Uncut Terror

“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 (#ulink_1b33e6c7-a12e-5a09-8f5e-3d36813f5a35)

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.”