War Everlasting (Superbolan)

by Don Pendleton

  Of course! It made complete sense. By wounding Kirillov and letting Bruschev drag him to safety, the American had effectively eliminated two men from the battle. But now it didn’t matter much to their cause. They were low on ammunition and supplies, Kirillov was unconscious, and there was probably just enough fuel to get them to Adak Island.

  “We’re fools,” he grumbled.

  “What did you say?” one of his comrades asked.

  “I said we were fools! Fools to leave Alexei behind and fools to think Kirillov could survive such an insane trip. Even if we get him on to the plane and he survives the trip to Adak, I doubt we can find a qualified doctor to fix him. They’re limited out there. Those people live like savages.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Andrei Polakoff said.

  Bruschev didn’t like Polakoff; he never had. They had grown up in the same neighborhood. Polakoff had always been somewhat of a whiner. How such a gutless fool had ever managed to attain seniority in the Network was far beyond Bruschev’s ability to comprehend. He’d been stymied when Alexei Vizhgail had left them with instructions and put Polakoff in charge of their expedition.

  “Our job is to get these parts to Captain Paley’s people aboard the Belsky. That is our number-one mission and takes priority over all other considerations. Let’s not forget that.”

  Bruschev shut his mouth. He didn’t wish to argue with Polakoff, especially not in front of the other men who were juniors to him. He believed it best to set the standard through example and be obedient to superior officers. This was what Vlad Moscovich himself had taught Bruschev during the time they’d trained together at the secret academy set up by the Nasenko family. By setting the example, Bruschev was making a loud and clear statement: he wasn’t above the rules, and he expected all of his peers and underlings to follow the same code.

  “It’s a code upon which I will rebuild the Network,” Moscovich had once told him.

  Bruschev had never forgotten that day, a day he knew would live with him for the rest of his life. Now, given their precarious situation, he couldn’t help but wonder about his own longevity. This day he’d seen most of his friends and comrades fall to the fierce retribution of this American who fought like an army. Bruschev could remember only one other instance where such an individual had wrought this kind of havoc. He’d heard rumors whispered in the halls of the Nasenko-Godunov headquarters.

  Bruschev had thought this man only a myth, but he’d seen that he was real. Yes, if there were anyone who could be the man who’d brought Yuri Godunov and his family to their knees, it would indeed be that man.

  They reached their destination after what seemed like hours but had actually been just under one. It would be dark soon, and they opted not to leave until darkness had overshadowed the area. It was a risk, since much of the area was still a no-fly zone, save for traffic into and out of Anchorage and specific military missions, but they had no choice. If they waited, there was a good chance Kirillov would die before they even reached Adak Island.

  “How long will it take us to reach the island?” one of the men asked.

  “Three and one-half hours,” Bruschev answered.

  “He was talking to me,” Polakoff said. He looked at the young man and said, “Three and one-half hours.”

  Bruschev bit back a stinging retort and instead went about helping to get Kirillov off the boat. The man had taken a turn and begun to experience a level of delirium. He’d let out a moan every time the boat maneuvered through rough water. Bruschev saw the wound had started seeping again, so he ordered his comrade to lay the body on the dock and quickly went about the task of redressing it with a fresh bandage tied as tightly as possible.

  “Hurry up!” Polakoff said. “We’re going to be spotted.”

  The sound of several boat motors on a fast approach lent gravity to Polakoff’s words.

  “It is much too late for that,” Bruschev said, removing the Izhmash Bizon SMG slung across his back. “Our final stand will be made here.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “I think we have a problem,” Shaffernik said.

  “I think you’re right,” Bolan agreed.

  They were high above the action, but through the instruments they could make out the collection of watercraft bearing down on the position of the enemy boat. These weren’t ordinary boats but patrol craft belonging to the US Coast Guard. There was also a much larger signature on it that could have only belonged to a cutter or perhaps even a US Navy cruiser.

  “Someone reported them!” Shaffernik said.

  “Your federal pals.”

  “Wexler and Philbin? But why would they?”

  “I don’t know,” Bolan said. “But there’s no way the Russians will allow themselves to be taken alive. And even if they do, they’ll resist any interrogation.”

  “How do you know?”

  “They have something to barter with,” Bolan replied. “The Llewellyn has been found and secured, but there’s still the missing crew. And as long as Vladimir Moscovich and his people are able to continue to act without interference, it’s only good strategy for his pals down there to delay.”

  “Unless we can get to them first.”

  “Not going to happen,” Bolan said. “I was hoping they would have led us to Moscovich, even if indirectly, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “We should—”

  “Attention, civilian aircraft, tail number N-C-C-5-Delta-2-1-7. Please respond.”

  Shaffernik looked at Bolan. “Should I answer?”

  Before Bolan could reply, they heard, “Attention, civilian aircraft, tail number N-C-C-5-Delta-2-1-7. This is Captain August of the 477th Fighter Group, United States Air Force. You are in violation of a no-fly zone order. Your persons and aircraft are now subject to detainment and search. Please, put your aircraft down at the Unalaska Airport via the following coordinates.”

  The pilot repeated the instructions and advised them if they deviated from the flight path they would be shot down. That statement removed any question in Shaffernik’s mind as to whether they should respond to the hail. Shaffernik confirmed her understanding and set the transponder for the most direct flight to the airport.

  “Taxi to the terminal instructed by the tower. Once there, you will wait in the aircraft and prepare to receive military investigators.”

  “This is just great,” Shaffernik said. “We not only lose the only lead you had to finding the terrorists, but now we got the military thinking we’re the terrorists!”

  “Story of my life,” the Executioner replied.

  Within twenty minutes Shaffernik had them on the ground, albeit the result of a very rough landing in the seaplane, a factor that demonstrated she was a bit rusty. To their surprise, the first ones to meet them weren’t agents from the military but instead a local Unalaska police security unit escort with a single passenger: Jack Grimaldi.

  “Good to see you, Sarge,” Grimaldi said, pumping the hand of his friend enthusiastically. “Just sorry it’s under these circumstances.”

  “It couldn’t be helped,” Bolan replied easily. He introduced Shaffernik, who shook hands with him.

  Grimaldi pointed to the uniformed airport security officer who’d been driving. “Stan Kubicek, I’d like you to meet Mike Blansky. Stan’s an old friend. We’ve known each other for years. Going all the way back when I worked for the Mo... Well, we go way back.”

  “Pleased,” Kubicek said, shaking Bolan’s hand. He tipped his hat toward Shaffernik. “Brenda, always a pleasure.”

  “Hi, Stan,” she replied with a grin.

  Kubicek looked at Bolan. “Jack here tells me you got some troubles in front of you.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’d say the best optio
n for you right now is to get out of here. And before you turn me down, you should know the military called and advised they were sending someone to talk to you, and we were supposed to keep you here if you tried to leave.”

  Bolan considered this new bit of evidence. It had been his call to keep the mission quiet, and now it was coming back to bite him. The problem was that his plan had been the better of the two options. His choice to maintain only a loose alliance with his government had forced him to take the bad with the good. Part of that included their ability to deny his existence, and unless it was a really rough scrape, they wouldn’t be there to bail him out. Maybe he could rely on Stony Man, but it would take time, and he wasn’t carrying any credentials but the cover they’d assigned him.

  “There’s no story you can conjure that would amount to a hill of beans,” Kubicek said in afterthought, as if reading Bolan’s thoughts.

  Bolan nodded and then turned to Grimaldi. “Is the jet ready to go?”

  Grimaldi nodded. “Topped off with fuel and preflighted. We can take off on a moment’s notice.”

  “Not at the moment,” Bolan said. “In light of us finding the Llewellyn, the military has declared a new no-fly zone. Remember? They forced us to land.”

  “Possibly that’s an issue for the little seaplane, but...” Grimaldi purposefully let his words drop off.

  Bolan caught the reference. The Gulfstream C-35 belonged to Stony Man and had been outfitted with a significant electronics and sensors package. That package included countersurveillance and jamming capabilities that could effectively mask the plane from even the most advanced radar and detection instrumentation. Short of visual inspection, no one would know they had taken off. Bolan turned to Shaffernik. “I’m going to need your help again.”

  “Anything,” she replied.

  “I need you to hold off these investigators.”

  “How?”

  “Stall them. You’re in uniform and the deputy chief of the police force here in Unalaska. Tell them only you were onboard. They won’t know the difference until they talk to Philbin or Wexler, and by that time we should be well on the way to Adak.”

  “I was hoping to go with you,” Shaffernik protested.

  “No can do.” Bolan frowned. “Not this time. Besides, you’re going to have your hands full here, and much of the success of mission depends on just how long you can stall the military investigators. They’re going to have dozens of agents and security force personnel crawling through this area soon, and I can’t afford those kinds of delays. The lives of at least ninety service personnel may rely on my being able to act quickly and without interference.”

  Shaffernik appeared to consider it for a moment and then nodded. She was smart, and she understood the situation. She wasn’t the kind of glory hog who would allow personal feelings to stand in the way of saving lives. It was not only the mark of a true professional but of a great law enforcement officer. And Mack Bolan personally wished there were more like her.

  “Okay, do what you’ve got to do. You’re out there trying to save the world, least I can do is be charming and stall a few federal boys.”

  “You’re top shelf, Brenda.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she said with a knowing wink. She pointed at him as he and Grimaldi turned to leave and added, “And don’t forget this. You owe me big-time!”

  Bolan pointed back at her on the run. “You got it!”

  Grimaldi got tower clearance immediately, thanks to some quick thinking on Stan Kubicek’s part, and in five minutes they were climbing into the twilight hues of open sky. Bolan decided the time was right to contact Stony Man and update them on the situation. He was also going to need to get Brognola to put in a good word with the Man, so they could get some maneuvering room. Since the military had interdicted the small RBN force that had escaped from Dutch Harbor, Bolan knew there was no chance of following them to locate the RBN’s operation. That left Haglemann as his one, remaining lead.

  And Mack Bolan had some unfinished business with that traitor.

  Semisopochnoi Island

  HOURS HAD PASSED and still no word from Alexei Vizhgail or his men.

  Something in Benyamin Tokov’s gut told him the man was dead, and they would not be receiving any of the technology Vizhgail had sent to salvage from the cutter. Moscovich wouldn’t be happy when he got the news. Tokov’s people had made every attempt to reach the man, but there had been no reply to their shortwave communications with Adak, or their satellite calls to Unalaska. They couldn’t risk long transmissions, anyway, since the traffic would inevitably be seen, and when the source was traced it would land them in hot water.

  While he would never have admitted it to anyone, Tokov hadn’t bought much into Moscovich’s plan to subvert military communications. Larger enemies with much greater resources had tried and failed miserably. And there was this tendency of Moscovich to want to work with Americans in order to achieve some lofty end. The Americans couldn’t be trusted not to sell out their own mothers for a few extra bucks; that made such a tactic unsound to begin with. Tokov believed in a more direct approach.

  It was one of the reasons their masters had instructed him to devise an alternate plan. Whatever else the heads of the Nasenko and Godunov families thought of Vladimir Moscovich, they knew he could be somewhat eccentric. Tokov had grown up with Moscovich, as he had with many of his comrades in the Network, and he trusted the man’s intuition. Still, he was ultimately responsible for answering to the same powers that controlled the fate of his friend, and he’d done as he was told.

  Ten hours remained until the Belsky arrived, and the captain of that vessel would expect them to be ready to board so they could make for international waters as quickly as possible. It was a lot of territory to cover. The United States would not dare fire on the submarine, even if they detected it, unless they perceived some sort of imminent threat. A Russian submarine that close to the water boundary but still outside the DMZ might be enough to raise the threat level, but it wouldn’t cause a full-out mobilization.

  But there was still time to deal with all of that. At the moment, they had more pressing concerns. The first was getting their equipment disassembled and ready to load. Whatever they couldn’t afford to take aboard the submarine for reasons of space they would sink at sea on their way to the submarine. The other concern was their prisoners. Tokov had suggested killing them, but Vlad disagreed.

  “Our fight isn’t with the American military,” he’d said. “It’s with those in Washington who make decisions. The Americans here are just like us, following orders of those above them. We cannot fault them for that.”

  Tokov knew once Vlad had made up his mind, it would be very difficult to change, but of course, that hadn’t stopped him when Tokov suggested they use the commander of the vessel as an example of what they might do if provoked. It would also sow mistrust among the American military personnel who survived if they revealed the traitor in their midst. That would disrupt American operations in other unique ways, a touch that Tokov had actually suggested at the last minute. Some of their team, including Alexei Vizhgail, had applauded him for the very idea. And it seemed to have worked.

  Moscovich entered the cavern where the men were packing the last of the boxes. “How long until the Belsky is in range?”

  “Less than twelve hours.”

  Moscovich nodded. “Any word from Alexei?”

  “No,” Tokov replied. “I’m convinced he’s either been captured or dead. Knowing Alexei, he would have preferred to fight and resist until it was no longer feasible. My assumption is that he’s no longer alive. And given how long it has been since his scheduled check-in, I don’t think any of his team made it, either.”

  “I am sorry,” Moscovich said with genuine sorrow in his voice. “I know he was your friend. He was mine, as well. But—”

  “No disrespect, V
lad, but if you’re going to tell me that he knew the risks, I would prefer you just shut up and don’t say any more about it at all. We all know the risks. It lessens neither the blow nor the sacrifice.”

  Moscovich nodded. “I understand. Forgive me if I seemed insensitive. That was never my intent. I’ve been giving the American traitor some thought, this Gross.”

  “And?”

  “I entertained the notion of killing him, but I don’t think that will be necessary now. In light of what you’ve told me about Alexei, I think there might be a way to make him doubly useful to us.”

  “I don’t see how,” Tokov replied. “You said it yourself, Vlad. A man who would betray his own country, even his own shipmates, cannot be trusted. I think it would be wiser to put a bullet in his head.”

  “It would be if this idea had not come to me. But now I’m thinking there is a way we could use him to cover our escape. Throw a sort of bone to the Americans.”

  “I don’t think I follow.”

  “Think about it. The Americans have no idea we’ve been working with Haglemann, at least not up until now. It makes no difference to our traitor if he gets out of here by plane or boat. He’s just looking to claim his money, money that is easily retrievable since the account is actually set up under a false identity. If we send him out on the boat with the coordinates to Adak Island and give him Haglemann as his contact, imagine the uproar.”

  Tokov considered the proposal a moment. It sounded like a ridiculous nuisance, an extra detail for them to worry about, at first. But then as he gave it more thought, he realized the genius of it. It was about a hundred fifty miles by boat to Adak. Gross would have to locate Haglemann, explain his situation and then wait for a way off the island. Meanwhile, the American military would be storming the island. By the time it all got sorted out, they would be well on their way home aboard the Belsky. They could leave the Coast Guard crew behind, too, which would require a massive rescue effort and give them even more time to evade American patrols.