Road Of Bones. Don Pendleton

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СКАЧАТЬ “I’ll have a word with someone at the Pentagon and see what they can slip under the radar, so to speak.”

       “Appreciate it,” Bolan said. “I’ll try to stay in touch as we proceed.”

       He didn’t need to say what it would mean if there was no callback. The downside of a covert op on hostile ground was understood, a given, and remained unspoken. Bolan wasn’t superstitious in the least, but there was nothing to be gained by tempting fate.

       “Stay frosty, eh?” Brognola said.

       “We may not have a choice,” Bolan replied. “Siberia, you know?” He cut the link and found Anuchin watching him. “I’m working on a lift, from Magadan,” he said, and thought now all they had to do was make it there.

      * * *

      MARSHAK HAD WAITED as long as he dared. The others wouldn’t thank him for letting them sleep, if matters spun out of control in the meantime.

       He had arranged a three-way conference call, the lines secure against all outside listeners, although Marshak himself was taping every word. It was a hedge against disaster. Call it life insurance.

       His companions on the line were Kliment Gabritschevsky, second deputy director of the Ministry of the Interior, with responsibility for the Public Security Service; and Grigory Rybakov, pakhan—“godfather”—of the Izmaylovskaya gang, Moscow’s oldest and strongest clan of the Mafiya. Between them, they wielded more power than most elected officials in Russia.

       “What news from the East?” Gabritschevsky inquired when they had disposed of the curt salutations.

       “A new disappointment, I fear,” Marshak said. “The traitor returned to Yakutsk Airport with an accomplice, but Stephan’s soldiers were unable to detain them.”

       A jab at Rybakov, since he’d supplied the man Levshin was using in Yakutsk. The mobster took it silently, while Gabritschevsky said, “That’s troubling, Colonel. If you can’t even contain two people, what does that say for the state of national security?”

       “They are contained, Deputy Minister. If they remain in Yakutsk, I will root them out. If they attempt to flee, they have a single avenue remaining.”

       “Ah. The Road of Bones,” Gabritschevsky said.

       “That’s correct, sir.”

       “Listen,” Rybakov cut in. “If you need more soldiers on the ground out there, just say so.”

       “Four are dead already,” Marshak answered. “Five, with the interrogator. I may need real soldiers if you want the job done properly.”

       “What do you have in mind?” Gabritschevsky asked.

       “Spetsnaz,” Marshak said, the Russian special purpose regiment, trained in counterterrorist techniques and black ops that included hostage rescue, sabotage and targeted assassination.

       “That’s a big step,” Gabritschevsky cautioned.

       “It’s a big fall, if they get away,” Marshak replied.

       Rybakov spoke up to say, “You mentioned an accomplice.”

       “Yes.”

       “Is this the man who killed my people?” Rybakov asked.

       “I believe so,” Marshak told him. “There’s no proof, of course, but he is traveling with the woman.”

       “Proof enough,” Rybakov said. “I want his head.”

       “Talk to your men,” Marshak replied. “The ones still living. This makes twice they’ve let him slip away.”

       “Perhaps I should send Boris out to supervise,” Rybakov said, referring to his second in command, a thug named Boris Struve.

       “Send who you like,” Marshak said. “But the FSB retains command, unless I hear an order to the contrary from my superiors.”

       Rybakov remained silent, but Gabritschevsky said, “We’ll leave the chain of command intact, for now. Use Spetsnaz sparingly, if you require its services. Nothing to draw attention, eh?”

       “I understand, sir,” Marshak said.

       “And get results!” the deputy minister commanded. “We’re all depending on it.”

       “As you say, sir.”

       Marshak’s hand was steady as the other lines went dead, but there was no mistaking Gabritschevsky’s meaning.

       He was running out of time.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      Bolan and Anuchin took turns watching the docks through Captain Glushko’s old Zeiss binoculars as the Zarya completed its river crossing. There were no uniformed police officers in view, nor any gunmen obviously waiting for a chance to shoot them down before they landed on the river’s eastern shore.

       Could slipping out of Yakutsk be that easy?

       Bolan guessed that it couldn’t.

       “They may be watching us from hiding,” Anuchin said, speaking his thoughts aloud.

       He nodded. “It’s definitely possible.”

       Bolan knew next to nothing about law enforcement in the Sakha Republic or Russia’s Far Eastern Federal District, but he assumed there had to be some cops assigned to Nizhny Bestyakh. Even if they were bought and paid for by the Mafiya, the FSB, whoever, they would still be placed in an embarrassing position by an open firefight on the waterfront. His enemies, if they were halfway smart, might choose to spot Bolan and Anuchin, trail them into town and choose a spot where they could close the trap without dozens of witnesses.

       Or maybe they had dropped the ball again.

       In which case, Bolan and the woman had an edge. They couldn’t count on any great head start, but if they had even a little time to spare, using it wisely was a must.

       “Be ready when we disembark,” Bolan advised her. “If someone makes a move—”

       “Hit back,” she finished for him.

       “Right. And otherwise—”

       “Head for the motorcycle shop.”

       Their skipper had informed them of the shop’s location, with a hand-drawn map to clarify, noting that cycles could be bought or rented from the owner, who—no great surprise—was one of Glushko’s oldest friends.

       “Be sure you talk to Ilya,” he insisted. “Tell him that I send you. He give you good price.”

       Bolan had thanked him for the tip and watched the skipper closely to make sure he didn’t phone ahead. Their pose as lovers on a hasty getaway was thin, at best, and if the Zarya’s captain caught a whiff of bounty money he might sell them out.

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