If Kubrick had domestics, or a mistress, they were not present. Thorny rose bushes had been planted underneath his windows, a crude but effective defensive system in and of itself. The front door was heavy and reinforced with hinges of iron plating, ostensibly as decoration. That art decor touch made the door nearly impenetrable to manual battering rams. If it was locked it would take an Urban Assault Vehicle or shaped charges to breach it.
Bolan frowned as he scanned the exterior of the house. From the way the sunlight glinted in reflection off the windows he could tell they were abnormally thick and more than likely designed never to be opened. An environmental control unit hummed on the roof, encased in a housing structure and padlocked.
Bolan could detect no hint of a security system, though he knew it had to be there. It was all internally based, more than likely boasting a separate generator in case of power failure.
Bolan weighed the probabilities and known facts. The government did not supply security systems as a matter of course to governmental agents living on the economy at either home or abroad. It was not conducive to operational security to have even high-level agents taking classified documents out of the minifortresses of modern intelligence buildings and into their homes. If Kubrick was crooked, however, then that was exactly what he would be doing. In all probability, then, the security system Kubrick used would be a commercial model.
Bolan swept the glasses upward, following the telephone lines from the poles to Kubrick’s house. Despite the insurrection, Grozny was a modern city and an economic lynchpin in Russian-Asian finance due to its oil reserves.
No matter what model of security system—audible, infrared motion detection, pressure pads, egress contact switches, ultrasonic transceivers, glass break sensors, or even transmitters on wireless systems—they all transferred the breach alerts through the phone line.
Bolan readied himself for the next step in the process. He put the binoculars under his seat and opened the console between the driver and passenger seats. From inside he fished out a pair of latex medical gloves and pulled them on.
Bolan popped the trunk release and got out of his car. He took in the activity on the residential street as he walked around behind the vehicle. Pushing up the lid of the trunk, he reached inside, moved the contents to the side and opened a key-coded compartment set into the bottom of the trunk.
He pulled out a small leather knapsack and threw one shoulder strap over his left arm. Closing the trunk lid, he started down the street toward Kubrick’s house.
It was one of the lesser-known facts of surreptitious entry that most break and enter burglaries occurred during daylight hours. It made simple, direct sense. Most people were at work during the day. Also, though it was easier to spot someone during daylight hours, they tended to raise less suspicion simply because it was daytime.
Bolan walked down the street, head up. He detected no camera presence on Kubrick’s property. Reaching the garage-side corner of the wall, Bolan stepped easily off the street and into the lee of the structure. He dropped the knapsack and opened it, taking out a collapsible, tactical ladder, which he shook open. In under five seconds he had unfolded a six-foot ladder and he propped it against the wall. He looked around and tossed his knapsack over the wall.
Without hesitating, Bolan scrambled up the ladder and slid belly down on the top of the wall. He picked up the lightweight ladder and slid it onto the other side of the wall where he then scrambled down. Hitting the ground, Bolan didn’t wait to see if he had been compromised breaching the wall. He sprinted forward to the side of the house, freeing a pair of wire cutters.
He went down on one knee beside the telephone box and snipped the wire in a single, efficient motion. Bolan pivoted, still on one knee, and took his initial survey. He looked back and forth across the interior of the compound, cutting it into zones, looking for motion, listening for outcries. Slowly, Bolan rose. The house and the surrounding neighborhood remained silent.
Bolan walked over to his ladder and compressed it quickly, replacing it in the knapsack and starting for the side door to Kubrick’s house. Even with the phone line cut, Bolan had no intention of using the main entry point to any building.
He came up to the side door and looked in. He saw a modern kitchen, immaculately clean and filled with expensive appliances. Pulling a lock pick gun from his bag, Bolan quickly worked at the dead bolt and the main door lock set into the knob.
He eased the door open and stepped into the kitchen. He ran his eyes along the door frame and saw the magnetic connector switch alarm apparatus recessed into the door. It was a commercial system.
Bolan closed the door to the kitchen behind him softly and entered Kubrick’s house. The decor theme was Asian, even Buddhist, blended with an obvious penchant for technology. Looking for an office or master bedroom, and fearing that time was tight, Bolan cut down hallways, crossed rooms, checked behind doors.
Bolan found Kubrick’s home office. It was of a masculine design, boasting a huge desk, conference phones, personal computer and a globe made out of semiprecious stones. Bolan ignored the computer. In the field it was too dangerous to attempt to access files from a protected PC.
Any attempts to insert hacking software into the CPU could cause a multitude of protection programs to destroy internal software. A laboratory setting was the only risk acceptable method with an operator of Kubrick’s ability, and Bolan wasn’t prepared to isolate, power down and then physically remove the CPU.
He began shaking the room down, careless of making a mess. He had no intention of trying to keep the entry hidden from Kubrick. It would be nearly impossible anyway, and time was the biggest factor at that point. Bolan pulled tables out, moved paintings, pulled up carpet edges. Finally, behind a row of books, Bolan found the safe.
He swept the books aside, knocking them to the floor. Without taking his eyes off the safe Bolan shrugged his black knapsack free and opened it. The safe had a keypad access instead of tumbler. Bolan removed several items from the knapsack and placed them on the shelf like a surgical tech laying out tools for a physician.
First, he put down a small, unmarked aerosol can, then a pair of night-vision goggles followed by a small screwdriver, a cable attached to a compact black box, and finally a BlackBerry device.
Bolan keyed up the program and then set the personal digital assistant back on the shelf. Picking up the aerosol canister, Bolan triggered it and lightly misted the safe’s keypad. He slipped the goggles into place and turned them on.
The aerosol spray contained a bonding solution that caused it to adhere to human skin oils. Once bonded, enzymes in the spray interacted chemically with compounds in the oils and showed up on ultraviolet spectrums. Bolan shifted the goggles from infrared to ultraviolet vision mode.
On the keypad the cluster of numbers showing fingerprints stood out in vivid relief. Bolan entered the grouping of numbers into the BlackBerry. He hit the button to activate the number crunching program and pulled his goggles off. He put his equipment away while the program calculated all the number combinations possible from the digits he’d inputted into its memory.
Bolan slid the edge of his screwdriver into the seam where the case housing for the keypad was recessed into the front of the safe. He dug in and snapped the screwdriver down, popping the faceplate. He picked up the black plastic box frame and slid it into place over the now exposed keypad.
He checked the BlackBerry and saw that it had finished running the probability calculation program. Taking the loose end of the cable, Bolan inserted it into the BlackBerry’s input jack and then hit the enter key.
The BlackBerry immediately began running sequences of numbers and transmitting them to the Field Electronic Interdiction and Disruption Device. The FEIDD began to manipulate the keypad faster than a human could, clearing the instrument after each usage so that a total Sequential Access Attempt record failsafe would not be triggered. The black plastic box hummed slightly and from inside of it Bolan heard a rapid cli
cking of keys, like a court reporter working a stenograph.
In under three minutes the BlackBerry display froze on a numeric sequence and the safe popped open as the locking mechanism was disabled. Bolan quickly broke down the BlackBerry and FEIDD, replacing them in the knapsack. He reached up and opened the safe.
It was stuffed full of items. There were several passports and ID cards under various names, all with Kubrick’s picture, as well as a 9 mm Heckler & Koch VP-70M sitting on top of an accountant’s ledger, and stacks of money in various currencies. In the back there was single black video cassette devoid of markings. All of these items were stacked on top of a business-size manila envelope sealed with security clearance tape.
Bolan reached in and pulled out the thick envelope. He opened the package and poured out the contents. Looking quickly through the mess, he searched for names or locations that could give him some hint to the Sable situation. From the clearance codes stamped across the files and documents, it was obvious that Kubrick was bringing home a lot more from work than he should have.
As Bolan scanned the papers, two important points jumped out at him. Kubrick was in deep, and he was an arrogant son of a bitch. Excerpts and titles flashed out at Bolan like light bulbs exploding in his face. It was all right there like a recipe or a grocery list. Cold anger burned inside of Bolan, as he scanned the documents.
One paper included a damning statement. Have secured false-flag recruitment of Sylvia Tan. She believes herself to be working for Sable’s superior and control.
Bolan rifled through the pages. He came across a list of more than a dozen names and a timetable showing the efforts of several of those names in taking out Sanders and Sable. Most of the operational plans centered on either the casino or the porn theater.
The operations center for the group was listed as the Grozny motel where Sylvia Tan had sent Bolan. At the bottom, hastily scribbled in a bold hand, was an annotation. Since these attempts, subjects have not used drops or made covert office contact. We must believe they suspect.
The last document in the bundle was a list of opposition agents in Grozny. On the list was Peter Sanders and a woman named Katrina Alexi. Bolan deduced that had to be Sable. Sylvia Tan’s name was below that with the note “Kind Judas” written beside it.
Kind Judas was Agency cant for an unwitting friendly agent. At the bottom of the paper another note had been scribbled in the same bold hand as before: Unknown oppositional asset remains active at the CDI.
Bolan began stuffing the papers into his knapsack. Kubrick had Sanders listed as opposition, but Lich hadn’t passed that information on through channels. A wet work op had been initiated on Sable without Washington’s approval.
Bolan knew for sure that Kubrick believed Sanders was Sable’s, and that he wanted to take them out, but it didn’t answer the question of precisely why. No wonder Sanders had avoided the covert station and gone to ground. Kubrick had been trying to kill him. But if he was Sable’s, as Kubrick stated, then why had he tried to contact the Agency at all?
Tan had thought herself working for Kubrick against Sable by the end, true to her ideology over her own personal feelings for Sable. Even to the point of selling her out? She’d sure as hell been ready to do him in, Bolan thought. She’d sent him into Kubrick’s viper nest at the Grozny motel without hesitation. But the shooters there hadn’t been expecting his arrival. That made sense if Tan had known where the squad was based, but hadn’t known how to contact them directly.
To throw Bolan off she had sent him into a dangerous situation and then called Kubrick to alert the team. Only Bolan had beat Kubrick’s alert message and Kubrick had silenced Tan. But how had he beaten a phone call across a city? Perhaps the shooters had been gathered under a cover and hadn’t known they were working for Kubrick.
But Tan on the other hand…Tan had known exactly how to get in touch with Herman Kubrick and exactly what he’d looked like. Once Kubrick was aware Bolan had found Tan, she’d obviously become too great of a risk for the agent. But risk to what? What was Kubrick protecting?
From behind him, at the front of the house, Bolan heard a door open and then slam shut again.
13
The sound of the slamming door reverberated through the house. Reaching up to his knit cap, Bolan pulled it down over his face so the balaclava obscured his features. Kubrick wasn’t the kind to give his security codes out to his cleaning woman, Bolan thought. The traitor had arrived.
Bolan swung the knapsack onto his shoulders and shrugged it into position. He crossed the room toward the door, moving fast. His mind was racing as he ticked off options.
He reached out and grabbed the handle of the office door. He twisted it slowly and then, when it unlatched, lifted up slightly as he swung it open, preventing the hinges from squeaking.
The door swung open easily. Bolan straightened, shifting his body position. When it was about halfway open, the door was suddenly kicked toward him.
Bolan was knocked back by the force of the blow. He staggered, arms windmilling to catch his balance. Kubrick burst through the entryway hard on the heels of the swinging door. He charged straight into Bolan, pressing his attack. The man was big and fast for his size. He used a shuffling sidestep while throwing haymakers and pressing his advantage.
Bolan momentarily retreated, hands up defensively. Kubrick’s big fists hammered through his guard, driving against his lowered face. Bolan rocked from the impact of the big punches, reeling under their force, staggering backward.
He came up against the desk and was bent backward under Kubrick’s onslaught. The change of position left him vulnerable but also changed his elevation, forcing Kubrick to reorient himself to continue his attack.
Kubrick turned to face Bolan fully and thrust himself up and forward, leading with a big, right-handed, hammer blow.
The expression on Kubrick’s face was oddly detached, like a man performing some slightly odious, but necessary task. It was red from his exertion but betrayed no emotion whatsoever. Shoved up this close to the man’s bulk and mammoth power, Bolan realized Kubrick was heavily muscled under a misleading layer of cosmopolitan fat.
Kubrick leaned in over the awkwardly positioned Bolan and brought his right hand down toward the Executioner’s exposed face. Bolan made no attempt to block the powerful blow. Instead, as the arm came down Bolan turned his head to the side and lifted his left shoulder toward the strike while wrapping his arms around the descending fist in a hugging maneuver.
Bolan winced as the strike hammered into his shoulder and neck hard enough to rattle his teeth before he snapped his trap closed. Bolan’s right hand captured Kubrick’s arm at the wrist while his left arm snapped up and bent back to grab the same wrist, pressing his elbow and forearm in a parallel position with Kubrick’s own grasping arm.
Joint lock in place, Bolan grasped as hard as he could and twisted like a snake around Kubrick’s grip. His legs came up and wrapped themselves around Kubrick’s upper arm, sinking in a brutally tight lock at the bigger man’s wrist and elbow. One foot pushed hard into Kubrick’s face while the second foot found position under the bigger man’s extended arm.
Bolan threw himself over, holding Kubrick’s trapped arm tightly to his torso. The agent grunted with the sudden pain and was thrown off his feet beside the desk. Still gripping the hyperextended arm, Bolan threw himself backward off the desk. Kubrick screamed.
The sound of the elbow popping was sharp, the sound of the shoulder coming out of its socket was more muted. Both men fell to the floor, and Kubrick screamed again.
The big man was frantic to shake Bolan loose but couldn’t shift his bulk quickly enough to rise. Bolan, refusing to let go of his opponent’s mangled arm, began to hammer the heel of his foot into the man’s face.
Kubrick’s head rocked with each impact, but Bolan felt as if he were putting his boots to stone. The flesh of Kubrick’s right ear tore and blood soaked the side of his face, running freely down into his mustache and beard. B
ruises blossomed on Kubrick’s cheek and face. The tread of Bolan’s boot tore an ugly gash in the agent’s forehead above his bushy eyebrows.
Kubrick swung his bulk around until he was facing Bolan. With his free hand he began shoving at the legs entangled around his injured arm. Bolan felt the big man’s weight shift and rolled sharply with the changing leverage. Bolan spun with the trapped arm in the opposite direction, brutally reversing angles.
Kubrick screamed again and was driven over Bolan’s turning body. He planted his nose hard into the carpet of his own office. Now on his belly, facing away from Kubrick with the man’s arm trapped beneath him, Bolan started using his heel stomp again.
His face a bloody mask, Kubrick managed to grasp Bolan’s ankle and slow the force of the kicks. Blind with pain, and beaten to a mess, the big man managed to get his legs underneath him and rise. Bolan was stunned at the amount of damage Kubrick was able to absorb. The man rose to his feet, threatening to upend Bolan in the process.
Bolan quickly changed positions. He released the man’s arm just as Kubrick reared up and sought to lift Bolan from the floor. The agent stumbled backward, his balance completely compromised. He slammed hard into his bookshelf and sent leatherbound volumes spilling out across the floor. Bolan leaped to his feet and started toward the other American.
Kubrick swept the heavy globe of semiprecious stones off the edge of the desk and sent it hurtling into the rushing Bolan, who twisted to avoid the projectile. Kubrick lunged toward his open safe. Bolan knocked the globe aside and leaped toward Kubrick, remembering the automatic pistol hidden in the safe.
Bolan smashed into Kubrick, driving him up against the bookcase before the other man could access the contents of the wall safe. Kubrick grunted in pain as his mauled shoulder struck the unforgiving wall.
Rebel Force Page 9