“You are still convinced your plan to infiltrate Yuri’s organization will succeed.”
“I’ve already told you it’ll be fine if you just play along like you’re supposed to.”
“I’m not convinced.”
“You don’t have to be convinced,” Bolan said with an edge in his voice. “You just have to be convincing.”
“And how do you know that I will not simply betray you when we finally meet with Yuri?”
“I don’t. But I do know that if it goes hard, you’ll be the first person I take with me. You see, if Godunov doesn’t have you, then he really has no ability to move forward with whatever scheme he’s cooking up. And if you go along and he finds out later that you’ve rolled over to our side, he’s still going to kill you. At least you have a chance going the distance with me.”
“Some would call this blackmail, which is nothing less than a criminal activity in itself. That would make you no better than the rest of it.”
“I call it strategy,” Bolan said, savvy to the fact Lutrova was simply trying to bait him. “Now let’s get down to business. I have information that Godunov was supposed to meet you here. Is that accurate?”
“I am not sure where I was supposed to meet him. I had instructions only to wait once I’d been caught, and that he would send someone to collect me. That is the extent of my knowledge.”
Bolan considered his options. He knew the location of Godunov’s West Hampton estate, but taking Lutrova straight there concerned him. If he did, Godunov would be immediately suspicious about where Bolan had gotten his information, particularly since it seemed Lutrova didn’t know anything about it. That left the downtown offices at Chase One Plaza as his best bet. It would have been the logical decision if he hadn’t known anything about Godunov’s private residence.
The plan was designed to be simple and straightforward.
Godunov needed something desperately in order to execute whatever designs he had on the New York financial system. Bolan had that something in his grasp. It wouldn’t be much of a stretch to get Godunov bartering for the goods. Bolan had opted to use an old cover that Kurtzman was able to resurrect whenever needed. The alias Frankie Lambretta had served him well during his war against the Mafia, and later he’d used it on occasion when penetrating organized crime. On a couple of occasions, Kurtzman had killed him off or put the identity into the prison system. Once more, Bolan would be out on the streets with credentials as a former Mob hit man that just about any criminal organization would be proud to have on its rolls.
Bolan checked his watch and noted it was just past 1600 hours.
The Executioner had traded his government-issue suit and tie for slacks, a black polo shirt and a brown leather jacket to protect against the biting winter winds of New York City. He’d purchased baggy jeans and a sweatshirt for Lutrova, along with an overnight bag that contained a change of clothes and a toothbrush. The hacker’s hands were free, but Bolan had bound his feet with thick plastic riot cuffs to lessen the risk that the guy would try to take off. The Beretta 93-R rode in shoulder leather, and Bolan had stashed the remainder of his arsenal on the backseat of the rental.
His bag of tricks included twin satchel charges of C-4 plastic explosives configured with blasting caps and a remote detonator. It also contained a .44 Magnum Desert Eagle with spare magzines and ammo, a carbine version of the Fabrique National Herstal SA FNC with plenty of spare 5.56 mm NATO ammunition. Bolan didn’t expect too much in the way of serious trouble at this point, but better prepped than dead.
He made a right off Chambers Street onto Broadway, and could see the Chase Manhattan Plaza building towering in the distance, one of the tallest structures in New York City. Construction on the sixty-floor building had been completed in 1961, and it was still one of the fifty tallest buildings in the world. The only other tenant beside J.P. Morgan Chase & Co. was Milbank, and the recent addition of Godunov’s puppet firm Vastok & Karamakov, Ltd.
Bolan had to admit that Godunov’s attempt to operate like an open and legitimate enterprise was a gutsy move. It also spoke of the man’s great arrogance that he thought he could actually get away with it and not fall under the scrutiny of the federal government. Still, he’d proved adept at avoiding trouble so far. Bolan planned to change all that. He wondered exactly how Godunov would react when he walked straight into the man’s offices with the RBN’s prize puppet under his arm.
They arrived at One Chase Manhattan Plaza, and Bolan circled the block twice before choosing a belowground parking structure two streets over. After he parked and killed the engine, the soldier flipped out a knife and cut the riot cuffs from Lutrova’s ankles. Some mixture of surprise and relief spread across Lutrova’s features, but Bolan ignored that. Instead, he favored the hacker with a warning smile.
“You’re liberated only for the time being,” Bolan said. “Don’t forget you’re still on a very short leash. You double-cross me, and I’ll kill you in the blink of an eye. Understood?”
The relief in Lutrova’s expression melted. “Yes.”
“Good. Now let’s go met Yuri.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The walk to One Chase Manhattan Plaza took under five minutes, but another ten elapsed before Bolan located Godunov’s office suites on the twenty-eighth floor.
He’d managed to get through the security with his firearm, thanks to the forged credentials provided by Stony Man. It never ceased to amaze him how easy it was to get past a uniformed security detachment with an itty-bitty gold badge. The officer in charge had barely scrutinized his identification, taking more of an interest in Bolan’s companion. And with good reason. Despite the new threads, Bogdan Lutrova hardly carried the demeanor or attitude of a model citizen. Fortunately, Bolan had been able to explain it all away by letting them know that Godunov was expecting him, and they were eventually waved through.
When they stepped off the elevators, Bolan heard Lutrova take a sharp breath. He scanned the hacker’s face and then followed his gaze until his eyes came to rest on a tall, bald man with a beak-like nose and pursed lips.
“Godunov?” Bolan asked.
Lutrova nodded.
The soldier grabbed Lutrova’s arm and guided him steadily in Godunov’s direction. The Russian crime lord was standing at the reception desk, flirting with the secretary. Bolan would have paid a nickel to have a picture of Godunov at the moment the man’s attention focused on the pair. For a long time—or so it seemed— Godunov didn’t say a word. At first, Bolan thought the guy might try to act as if he didn’t know Lutrova, but a glance at Bolan told him attempting any such charade would be pointless.
“Mr. Godunov?” Bolan said in greeting.
The Russian nodded, taking up the act, and offered his hand. Bolan decided to shake it so the secretary didn’t get nervous and start punching buttons. Godunov immediately released Bolan’s hand and then turned to look Lutrova in the eyes. A patina of disgust washed over Godunov’s expression and then dissipated just as quickly into one of cordiality.
“Bogdan, it is very nice to see you.”
“And you, sir,” Lutrova muttered.
Godunov didn’t miss a beat. “I trust your trip was…uneventful, gentlemen?”
“It was,” Bolan replied. “Our apologies for being late.”
“Not at all.” Godunov swept his arm in the direction of the hallway behind the massive main reception desk manned by four young women. “Why don’t we adjourn to my office, where you can get off your feet? I’m sure you’re both exhausted.”
“Thank you,” Bolan said.
With the show of pleasantries dispensed, Bolan and Lutrova followed Godunov down the hallway to a pair of double doors at the end. As the Russian opened