“My husband was killed in the line of duty.” Corsack took a long pull from the beer Bolan had given her, just one of the few refreshments stocked in the jet’s onboard refrigerator unit. “He was a signals officer at Elmendorf-Richardson.”
“How long ago?”
“Not long enough.” Her eyes glistened. “Damn it, but I miss him.”
Bolan cleared his throat. He understood, although he didn’t say it. He knew it didn’t make a bit of difference if he understood or not, because it didn’t assuage the grief and hurt. The men and women of America sacrificed a lot to serve in the military, especially in this day and age, and Bolan felt they weren’t appreciated nearly as much for their sacrifices as they should have been. “Okay, here’s the straight story,” Bolan said. “I work for the US government in an unofficial capacity. Call me a freelancer with connections.”
“The White House?”
“Could be. So that’s what I can tell you. Hell if it’s not all I can tell you.”
“It’s enough,” she said. “After being married to a military man for so many years, I’ve learned the details aren’t nearly as important as the people willing to do the job, day in and day out.”
“So, what was your idea?”
“I’d guess you were at Mookee’s trying to break in,” she emphasized the last words with midair quote signs.
“I figured if anyone had the information I needed it would be local residents,” Bolan said. “The military has competent investigators, but they’re outsiders. The people who work up here aren’t going to let them in easily.”
“You’re right about that. My plan had originally been to take you to a guy I know who could have gotten you a cover working the docks at the Adak port. Now it looks like we’ll have to do this the hard way.”
“I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” Bolan said.
Corsack frowned. “I wish there was another road to go down, but I’m afraid there isn’t. I just hope you’re as tough as you look.”
Bolan’s eyebrows rose. “You want to read me in?”
“Most of the guys who work and live on Adak are natives, or they know somebody with pull. Everyone who wants to work there who isn’t related to someone in the Onalash Corporation has to earn the respect of those who serve on Haglemann’s union.”
“That’s what I was originally shooting for,” Bolan interjected. “Until we got picked off on the way to wherever you were taking us. So who’s this Haglemann?”
“Davis Haglemann. He’s the local union boss.”
“I can tell you don’t particularly care for him.”
“Now that would be an understatement,” Corsack replied, blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Haglemann’s not exactly someone you want to run afoul of. He’s nothing more than a thug—well, maybe more like the boss of thugs. The guy doesn’t have enough gonads to do his own dirty work. He puts that into the hands of his union reps.”
“Sounds like an awfully big organization when you consider the population on Adak Island. What does it run these days, about two thousand?”
“And some change. I see you’re well informed.”
“I try.”
“Well, whatever else you might know, you probably don’t know that everything happens in Adak on Haglemann’s whim. If he says jump, everyone asks how high, and nobody questions him. Except a select few of us, and he just tries to either bribe his way out of it or simply ignore those of us who protest conditions. Truth be told, things are actually pretty good on the island. We all have nice houses, and nobody’s homeless or starving.”
“Poverty and social disorder isn’t good for business,” Bolan said in a matter-of-fact way.
“Right,” Corsack agreed. “That’s why he does his best to keep up appearances and keep any widows or less fortunate appeased.”
“And how exactly does he manage that?”
Corsack snorted and executed a dismissive wave. “How doesn’t he manage it? Everything from big-screen TVs to low-interest loans to cold, hard cash.”
“You mean bribes.”
“Yes, I do mean bribes.”
Bolan’s eyes narrowed. “Sounds like someone who likes to exploit the less fortunate.”
“He’s a bastard—real son of a bitch.”
“Tell me more about him.”
“He owns the only exclusive country club on the entire island. It’s right there at Nazan Bay, which is where all the main docking and port facilities are located. The weather’s only good enough between April and October for freight services. The remaining months are basically down time where people mostly stay indoors, drink and screw each other by a roaring fire.” She added quickly, “Not to sound crude, just telling you like it is.”
Bolan nodded. “And it’s exactly that kind of seasonal rotation that gets you a city with a lid on it.”
“Or a whole island. It also keeps out any of the undesirables, or so that’s what Davis calls them.”
“Any thoughts about whether he’d sell out his own people to a terrorist group?”
“He doesn’t have any of his own,” she replied. “He’s a business entity through and through, and not the least bit interested in the problems of the locals. He’s practically turned that town into a police state. And nobody has enough money or power to stop him. Most people just look the other way, as long as they got food in their bellies and roofs over their heads. Anyone who makes too much noise gets told to leave and a free one-way ticket out of paradise.”
“Why have you stayed?”
Corsack downed the last of her beer and sniffed before replying. “Guess I’m just the beat-up, stubborn old serviceman’s widow and not willing to give up. Not yet, anyway.”
“Not so old,” Bolan said with a gentle smile.
“Sweet of you to say,” Corsack said. “But you’re not really my type.”
“Noted,” Bolan said, wholly unoffended by Corsack. Actually, he liked her. She was tough and spoke her mind, and he admired her convictions. The two of them were more alike than he’d originally thought.
“So you were telling me about this alternate plan to get me on the inside.”
“Yeah,” she said, crumpling the beer can in her hand and tossing it in a nearby wastebasket. “But you aren’t going to like it very much.”
Nazan Bay, Adak Island
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN you don’t know what happened to them?” Davis Haglemann shouted into the receiver. “How the fuck do you lose one out-of-towner who stands out like a sore thumb with one of our locals?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the voice on the other line said. “Somehow they managed to escape both tries.”
“Quit whining like a little girl.” Haglemann sighed and sat back in his chair. He could feel the swell of anger in the form of blood pooling at the base of his neck. The doctor had ordered him to reduce his stress. Screw the old bird; he didn’t know what he was talking about, anyway. Haglemann had been pumping the guy’s old lady off and on for months.
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“And quit saying you’re sorry! You are sorry...a sorry bastard. You said he was with that Corsack bitch?”
“Yes, sir.”
“She may bring him back here,” Haglemann said. “And nobody enters or leaves this island without me knowing about it. If they do come here, I’ll take care of it. Just keep your eyes and ears open, and if he does show up again, take him out. Immediately. And try not to fuck it up again. Got me?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Haglemann slammed the phone into its cradle with an angry wheeze. He stared at it a moment before letting his eyes meet the bemused gaze of the red-haired, swarthy man seated before him. If he hadn’t needed Vladimir Moscovich quite so badly, he would have shot that stupid smirk off the Russian’s face.
Moscovich’s expression didn’t wane. “You really need to take these things a bit less personally, my friend. You’ll live longer.”
“Let’s get something straight, Vlad,” Haglemann said. “We’re not friends. You got that? We’re business partners, and that’s it. Furthermore, how I choose to react to my own people and problems is none of your fucking business!”
Moscovich raised a hand and shook his head. “Don’t take offense so easily. I meant nothing by it.”
“You meant something by it, all right. You’re trying to make it sound like I can’t do my job, and you’re patronizing me. So just cut it out before I decide to toss you out of here on your ear myself. And don’t think I’m too old or too weak to do it. I don’t give a rat’s ass about your connections or your personal score with America. We’ve got a strict business deal here, and you only got to worry about keeping up your end of it.”
Moscovich appeared to study his fingernails and look unconcerned. “How you handle security is your business, yes. But if that handling compromises my people or mission, then I have a direct interest in its outcome. Da?”
The Russian mercenary’s expression turned flinty, and he did nothing to hide that challenging countenance when returning Haglemann’s own iron gaze.
The union boss tried to pretend as if it didn’t bother him, but it did, and Moscovich knew it did, and that only pissed off Haglemann more. Part of him wished he’d never made a deal with the Russian, but he needed the guy if he planned to keep the resources isolated on Adak.
Haglemann decided to take a different tack. “Do you realize, comrade, that it had never been the desire of the natives to have a union?”
Moscovich visibly bristled at the slur behind Haglemann’s use of that arcane word. “Now who’s being insulting?”
Haglemann continued without missing a beat. “It took everything I had to get the corporation to even negotiate with my people. Fortunately, the workers prevailed, and now I’ve got more money than I know what to do with.”
“What’s your point?” Moscovich asked.
“My point is that I was running things here long before you brought along your little network, and I’ll be running things here long after you’re dead and buried. And the fact is it was your little activities here and that gadget you’ve developed to crash instrumentation on military planes and vessels that’s created the panic to start with. Soon this place will be crawling with military investigators, not just one or two government agents from who-knows-what agency.”
“Your cooperation isn’t really necessary,” Moscovich replied. “And I find it more than interesting that one man has managed to escape your people not once but twice. Even the police you have on the payroll in Unalaska cannot seem to keep tabs on him. The sheer ingenuity and elusiveness of this man reminds me what happened a number of years ago in New York City.”
“And what was that, pray tell?” Haglemann asked, making a show of yawning and looking at his watch.
“A similar matter and not without serious consequences to my associates, to be sure.” Moscovich shrugged. “Although they were not so careful, and they led this particular man right into the very heart of St. Petersburg.”
“And what happened to this man?”
Moscovich shrugged. “Nobody seems to know. He disappeared and was never heard from again. We think perhaps he may have been eliminated by a rival or an ally. We have many allies, as you know.”
Haglemann nodded. “How could I forget, as often as you remind me?”
“He may also have gone into hiding, being the coward he was.” Moscovich rose. “In any case, it’s as you’ve said. This is your problem and not ours. I would appreciate if you took care of it quickly and quietly, and don’t make it become ours. I have little time for these distractions.”
“Just make sure you keep to your end of this agreement, and that the payments come on time from your—” Haglemann mimed quote signs “—many allies. I’ll take care of this issue, I assure you. Because, despite what you may think, I’m still top dog around here.”
Moscovich waved casually as he left Haglemann’s office. “Fine. Let us hope you don’t get neutered while pissing on the neighbor’s tree.”
When the door closed behind him, Haglemann muttered, “What a prick.”
CHAPTER FIVE
They were near a dockside tavern similar to the one Bolan had visited on Unalaska when the roar of a crowd reached them.
Bolan thought Corsack would lead him into the tavern, but instead she made a beeline off the main path and headed for a short, squat metal building that looked to be some sort of small warehouse. The main door to the building was cracked, and the noise had come from there. “Is this the part I’m not going to like?” Bolan asked as they approached.
“Yes,” she said with a wicked grin. “But don’t worry—I’ll protect you.”
“Who’s worried?” Bolan asked.
They passed through the small crack where the massive doors parted, and Bolan realized it wasn’t a warehouse but a small plane hangar. Just on the inside of the door two burly men stopped them, nearly identical with their towering heights and rippling biceps adorned with tattoos, scars and other marks of dubious origin. They relaxed when they recognized Corsack, who just tossed her head at Bolan. The men parted like mechanical pillars to admit the pair.
Beyond them the crowd had formed in a circle, and Corsack had to push and shove a path to the edge. A massive rope, thick like the kind used to moor freighter ships, lined the inner circle. Three men occupied the center, two circling each other attired in nothing but shirts, pants and plenty of blood. The third, the referee, kept watch on them.
The two fighters had been searching each other for an opening when Bolan first laid eyes on them, but now one had obviously seen an advantage and attempted to seize it. He went low for a single-leg takedown, but his opponent countered by driving an elbow into his spine. The blow missed direct contact, glancing off the right shoulder blade at the last moment. That was good for the attacker, Bolan knew, because the counter might otherwise have paralyzed him.
Men and women all around them shouted, one very close to Bolan’s right ear. He could almost feel the crowd’s bloodlust. The fight continued for several minutes, neither of the fighters really gaining much of an advantage, until one of them finally scored a lucky punch to the jaw that dazed his opponent. Seeing how the blow rocked the guy’s head, he immediately followed with another and another. Finally, a well-placed haymaker floored the dazed fighter, and the crowd erupted into a mixture of cheers and groans. The referee knelt, made a quick inspection and declared the fighter left standing a winner by knockout.
The cheering resumed for another minute, but then it passed, and the noise died to excited chatter as the crowd dispersed. Some moved away with swaggers, and others with dejected expressions. From this alone, Bolan could tell the winning betters from the losers. Corsack didn’t move, and he waited patiently beside her for a sign. She continued to scan the area around the roped section, searching for someone specific. Finally, she nodded and gestured for Bolan to follow.
The two made their way down to the rope barrier, shouldering through the spectators who were now rushing to get out what appeared to be the only main door. Eventually, they arrived at a point that seemed to serve as the entry and exit for the participant fighters. Bolan sized up most of the men and the couple of females present, but none of them seemed extraordinary. Two of the fighters parted at the last moment, accompanied by their managers, who were obviously pocketing the winnings, to reveal a metal-gray card table.
An old man, with a grizzled countenance and gray-white hair that seemed to erupt from his head in shocking tufts, sat at the table. Three formidable types, all built similarly to the pair at the door, stood behind him like stone-faced st
atues. Bolan’s eyes noted the metal lockbox on the table next to the old man. The guy sat calmly counting a massive wad of cash. Bolan wondered why Corsack hesitated, but then realized she was waiting until he’d finished counting.
He finally completed his task, loaded the cash into the lockbox and secured it. He then passed the box to one of the men behind him with a grunt before rising from the table. Once he was on his feet, he looked at Corsack.
“Well, hello, Maddie. Haven’t seen you down here in a while.”
“Hello, Otto.”
The old man nodded toward Bolan. “Who’s your friend? I don’t recognize him.”
“He’s new in town.”
Lustrum sighed deeply and shook his head. “And naturally you thought you’d bring him here to me. Honestly, Maddie, you really need to stop picking up strays. People are starting to talk, you know.”
“Talk about what?” Corsack remained impassive, but there was no mistaking the icy tone.
“Let’s save that conversation for a more private venue,” Lustrum replied with a deflective wave. “For now, what can I do for you?”
“My friend needs work.”
Lustrum gave Bolan the once-over. “Looks strong. Capable. You’re willing to vouch for him?”
“I am.”
“And he understands what’s required in order to earn a place among us?”
Bolan had been patient as long as he could. “Talking about me as if I’m not here doesn’t really work for me, friend. I’m good to speak for myself. Just what exactly is it I have to do to get some work?”
“You can start by showing a little more respect...friend,” one of the bodyguards said.
Lustrum raised a hand. “Easy, Rov. There’s nothing wrong with showing a little backbone. We need more men like this here on Adak.”
“Like what?” Bolan asked.
“Tough men, resourceful men. Working on the docks is a hard life. If you don’t—”
War Everlasting (Superbolan) Page 4