Blind Justice. Don Pendleton

Rachel wouldn’t leave any trace. You get an ID on them?”

       “Work on this, Logan. They were Russian. Had passports to prove it.”

       “Russian? What were Russians doing in my house?”

       “I’m having that checked out now.”

       “Where are the perps?”

       “Still at your house, but not in a position to leave on their own two feet. They didn’t take too well to being interrupted.”

       “I’m trying to figure out how a pair of Russians are involved.” Logan paused, his thoughts slowed by the effects of the sedatives and his weakness. “Hey, Cooper, I’m getting some recall here. I almost lost it. I did come up with a Russian connection during my investigation. A guy Kendal had contact with. Can’t make it any clearer at the moment. Hell, why did I forget that?”

       “When we get some identification maybe we’ll get an answer to that,” Bolan said. “In the meantime, don’t beat yourself up if you can’t pull all the details into the open. Ray, you just let me know if you hear anything about or from Rachel.”

       “I will. Cooper, she’s gone to ground so it’s not going to be easy finding her. Rachel knows how to survive. Before we were married she did three years as a Park Ranger upstate. It was how we met. I was following up on a murder inquiry that took me out of the city. Rachel had found a body that had the earmarks of the perp we were after. Her intel helped us track the guy down.”

       “Now that’s a romantic way to meet your future wife,” Bolan said.

       “Tell me about it. Happened between us before we knew what hit us. I figure that’s what Keegan has done. Sent her somewhere up country. And Rachel hasn’t lost any of her outdoor instincts, Cooper. She’s at home out there.”

       “So she can handle herself?”

       “Oh, yes.”

       “What about weapons?”

       “That girl can shoot. Just don’t ever get her mad if there’s a 9 mm in the same room.”

       “Would she favor the part of the country she patrolled when she was a Ranger?”

       “Maybe, but Keegan isn’t about to let on where. It’s a big piece of freehold, Cooper. Runs all the way up to the Canadian border.”

       After ending the call, Bolan ordered fresh coffee, then decided he might as well eat, given this enforced downtime. The old military maxim.

       Eat when the opportunity presents itself.

       Sleep on the same premise.

       The combat soldier’s credo. Never waste free time. Use it like it’s going out of fashion. Grab it with both hands. Make the most of this day and let tomorrow catch up when it can.

       He turned his thoughts to the man who seemed to be the driving force behind Ray Logan’s problems.

       Senator Tyrone Kendal.

       Bolan tried to imagine what was behind the man’s desperate actions. Why did he want so badly to get hold of Logan and the evidence that the cop claimed to have gathered?

       Must have been something damning. Something that had pushed the senator into such a flurry of activity.

       Armed teams searching for Logan.

       Bad cops shooting at him.

       And Russian heavies invading the man’s home.

      KURTZMAN’S CALL CAME just as Bolan got back in his vehicle. He put the cell on speaker and listened to the rundown on the Russians.

       “Couple of heavy hitters. Ivan Tupelov and Mako Sheranova. Suspected of a number of crimes but never proved. They showed up on U.S. and international databases. They work for a dubious character named Maxim Koretski. If it’s illegal this lovely guy has his hands in it. Trafficker in everything murky. Runs a number of clubs here and in Russia—guy gets around. But he’s so lawyered-up he’s bulletproof. We dredged up a few articles from newspapers and magazines. This guy is seriously into big-time crime. Suggestion is he wants to be Mister Big. In the past a couple of his near rivals have been mysteriously eliminated. No proof, but the finger points Koretski’s way.”

       “Any connection at all to a Senator Tyrone Kendal?”

       “He in this deal, as well?”

       “I think so, but right now I can’t figure the why. I’m just trying to connect the dots.”

       “I’ll keep checking. The car detail panned out. A rental paid for through one of Koretski’s legitimate businesses.”

       “Thanks, Bear. Come back anytime you dig up anything.”

       “You got it, Striker. What’s next for you on this?”

       “Collateral damage. I need to cut away some of the trash.”

      Chapter 4

      It was no secret that Senator Tyrone Kendal enjoyed the good things in life, and he made sure everyone around him understood that. Kendal tolerated no deviation from his desires or his expensive lifestyle. Only the best was good enough—home, possessions, his cars. It helped that he was a wealthy man. He had inherited the Kendal fortune on the death of his father, a man who had worked his way up from a menial job as a dirt farmer to become the head of a multinational company encompassing oil, copper-mining and a manufacturing base providing products as diverse as home appliances to electronics for the IT industry. Tyrone Kendal the younger inherited the companies and the money, but unfortunately he lacked the people skills. He assumed the mantle of top dog, but in doing so he became arrogant, self-important and unfeeling.

       So it was a surprise when he entered politics. He abandoned his commercial interest in the slew of companies, handing over the reins to his previous second-in-command, and presented himself as a man free of business connections. But that was for public consumption only. The truth was that Kendal still maintained control of the businesses. It was all done through a layered facade of shell companies, corporate subterfuge and a legion of lawyers. As far as the world in general understood, Kendal had stepped down, distanced himself from the business enterprises and had become a man of the people. He devoted himself to his new calling, and with the skill that had created his business empire, he entered politics and surprised everyone with his early successes. That surprise was compounded when he eventually became a U.S. senator, due in great part to the unstinting efforts of the team he built around him. They portrayed him as a caring, honest man who represented the people. He spent lavishly on the things that mattered, not sparing himself during the rallies and the election hustings. He travelled the state of Washington, where his main dwelling was situated, enduring the long days and nights of meeting his constituents. He listened to their needs, promised them whatever they asked for, smiling and waving, then returned to his home and wiped the smile away, downed expensive whiskey and swore if he ever had to listen to another request for help he would take out his shotgun and blow the bastards’ heads off.

       Kendal won his election by a landslide. Two days later he left for D.C. to take up his seat and became a thorn in the opposition party’s side. He understood how to play the game. He cultivated the right friends using his dominant personality. He made enemies, too, but that was something Kendal thrived on. He fought his corner, quickly learning to make the cards fall the way he wanted.

       That had been eight years ago. These days he was a major player in the political circle, able to take on anyone who stepped into the ring. His reputation as a tough, uncompromising opponent had won him few friends. His hard-edged stance distanced him from many. Kendal maintained his arm’s-length persona. He had his own agenda to pursue and keeping people at bay allowed him to concentrate on that. He did not like to be faced with anything that might harm his career.

       Over and above all else was Kendal’s driving force, the one thing that mattered to him. Greed. Plain and simple. No amount of financial success was ever enough. He needed