the car was five feet below him, rising rapidly, he swung inside the shaft and jumped between the cables, landing on the roof of the car. The momentum caused him to stumble slightly before he regained his balance, but he avoided striking the wall. The car came to a stop on the third floor, and he heard the doors open, then close. He stamped his foot on the roof twice, indicating to Tyler to press the button for the fourteenth floor. The penthouse, he knew, was on the fifteenth floor, which was inaccessible from below without a special key. Tyler’s response, three knocks, signaled that he’d pressed the button.
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