Infiltration. Don Pendleton

eyes turned to the kitchen entrance, and Bolan felt a chill crawl up his neck. He hadn’t even heard Volkov come in, and that was no mean feat. Bolan always maintained a keen awareness in his surroundings, yet Volkov had somehow managed to approach his rear flank without a sound. The Executioner filed that fact away, intent on making sure it didn’t happen ever again.

      “And I don’t go by that whenever we’re in public. You call me Yan or boss, don’t much care which. Got it?”

      Bolan nodded. “Suits me.”

      “Fine.” Volkov made a show of looking at his watch. “You’re right on time. That’s good news, because it means you listen and pay attention to detail. Let it become a habit and you just might have a future with this crew.”

      “Wilco…boss.”

      Volkov nodded and his expression seemed to soften slightly. “We only have a few minutes, so I’m not going to spend a lot of time explaining this to you. Our first job is we got to head upstate to Saint Bartholomew’s. I can explain more on the way up there. This is initiation for you, so I’ll keep the details simple. You’ll follow instructions given by me or Southpaw, there. He’s in charge when I’m not present. Understood?”

      “Fine. But I’m just wondering why we’re going to a church.”

      “Not a church, a school.”

      “Catholic prep school,” Southpaw added, but he quickly shut his mouth when Volkov threw him a look.

      Bolan filed the information for later while pretending not to notice the exchange between him and Southpaw. If Volkov had just used his real first name, Bolan knew it would be easier to pick him out of the list of potentials compiled by the Stony Man team. The mention of the school was of a bit more interest to the Executioner, but it also left him with a sense of trepidation. A group of grown men dressed in business suits were going to a Catholic school in upstate New York? Bolan didn’t get it—there had to be some connection to Godunov’s activities, but he couldn’t see it.

      Without another word, the men prepared to leave as per Volkov’s instructions. They decided to go in two separate vehicles, with Bolan, the Wolf and Southpaw in one—probably they wanted to keep an eye on the newcomer—while Igor and Keck took the other. Fortunately, Bolan’s rental had the most room, so they opted to let him take the wheel. Bolan counted this decision a fortunate stroke of luck; at least he’d have access to his entire arsenal.

      It took them less than two hours to reach the upstate location. On the surface, St. Bartholomew’s wasn’t much different from any other Catholic school. Bolan could only surmise there had to be something of value inside the school. He’d already activated the GPS homing signal on his cell phone so that Stony Man had a track on him. Not that he was worried; the Executioner could most assuredly take care of himself in such a situation. What bothered him more was that they were headed into a potential fire zone filled with innocent teachers, school staff and children.

      And Bolan wondered how he would keep the bloodshed confined to the enemy.

      IT WASN’T LONG after they arrived at Saint Bartholomew’s Catholic Preparatory School that Bolan could pretty much deduce the enemy’s plan.

      Volkov ordered him to pull the sedan to the curb on the far side of the grounds, the entire length of which was bordered by a brick wall, with wrought-iron spires on top covered by the gray-white fingers of dormant ivy. He then instructed Southpaw to stay with Bolan while he went to confer with the other two, who had followed them in an older blue van. The thing was just nondescript enough not to draw attention, but Bolan didn’t doubt it had quite a number of special modifications. Not as practical as the virtual war wagon he drove, which was, unbeknownst to his new “colleagues”, filled with an arsenal of unspeakable firepower.

      It would prove to be just what Bolan needed as he engaged Southpaw, aka Billy, in casual conversation.

      “So what’s the deal here?” Bolan asked in his best Italian tough guy manner. “We just s’posed to sit out here and freeze our butts off while the other guys get all the action?”

      “The boss knows what he’s doing.”

      “Yeah, well, so far I’m not that impressed. How long you known him?”

      Southpaw took a deep breath and let it out noisily as Bolan watched him do some quick mental figuring. He finally said, “About two years, I guess.”

      “You guess?” Bolan made a show of chuckling. “You don’t know how long you been working for the guy?”

      “I just said about two years. You deaf or something?”

      “What sort of missions have you done? See a lot of heat?”

      “I’ve seen my share.” Then Billy added, “You know what, Frankie, I think you ask too many questions.”

      Bolan raised his hands in a show of defense. “Hey, I don’t mean nothing by it. Just making conversation.”

      “Well, just stop talking so—”

      Volkov rapped on the passenger window and gestured for Bolan to roll it down. He did and Volkov stuck his head inside, his breath visible in the biting morning air. A quick look at the clock told Bolan it was almost 0820 hours, probably just before the first period began inside the school.

      “Okay, here’s the deal. You come with us Southpaw. We’re going to need your very unique talents in providing a distraction while we do this. Igor and Keck will stay with the van while Southpaw’s doing his thing.”

      “What about me, boss?” Bolan asked.

      “You’re going to be our wheels.” He gestured toward a low, squat building that sat to one side. Bolan could see the reflections of sunlight on metal and the occasional movement of vehicles. “See that? That’s the front gate entrance. We’re going to send the van through, and the van’s going to pick up a very specific package for us. You’re going to provide a way for me and Southpaw to get out once that’s done. We’re hoping this will throw off the cops in case we run into trouble. You’ll wait right outside that front entrance. There end up being any problems, you take out the guard and then you wait for us. Everything goes off right, you still wait for us. Got it?”

      “Simple,” Bolan said with a nod.

      “You better learn something quick, Frankie,” Volkov replied. “There’s a big difference between simple and easy. The two aren’t the same. Got it?”

      “Yeah, sure. I got it.”

      “Keep in touch,” Volkov said as he tossed a high frequency radio on the seat next to Bolan. He and Southpaw then walked to the van and jumped in.

      “All right, you reading me?” Volkov’s voice said a moment later.

      “Reading you four-by-four,” Bolan replied.

      “Let’s do this,” he said. “You lead us in and then park outside the gate, where you can make a break for it, if necessary. But you don’t move until we’re on board. ’Cause I promise that if you double-cross us, I’ll find you and kill you. You can be sure of that.”

      Bolan decided not to reply, instead waving his hand so that Volkov understood he got the message. Fate had dealt him a decent hand on this one, making it possible for him to operate on his own. Now all he had to do was figure out what they had planned, then determine how to stop that plan and still keep anyone from getting in the line of fire. A full-blown fight on the grounds of a Catholic school would be completely unacceptable. He’d have to play this one very close to the vest.

      Keeping his pace slow but steady, he approached the main entrance to the school. He’d obviously been right about the start time, because the place was absolutely packed with vehicles, some of them double-parked to drop off kids, while others rolled through the gate. The Executioner kept his eyes open for any running room, counting vehicles and spaces between them as the numbers ticked off in his head. A group of children traveled along the sidewalks, pressed