Uncut Terror

by Don Pendleton

  The Black Wolf stared at him with a smile on his face.

  The phone rang three times before the voice answered, “Yes?”

  “I am sorry to disturb you, sir,” Stieglitz said. His voice cracked as he spoke, and he tried to muster enough spittle to swallow. “I am having a bit of difficulty with Rovalev.”

  “Oh? What type of problem?”

  Stieglitz glanced back at the yellowish-brown eyes staring at him with amusement.

  “He does not seem to grasp the importance of this assignment,” Stieglitz said.

  “Give the phone to him.”

  Stieglitz handed the phone to Rovalev. “He wishes to speak to you.”

  The Black Wolf smirked as he accepted it and put it to his ear. “And who is this?”

  Seconds later his jaw sagged slightly and his face paled. “Yes, sir.” He seemed to become more erect, almost as if he were standing at attention. “Yes, sir, I understand completely... I am sorry for any misunderstanding, sir... I assure you, it will not happen again... Yes, sir, I shall do that... Thank you, sir. I look forward to serving with the utmost enthusiasm.” He nodded, as if this would be visible through the mobile phone connection, mumbled another apology and assurance, then blinked as he handed the phone back to Stieglitz.

  Stieglitz placed it next to his ear.

  “It has been taken care of,” the voice said. “Is there anything else?”

  “No,” Stieglitz said. “Thank you, sir.”

  The connection was terminated. Stieglitz replaced the mobile in its case and looked at the Black Wolf, raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He waited for the other man to speak. When he did, it was the apology Stieglitz was expecting.

  Stieglitz nodded slightly, letting the gravity of the phone call weigh on the other man’s shoulders. Rovalev had been humbled, castigated, but perhaps he also surmised that he was to be an integral part of things. That would explain his initial audacity, so Stieglitz decided to come at him from a different direction, while still capitalizing on the advantage the phone call had wrought.

  Perhaps it is time to appeal to this mercenary’s venality, he thought, now that the metaphorical wave of Kremlin authority has washed over him. Stieglitz allowed a slow smile to lift the corners of his mouth.

  “I must admit,” he said, “you are everything I was informed you would be. I have reviewed your previous successes, especially in Chechnya and the Ukraine. I do hope, however, that your penchant for insolence does not override your ability to follow orders. As you now know, this is a matter of great importance to—” Here he paused again and allowed the Black Wolf’s imagination to complete the sentence. “Also know that you will be compensated extremely well once the plan has been completed.”

  Now it was Rovalev’s turn to look pensive. His amber-colored eyes darted down, then back to Stieglitz.

  “What is it you wish me to do?” the Black Wolf asked.

  Stieglitz smiled. He had him now. Asserting dominance over a professional killer was always a bit tricky until you found the proper method with which to demonstrate it.

  “Assemble your usual team of associates,” Stieglitz said. “You are to both guard and monitor a man. Two men, actually, but only one of them is significant to the plan.”

  “And these two men,” Rovalev asked. “Who are they and what do they do?”

  “That will all be explained shortly,” Stieglitz said. “For now, you need only know that one of them is in the diamond business.”

  Rovalev nodded. “How soon do you need us?”

  “Soon,” Stieglitz said. “Very soon. There is another slight matter to which you must attend to shortly. A loose end that must be tied up.”

  The Black Wolf nodded and smiled. “That is one of my specialties.”

  Domodedovo International Airport

  Moscow, Russia

  BOLAN AND GRIMALDI stood off to the side in a cramped room as custom officials went through every pocket and crevice of their luggage and equipment, which consisted of a couple of laptops, a camcorder and several cameras. The camcorder case had special compartments for secret pistols and other weaponry, but none was in the case at this time. There was only a large quantity of rubles, euros and US currency for traveling and bribing expenses. Bolan assumed that their weapons had already been delivered to the American Embassy by special diplomatic pouch. In the meantime, both he and Grimaldi stood by patiently and watched the thorough search.

  Grimaldi yawned. “Let me know if you find anything. The tooth fairy might’ve left an extra quarter in there.”

  The Russian customs agent turned to look at him. “Tooth fairy? Who is that?”

  “My BFF,” Grimaldi said. “I give him a lot of business knocking guys’ teeth out.”

  The customs agent frowned and went back to his search.

  After finding nothing and reviewing both of their passports again, the agents allowed Bolan and Grimaldi to pass through the gate. As they mingled with the crowds moving through the massive airport toward the front entrance and the lines of taxis beyond it, Bolan did quick but comprehensive checks for any prying eyes or ears. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he took out his satellite phone and hit the app that detected any listening devices pointed at them. Finding none, he punched in the familiar number as they paused under the sloping archway that separated the main entrance of the airport from the adjacent aisles that contained the lines of taxis.

  Brognola answered after the first ring.

  “Greetings from Moscow,” Bolan said.

  “Dobrobih vyeh-cher,” Brognola answered. “How was the flight?”

  “Uneventful.” Bolan glanced at his partner. “Of course, if Jack had been at the controls it would’ve been a lot smoother and faster.”

  Grimaldi grinned and shot him a wink.

  “I hope he didn’t make an ass out of himself complaining to the flight attendants,” Brognola said.

  “You know better than that,” Bolan replied. “Any updates?”

  “Everything’s still on track, but don’t forget to pay your respects at the Embassy.”

  “Roger that,” Bolan said. He knew Brognola was referring to the arrival of their weapons. Both men were used to using a code of sorts, even though the satellite phones contained the most up-to-date encryption devices available. Moreover, Bolan felt his current connection would be more secure than any of the phones at the American Embassy. It had been built by Russian construction crews and contained a myriad of listening devices embedded in every room. It was all part of the ongoing cat-and-mouse game. “Anything else we should know?”

  Brognola sighed. “Maybe, maybe not. We just got word that Alexander Grodovich was released from prison.”

  Bolan searched his memory of recent and past files. “The millionaire Russian businessman with purported ties to organized crime, right? He got sent up the river a couple of years ago.”

  “Right. His release, which supposedly involved a presidential pardon, came out of the blue.” Brognola laughed. “Although the president must have been feeling magnanimous. He pardoned a few others, too, including those women’s rights protestors with the suggestive name. But we’re still wondering how this Grodovich thing is going to play out. So since you’re in the neighborhood...”

  “We’ll nose around a bit,” Bolan said, glancing at Grimaldi. “I’m sure Jack wants to do some sightseeing.”

  After promising to check back, Bolan disconnected and they hailed a cab at random. They had a rendezvous to make by twenty-one hundred.

  As they got into the cab Grimaldi leaned back in the seat as Bolan gave the driver the address of their hotel. The man nodded and tossed his cigarette out the car window.

  “Hey,” Grimaldi said as the vehicle took off with a start. “You know who we ought to look up while we’re here?”

 
Bolan said nothing.

  “Natalia,” Grimaldi said. “What was her last name?’

  Bolan knew her last name was Kournikova, but he still said nothing.

  “You know who I mean, right?” Grimaldi said. “She owes us, big time, after the way we helped her out in that Caribbean deal.” He paused and grinned. “Plus, I think she kinda had the hots for me.”

  “She did,” Bolan said, allowing himself a rare grin. “But only in your dreams.”

  3

  The Grand International Hotel

  Moscow, Russia

  GRODOVICH ADJUSTED HIS white terry cloth robe as he watched the two prostitutes collect their jackets and head for the door. As the women left, the redhead winked at him, but the blonde had a distressed look on her face.

  He turned to Mikhal, who had just joined him in the main room of the suite. The giant still had on his prison pants and was buttoning his prison shirt. He was wearing his massive prison shoes, as well. Grodovich smiled.

  “You have dressed in a hurry,” he said.

  “I did not bother getting undressed,” Mikhal said. “I am too used to the ways of Krasnoyarsk.”

  Indeed, Grodovich could smell that Mikhal had not bothered to bathe yet. The ways of Detention Center 6 were not discarded easily. The only time one risked getting completely undressed was during their weekly shower. Predators lurked everywhere.

  “Did you enjoy yourself?” Grodovich asked.

  The giant grinned, the smile stretching over the rocky unevenness of his dentition.

  “There will be plenty of other women,” Grodovich said. “Prettier ones than those. But soon we have to complete our preparations. I must meet with a former business associate.”

  Mikhal nodded. “When do we leave?”

  “As soon as our friend Stieglitz returns with our new clothes and the rest of our equipment.”

  Mikhal nodded again.

  Grodovich heard the door opening and saw Stieglitz enter with several other men. The man immediately behind Stieglitz was the one who caught Grodovich’s attention. He was perhaps thirty, with jet-black hair brushed back from his face. His eyes were a brownish-yellow and his body looked powerful under the dark nylon shirt he wore. He moved with a smooth grace, like some feral animal that had been captured but not completely tamed. Grodovich could tell the man had a pistol holstered on the right side of his back and some sort of folding knife clipped inside his pants pocket.

  Four other men trailed into the room behind them. Grodovich recognized one of them as the tailor who had been by earlier to take their measurements. Grodovich assumed it would be an easy task to prepare clothing for him, but Mikhal was another matter. The tailor had balked, saying he would have to make a pattern for a man so large. Stieglitz had told him that was fine, so long as he had everything ready by eight o’clock that night. When the tailor had protested, Stieglitz stepped forward and slapped the little man across the face. That shut him up, and Stieglitz had seemed pleased with himself.

  At last he’d found someone he wasn’t afraid to hit, Grodovich thought. He was already starting to despise the bespectacled, baldheaded little worm. But it was now eight o’clock and the tailor had numerous parcels no doubt containing the clothes. Perhaps Stieglitz had more prestige than Grodovich had thought.

  “This is Boris Rovalev,” Stieglitz said. “He will be accompanying you on this mission as your bodyguard and personal assistant.”

  And spy, no doubt, Grodovich thought. The last thing he wanted was a government agent reporting on his every move.

  Grodovich shook his head. “I do not need him. I have Mikhal to assist and protect me.”

  Rovalev smirked. “This clown? Perhaps he could protect you in Krasnoyarsk, but this is the real world.”

  Mikhal’s face twisted into a frown and he stepped forward, his massive body tensing, like a mountain ready to unleash an avalanche.

  “You will not speak disrespectfully to me,” he said, his childlike voice sounding so out of place. “Or I will hurt you.”

  Rovalev stepped back and the small pistol was suddenly in his hand. His lips parted in a smile.

  “Not that I would need this to stop you,” he said. “But you make such an inviting target I can hardly resist.”

  Stieglitz stepped between them. “Stop this nonsense at once.” After glancing at each of the two poised men, he turned to Grodovich. “Have you forgotten where you were little more than twenty-four hours ago?”

  Grodovich considered this and then placed a hand on Mikhal’s chest, urging him back with gentle pressure. At the same time he faced Rovalev and said, “Put that away. We can all work together.”

  Rovalev’s eyes held those of Mikhal for a few seconds more, then he slipped the pistol back into its holster. He nodded and said, “Another time, perhaps.”

  Mikhal seemed satisfied with the uneasy truce. He turned back to Stieglitz and asked, “Do you have our new clothes?”

  Stieglitz motioned for the tailor to step forward and said, “Do the giant first.” He put his hand in his pocket and withdrew a mobile phone as he walked Grodovich away from the others. “You will now use this to establish contact with your former partner, Yuri Kadyrov.”

  Grodovich accepted the phone, turning it over in his hand to admire the sleekness of the plastic. He’d been planning to call Yuri soon anyway, but why was Stieglitz pressing the issue? He went through his lexicon of old numbers, trying to recall the one he needed as he turned the phone over and over in his palm.

  Stieglitz snorted and shook his head in obvious frustration.

  Patience is not his strong suit, Grodovich thought. Or could it be the sign of a man under tremendous pressure?

  He decided to test him.

  Grodovich made a show of handing the phone back to Stieglitz. “I am sorry, but I can’t remember any numbers. It has been too long. They have no doubt been changed anyway.”

  Stieglitz seemed to become more agitated. “His current number has already been placed into the phone. You need only to consult the memory listing.”

  Grodovich raised his eyebrows. “And what am I to say to him?”

  “Tell him you have been released and you wish to resume your position in your company,” Stieglitz said. “Ask him what he has planned.” He paused and looked askance at Grodovich. “See if he tells you of the Lumumba negotiation.”

  “The Lumumba negotiation?”

  “An African dictator. Kadyrov is negotiating an arms deal with him. They are scheduled to meet in Antwerp the day after tomorrow. The African is purported to be in possession of a large conflict diamond.”

  Grodovich nodded. A conflict diamond... So that was it. They needed him to push the illicit gem through the Kimberley Process to launder its dubious origin. But surely Yuri could do that just as easily as he. When he’d gone to prison, Grodovich had left his partner in charge, and it made sense that he would be continuing with the business as usual. It seemed simple enough. There was something more. He could sense it. “What are you not telling me?”

  Stieglitz adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and stared at him. “He intends to betray you, to take over the entire operation himself.”

  Grodovich shook his head. “Impossible. Yuri and I grew up together. We have been friends all our lives. He would not betray me. Ever.”

  “He already has.”

  Grodovich saw a sly smile creep over the other man’s lips.

  Stieglitz cocked an eyebrow as he canted his head to the left. “Do you remember the day I came to get you in Krasnoyarsk? Those men who attacked you in the stairwell... They were Chechen, were they not?”

  Grodovich said nothing. What was this worm implying?

  Stieglitz continued, “Who do you think sent them?”

  Grodovich had been wondering about that unprovoked attack.
Why would Chechens ambush him? Chechens... Like Yuri. It could explain a lot.

  “Yuri?” Grodovich said, his voice sounding hoarse. “You’re saying he sent them?”

  Stieglitz held his gaze and did not speak for several seconds. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he answered. “We originally contacted him trying to find out whether he would work with us. But in the end, we determined that he was not to be trusted. Yuri Kadyrov is half Chechen, is he not? Do you know what his name means in his native language?”

  “The powerful,” Grodovich said, still confused by the possibility of betrayal from his trusted friend. “He used to make a point of telling me that when we were children.”

  “And since your incarceration he has been in charge of your organization, has he not?”

  “Yes, but he has also made sure the monthly bribes were paid to the guards.”

  “Those same guards who abandoned you in that prison stairwell?” Stieglitz asked. He waited a few moments before adding, “I have already had them interrogated. They confessed. They were bribed by Kadyrov to leave you alone. To let those Chechens butcher you. Upon my arrival, I found out about this plan when I issued a strict order that if you were harmed they would be held personally responsible. I sent another contingent of guards to rescue you. Do you recall this?”

  Grodovich thought back. Although it had been Mikhal who rescued him, the second contingent of guards had arrived in a timely fashion. Perhaps this worm Stieglitz was telling the truth. Perhaps Yuri had been behind the attack.

  Stieglitz placed a palm on Grodovich’s shoulder.

  He recoiled.

  “So you see,” Stieglitz said softly, “there is no one to trust but me, no way to go but forward, as I direct you.”

  Grodovich slowly nodded. In his mind, however, the question kept repeating: But where is it you wish to take me?

  The Blue Sputnik Nightclub

  Moscow, Russia

  BOLAN AND GRIMALDI sat at a corner table in the smoky semi-darkness, a neon stroboscopic light flashing over the bodies of the gyrating dancers. Bolan kept scanning the room, his drink in his hand, untouched. Grimaldi sat with his left hand propping up his head, his glass on the table in front of them.