Infiltration

“Not certain yet, but I have a moniker called ‘the Wolf.’ I don’t know if it means anything, but I if you cross-reference it with known freelancers, you may come up with something solid.”

“Will do. Hal’s here now, too. Anything else you can tell us?”

“Godunov’s definitely careful,” Bolan replied, “but I don’t think he’s calling all the shots with the RBN. He specifically mentioned that the people he works for expect him to be careful, which tells me someone sits above him in the ranks. Still, I get the impression he’s close to the top.”

“Any idea what he’s up to, Striker?” Brognola asked.

“Hard to tell this early on,” Bolan said. “He’s going to check into my background, and I gave him the Lambretta cover just as we discussed. Bear’s got that tightened up?”

“Definitely.”

“So what do you have in mind for your next move?” Price asked.

“I’m going to get in touch with this contact he called the Wolf,” Bolan said. “See where that leads me.”

“You could be walking into a trap.”

“Probably. But I’m banking on the fact that whoever this contact is, he’ll be chomping at the bit to recruit some new talent, particularly since those I took out in Boston were likely part of his team. One thing’s for sure—Godunov doles out all the wet work to specialists. I don’t think he’s got any internal people other than for personal security. So the sooner you can get me some intel on this contact I’m supposed to make, the easier it will be to gain a picture.”

“We’ll get on it right away,” Brognola promised. “Give us two hours?”

“Fine,” Bolan said. “I can lie low for that long.”

“What about Lutrova?”

“I left him there for a price,” Bolan said. “That should firm up my cover some as being in this strictly for profit. I just hope our timing’s good.”

“Well,” Price said, “we’ve done some other snooping into Godunov’s background. He’s operated here in the U.S. for about the past five years. That’s left significant paper trails, even if they only lead back to shell or paper companies.”

“I imagine he’s attempted to deal in smaller transactions?” Bolan inquired.

“You’re absolutely correct,” Price replied. “After 9/11, the federal government instituted new policies relative to financial transactions. Any single transaction of ten thousand dollars or more requires the receiving institution to generate what’s known as a currency transaction report. The CTRs are typically routed to the compliance departments for those banks, who then file them with a central database. These CTRs are then analyzed and flagged against a list of known financiers for terrorist or other national and international criminal organizations.”

“So Godunov’s managed to slip through the cracks by keeping the amounts of his transactions low?”

“Exactly. And since he’s never directly involved, his name has never been on the list,” she explained.

“We’ve taken care of that, though,” Brognola interjected. “We had him added as soon as you contacted us with Lutrova’s story. Speaking of which, do you think he’ll roll on you?”

“It’s always a possibility, but I’m confident he’s scared enough to keep his mouth shut. He knows if he tells Godunov that he was coerced into cooperating with us, it will likely cost him his life. I think he’ll pull through it.”

“Agreed,” Brognola said. “It’s not like he has a choice.”

“Well, we still don’t know what Godunov plans to use him for,” Price said.

“We know Lutrova’s an expert hacker and a technology genius. I think Godunov plans to exploit his talents in some way, and I’m guessing it has something to do with the funds they’re channeling through all the bogus investment accounts.”

“You think it’s money being used to fund RBN operations overseas?”

“Why not?” Bolan said. “It makes complete sense in light of what you’ve uncovered.”

“You could be on to something, Striker,” Price replied. “Given the state of the world economy, it’s likely they’re starting to see a rapid depletion of funds. The only way for them to continue their efforts would be if they get more money from their investors, or find new ones. The latter would take too long, so for the sake of expedience they may be attempting to tap the current list.”

“Which means they’d need to get all the financial data they could on those financiers,” Brognola concluded.

“Right,” Bolan said. “And I think that’s what Godunov may have brought Lutrova in to do.”

“You think Godunov’s looking to crack that list?” Price asked.

“I think he’s going to do a lot more than that,” Bolan replied. “I think he plans to make Lutrova crack the New York financial network.”

“Okay, but to what ends?”

“To suck it dry in one fell swoop,” the Executioner replied.

CHAPTER FIVE

Yan “the Wolf” Volkov rubbed his temples in an attempt to abate the splitting headache.

His conversation with Yuri Godunov hadn’t gone well, although it had gone about as he expected. What Volkov couldn’t understand was how four of his people had been put down so quickly and efficiently by one man. The bigger problem came from the fact that none of his contacts in the U.S. Customs had seen this man or gotten their hands on the security tapes in One Federal Plaza. Volkov didn’t even have a rough description, and that would make it next to impossible to identify him.

The other thing that bothered the Russian mercenary was the why of it. What reason had this man had for killing the team sent to retrieve Bogdan Lutrova? Had he been expecting them? And if so, did that mean Volkov had some sort of leak inside his own operations? His people had always been loyal in the past, never a one turning against him. That had to do partly with his training methods and partly from the fact that he paid them very well.

Soldiers-for-hire were a superstitious and close-mouthed lot. They generally didn’t talk to anybody about what they did, for any reason. Loose lips could get those in the business killed very quickly, or lead to ostracizing on a global scale. This most recent event had not only put Volkov’s head on the chopping block, but his reputation, as well—his employer wasn’t known for being the forgiving type.

Volkov sat back in his chair and thought about his options. While he took his instructions from Godunov, he knew the money came from someone higher. That someone—Volkov didn’t know exactly who, but he had his suspicions—expected positive results every time and wouldn’t hear excuses if things went sour. Volkov had to admit he’d never been in a situation quite like this one before. He’d almost declined the job when he heard how Godunov wanted to do it, but saying no wasn’t really an option. He was on retainer, a contract of sorts, and that meant whenever they told him to jump he simply did it. Everything else got put aside and there wasn’t even any asking “how high” he was expected to get it done quickly and efficiently.

The plan hadn’t been very good to start with. It would have been much simpler to get Bogdan Lutrova into America in secret. There were many ways to smuggle such persons into the country without much trouble at all—the Wolf had plenty of mechanisms in place for such an operation. In fact, human trafficking remained a financial mainstay of his operations, and as long as he didn’t do anything to expose the RBN, they were content to look the other way. Of course, he was mandated to remit a certain amount of his profits to them—kickbacks for certain of them to look the other way—but that was simply the cost of doing business. And Volkov didn’t mind paying off those individuals, since it didn’t cut that deeply into his profit margin.

This present problem, however, had become another issue, with a magnitude of complications. If Volkov had any hope of setting this right, he would have to locate the mysterious stranger who’d killed his men, and find Bogdan Lutrova. It didn’t really matter if—

A rap at his office door broke his concentration, and he barked, “Yes?”

The door opened enough to reveal the heavily made up face of his secretary. She was a short, blond, petite woman—midtwenties, Volkov recalled—who hailed from the same area of the Ukraine as he. On occasion she performed more than just secretarial duties for him, although she expected to be compensated for such things. Nothing in life was free.

“Mr. Volkov? It is Mr. Godunov for you. He’s on your personal line.”

“Put it through, Mira,” Volkov said, leaning forward to put his hand on the extension, and muttering curses as to what the man could possibly want now.

When Volkov answered, Godunov said, “I have our asset here with me.”

“What?” Volkov could feel his stomach knot. “You mean—”

“Yes, I mean that asset.”

“But how?”

“It seems we have a new benefactor,” Godunov said. “I’m almost sure that this man is working for one of our competitors, but there is a remote possibility he’s legit. He was looking for work, and so naturally, I sent him to you.”