Uncut Terror

by Don Pendleton

  “It is still relatively early,” he said with a weary smile. “Perhaps he is a late riser.

  When they’d arrived, Lupin tried the door and found it open. They entered and saw a man leaning forward in front of a closet door, a belt looped around his neck. His face was a dark purplish-red, his teeth set in a distended tongue.

  Lupin had rushed forward and started fumbling with the belt, saying, “He may still be alive.”

  Bolan unclipped his Espada knife and flipped it open. He stepped over and severed the belt with one smooth stroke.

  The old man’s body slumped against Lupin, who lowered the limp form to the floor. Bolan could tell the man was dead, but he let the INTERPOL agent check him anyway.

  Lupin heaved a sigh, stood up and said, “I must summon the authorities.”

  Several hours later, Bolan glanced at his watch and estimated that it was close to midnight at Stony Man Farm. He took out his satellite phone and told Grimaldi he was going to call Hal.

  Grimaldi’s face looked strained as he nodded. “I hope you wake him up.”

  “Not much chance of that,” Bolan said. “I have it on good authority that he hardly ever sleeps when we’re on a mission.”

  Grimaldi snorted. “Oh yeah, I guess it was just wishful thinking on my part. Misery loves company.”

  Bolan wouldn’t have minded taking a combat nap, either. They hadn’t slept in more than thirty hours, but he’d wait until the mission was complete. He stepped out into the late morning sunshine and dialed the number. Brognola answered with a gruff “Hello” after the fourth ring.

  Bolan gave him a quick rundown, ending with, “We still haven’t been able to run our buddy Grodovich to the ground. The Belgian authorities have a BOLO out on him.”

  “Oh yeah?” Brognola snorted. “Well, they should’ve looked harder. I just saw an interview with him on the news. He was at some airport in Belgium announcing his travel plans.”

  “The airport?”

  “Yep. Aaron is still verifying it, but it appears he’s on his way to Venezuela via a chartered flight.”

  “Venezuela?” Bolan said. The news stunned him. “The man’s wanted for questioning in two separate homicide investigations. How could they let him slip out of the country?”

  “Two homicide investigations?” Brognola asked. “I thought you said the gemologist hung himself?”

  “That’s the way it was set up,” Bolan said. “There was an unsigned suicide note on the old guy’s computer, but he also had what appeared to be a scrape on the left side of his head. Like somebody slammed him against a wall or something.”

  Brognola grunted.

  “So,” Bolan said, “you say Grodovich was on the news?”

  “Yeah, I’ll have Aaron send you the clip. Basically he said he was leaving to confer with some business associates in Venezuela and then he planned on attending the World Diamond Council Conference in New York next week. He was spouting off some bullshit about having an announcement of such magnitude that it will shock the world.” Brognola laughed. “Yeah, right.”

  Diamonds again, Bolan thought.

  “Anyway,” Brognola said, “if he is mixed up with conflict diamonds, the Venezuela trip makes sense. It’s one of the few countries that refuses to abide by the Kimberley Process.”

  Bolan had already thought of that. “And they always have a contingent of dealers at the World Diamond Council conference auction.”

  “True. You want Aaron to book you and Jack on a flight to Caracas, or do you want to wait till our boy arrives in the Big Apple?” Brognola cleared his throat. “I don’t need to remind you that Venezuela isn’t exactly friendly territory these days.”

  Bolan remained silent, going over his options. He watched as a group of Hasidic Jews, dressed in their black outfits and hats, mingled with a growing crowd on the other side of the street, conversing and pointing toward the shop and police cars.

  Malachi Bloom must have been a popular man, Bolan thought.

  “Striker, you still there?” Brognola asked.

  “I am,” Bolan said. “I’ll get back to you about our travel plans.”

  He terminated the call and stepped back into the shop. Lupin stood conferring with another detective in plain clothes. Grimaldi yawned and blinked several times.

  “Man, I need some shut-eye,” he said. “Bad.”

  “Relax,” Bolan replied. “Pretty soon you’ll have all the rest you need.”

  “Oh?”

  Bolan nodded. “It’s going to be a long flight to Venezuela.”

  Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean

  AS SOON AS Stieglitz was certain both Grodovich and his giant friend were asleep, he motioned for Rovalev to join him in the Learjet’s small conference room. The Black Wolf rose from his seat and moved down the aisle, stooping slightly because of the low ceiling.

  Stieglitz closed the door behind them and sat in one of the two chairs. He waved for Rovalev to take the other.

  “It is regrettable that your men were killed,” Stieglitz said. “But apparently, the business card, which they were supposed to plant on the African’s body, was discovered in good time.”

  Rovalev shrugged. “They were mercenaries, paid to do a job. Such men know the risks.”

  “We shall have more of them at your disposal when we get to New York.” Stieglitz leaned forward and spoke softly. “You are certain no one followed you after you delivered the stone to the embassy?”

  “Of course,” Rovalev said. His manner was confident, assured.

  “And at the old man’s shop,” Stieglitz said. “You left the trail of clues, as I directed?”

  Rovalev stared at him with those feral eyes. Stieglitz felt a shiver go down his spine and knew that Rovalev could easily kill him before he got out of the room. The man was brutally efficient, and from what Stieglitz had seen thus far, he had no compunction about killing. But this Black Wolf was also a professional and obviously committed to completing the task at hand.

  Stieglitz felt some small measure of comfort that he’d been able to read Rovalev so easily.

  “They will find the aborted versions of the Kimberley Process papers,” Rovalev said. “And thanks to our press conference at the airport, the Americans are probably already chartering their plane.”

  Stieglitz was certain, as well, that the Americans would have reported these latest developments to their superiors in the US intelligence community. The large stone and the Semtex explosive compound would be delivered to the Russian Embassy in New York by diplomatic pouch while they dazzled the Venezuelans with the array of stones they’d taken from the African. The Venezuelans would be more than happy to act as surrogate partners to provide Grodovich with entry into the diamond auction once again... Then things would end with a bang instead of a whimper.

  “The two Americans are now expendable,” Stieglitz said. “They will be taken care of when they arrive in Venezuela.”

  Rovalev nodded. “I shall look forward to that task.”

  “No, I have arranged for others to do that. You have a more important role.”

  The other man’s head lowered slightly, his gaze penetrating.

  It was time to brief Rovalev about the remainder of the plan. Or at least almost all of the remainder. Stieglitz leaned forward again and spoke in a voice hardly above a whisper.

  “As I told you in Antwerp, the large stone is a synthetic, which was the reason we could not allow Bloom to perform any further tests. He was suspicious only because of his vast expertise with gems. We anticipated that possibility.”

  “Can a layman tell the difference?” Rovalev asked.

  Stieglitz shook his head. “Only an expert gemologist using ultraviolet lighting. It is a real diamond, only manmade. But to all the world, it must appear to be a conflict diamond. Th
at is imperative.”

  “Understood,” Rovalev said.

  “Its only purpose is to assure a full attendance at the World Diamond Council auction,” Stieglitz said. “To pique the world’s curiosity and allow Grodovich to enter the auction site.”

  Rovalev continued to watch him.

  “Once we arrive in New York,” Stieglitz continued, “you will have additional assistance. The final phase of the operation is crucial.”

  “And you are going to reveal this final phase to me now?”

  Stieglitz still felt the urge to move cautiously. If he told Rovalev every aspect of what was to come, the man might lose his nerve.

  But no, he thought. He has no money and no resources, either in Venezuela or the United States. And he would be a marked man by the Kremlin if he did not follow through. They were both on a one-way track. It was full speed toward success...or death.

  He got up and went to the cabin door, opened it a crack and verified that Grodovich and the giant were still asleep. He returned to his seat and looked across the table at Rovalev.

  “When Grodovich is at the auction,” Stieglitz said, “dazzling everyone with the size and prospective value of the large stone, we will set off twin explosions, killing everyone inside.”

  Rovalev’s right eyebrow twitched slightly. “Including Grodovich?”

  Stieglitz nodded. “He is not to be made aware of that, of course.”

  Rovalev gave a slight nod, his expression placid.

  Stieglitz was certain that the vaunted Black Wolf had not expected this new information.

  But should he be told the rest of it? The most crucial part?

  “The explosives are being delivered to our embassy in New York,” Stieglitz continued. “Our experts there are fashioning two suitcase bombs to be detonated by a device broadcasting a low-frequency radio signal, which you will have. You will program it on another floor. A timer will allow you to be safely out of the building when the bombs go off.”

  Rovalev said nothing. For the first time Stieglitz caught a look of trepidation in the man’s tawny eyes.

  “The explosion will be linked to local Chechen gangsters. A recording claiming responsibility, in retaliation for Grodovich killing his Chechen partner, has already been prepared. It will absolve us of any responsibility.”

  Rovalev squinted as he stroked his beard.

  “What is it?” Stieglitz asked. “What is wrong?”

  “What is the purpose of all this? It seems pointless to blow everything up to conceal the fact that your large diamond is a fake.”

  Stieglitz twisted his mouth into a frown. He hadn’t wanted to divulge the entirety of the plan until the eleventh hour, but Rovalev’s doubts left him little choice.

  “This auction is a yearly international event,” Stieglitz said. “Virtually ninety percent of the world’s newest gems will be in that room at the same time.”

  Rovalev laughed. “Are you planning on using a rake to go through the debris?”

  “There will be no recoveries,” Stieglitz said, his voice harsh. He took a second to compose himself and began whispering again. “The suitcases will contain cesium. Once the radioactivity has spread throughout the room, the diamonds and everything else will be unrecoverable.”

  Rovalev considered this for a moment. His lips twitched into a smile. “So the diamonds that the Kremlin has in its private stockpile, even the synthetic ones, will increase in value.”

  “Exponentially so,” Stieglitz said. “It will allow us to take control of the world diamond market and reestablish our economy, despite the ongoing sanctions by the West.”

  “A bold move,” Rovalev said. “Both daring and cunning. As the Americans say, a diamond is forever.”

  “Unless,” Stieglitz said, “it is radioactive.”

  13

  Berchem Airport

  Antwerp, Belgium

  BOLAN, Grimaldi and Lupin were the only passengers on the plane. While Aaron had been setting up the chartered flight, Lupin had used his INTERPOL connections to get their weapons and equipment rushed through the airport so they could pursue Grodovich to Venezuela. Grimaldi, who was clearly exhausted, had grumbled a bit as the pilot took off, saying the guy flew like an amateur, but he’d dropped off to sleep soon after they’d achieved cruising altitude. Lupin had grabbed a pillow as soon as they’d boarded and told them to wake him when they got to Caracas.

  Bolan tried to sleep as well but found it difficult. The words of the dying traitor, Lawrence Burns, kept echoing in Bolan’s mind: “Listen, Grodovich... Diamonds... Hot rocks... Rad—”

  What had Burns been trying to tell him? Was it a message or simply the mixed-up ranting of a man on the edge of mortality?

  Which brought Bolan back to Alexander Grodovich. He’d apparently engineered the killing of a lot of people in Antwerp, including his former partner, to get hold of some conflict diamonds. He was on his way to the annual World Diamond Council conference in New York. But how was all that related to Burns and his Russian partner? It seemed like a lot of trouble just to get a conflict diamond into the auction.

  Burns had said he and Kropotkan had something to trade. Something so significant the US government would overlook his defecting to Russia. And it had to be something the Russians were set on keeping under wraps. Conflict diamonds... “Hot rocks”? And what about “rad”? Bolan shook his head.

  A riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma...

  Bolan glanced across the aisle at Lupin, who slumbered soundly, occasionally saying something in what sounded like French or Russian.

  The INTERPOL agent had promised to ask his superiors to push through a court order in Belgium commanding that Grodovich be brought in for questioning.

  It’s too bad we couldn’t tie him to the murders in Moscow, too, Bolan thought. He glanced at his watch and estimated they still had a good three to four hours of flying time left. Bolan reclined his seat and placed his head against the pillow.

  It was time to take another shot at an extended combat nap.

  Caracas, Venezuela

  GRODOVICH SAT BESIDE Pedro Alberto Martinez on the sidewalk veranda, enjoying the shade cast by their table’s umbrella. Beyond the open foyer of decorative green stones and marble stairs, cars whizzed by on the busy street. Stieglitz sat across from them, his back to the street, apparently basking in the security that Rovalev, who was seated at an adjacent table with Mikhal, provided. The fresh spring air was laden with the scent of nearby bougainvillea blossoms.

  Martinez smiled and shook his head. “Where did you find that Russian giant?” He spoke in heavily accented English, the only language the three of them shared. “He is like grand toro. I would imagine, from the looks of him, he is quite the ideal bodyguard.”

  “Let us just say,” Grodovich said, smiling as he sipped from his glass of lemonade, “that he has proven himself many times.”

  Martinez grinned also and nodded. “It is good to have such a man by your side in times like these. And his amigo, the bearded one. He is very dangerous, too, no?”

  “Yes,” Grodovich said. “But they are not friends, only business associates.”

  Martinez laughed and clapped his hands together. “Do you wish to order now?” He motioned and a pretty girl wearing a tight red blouse and skirt strolled over to them. She parted her lips in a demure smile and spoke to Martinez in Spanish. He began to give her explicit instructions and then paused. “I assume you all wish to sample our magnificent bistec, er, steak. I am correct?”

  Grodovich looked at Stieglitz, who nodded. The man had not said more than a handful of words since they’d sat down, but his piercing gaze reminded Grodovich this was still not his play. He was merely a pawn.

  No, he thought, better that I fashion myself as a knight. The black knight.

  It had
always been his favorite chess piece. Although not as powerful as the bishop or the rook, the knight made up for it with mobility.

  “And el grande,” Martinez said, pointing at Mikhal. “Does the giant eat his meat raw?”

  Grodovich glanced at Mikhal, who, from his expression, knew he was being talked about. Grodovich repeated Martinez’s question in Russian.

  “Nyet,” Mikhal said, adding that he was a man, not a beast.

  Grodovich relayed the message to Martinez, whose eyebrows rose like twin caterpillars.

  “Por favor, tell him I was only joking.” Martinez smiled nervously. “I am sorry to have offended him. I meant it only as a compliment.”

  Grodovich translated. Mikhal stared at Martinez for a few moments, then snorted as he nodded his head.

  The waitress had begun to appear nervous. She asked if they needed anything else.

  “Only to be left alone until our meal is ready,” Grodovich said in Spanish.

  The girl’s eyes widened and she was gone in a flash.

  “Ah, su espanol es muy perfecto,” Martinez said. “It is too bad Señor Stieglitz does not understand it.”

  “Perhaps it is time we get down to business,” Grodovich said. He reached inside his jacket pocket and withdrew a small envelope. It contained half a dozen stones that they’d taken from Lumumba. He glanced at Stieglitz, who nodded. Grodovich handed the envelope to Martinez, who wiped his palms on his trouser legs before accepting it.

  Grodovich watched the Venezuelan dump the stones into his palm. With his other hand Martinez reached into his pocket, took out a jeweler’s loupe and checked the stones, one by one. Afterward, he carefully replaced them in the envelope and handed them back to Grodovich.

  “An interesting selection,” Martinez said, his friendly expression giving way to one of absolute neutrality. “High-quality gems, of course, but after your most recent announcement, I was expecting something a bit more, how shall I say it, spectacular?”

  Grodovich shrugged. “This was but a small sample.”

  Martinez nodded. “And what about el grande? The stone you said rivaled the Congolese Giant?”