Infiltration. Don Pendleton

didn’t miss it, Godunov was willing to look the other way now and again. It wasn’t as if he had a big choice, however. The RBN employed thieves, and that meant he had to expect his workers to steal here and there.

      The RBN operations remained large only because Godunov had learned to be extremely cautious. The network survived through an infrastructure comprised of thousands of small front companies, many only on paper. A growing list of financiers actually invested in these companies, and as long as their “stock options” were showing steady returns—with the occasional bonus—they didn’t ask a lot of questions. But times were tough, with the world economy being what it was. That had forced Godunov to find more creative ways of getting money, and so they needed to get information on the funds of those anonymous financiers, so they could access those funds without attracting undue attention.

      That was the plan Godunov had assigned Bogdan Lutrova to put into action. Now, though, it seemed that four of the Wolf’s team members were dead, and Bogdan had appeared to drop off the map.

      “What’s your recommendation?” Godunov finally asked the Wolf.

      “I could not make one until I have more information. Certainly, we need to find our…asset.”

      “Indeed. I will leave that in your hands. But don’t screw this up again, comrade, or I will hold you personally responsible. Do you understand my meaning?”

      There was a pause before the Wolf answered, “I do.”

      Godunov bid him farewell by dropping the receiver into the cradle and muttering, “Incompetence. Sheer incompetence.”

      He sat back, rubbed his eyes and sighed. Now he would have to play a waiting game. What he couldn’t understand was why they had moved Lutrova and, moreover, done so in secret. Such a move typically involved a considerable amount of time and bureaucracy, but the Customs officials had somehow managed to make it happen quickly. The bungled attempt of his men to liberate Lutrova meant they had shown their hand early. While faithful, and capable of following his script to the letter, Lutrova might see the cause as lost, and roll on their organization, figuring he could cut a better deal for himself by cooperating with the U.S. authorities.

      What bothered Godunov most was the talk of this mysterious stranger the Wolf had spoken about. Godunov thought he’d worked every angle, but such a development could signal that the Americans had been onto their plans from the beginning. Either way, it didn’t matter, since Godunov hadn’t pinned all their hopes on Lutrova. He could implement a fail-safe if absolutely necessary, although he hesitated to do so unless the circumstances became dire. Such a fail-safe would involve ordering the Wolf to do whatever was necessary to find Bogdan Lutrova and terminate his life. There could be no loose ends—everything would need to be tied up neatly so as not to risk exposing the RBN leadership to scrutiny.

      For now, all Godunov could hope was that it wouldn’t come to that.

      “THIS ISN’T going to work,” Bogdan Lutrova said.

      “You’ve already said that,” Mack Bolan replied. “Repeating yourself isn’t going to change my mind, so why not just shut it down for a while.”

      “Because they’re going to figure it out.” Lutrova sighed. “Yuri is a smart man. He’ll see through the deception and he’ll kill you on the spot. And me, too.”

      “He won’t if you play your part right,” Bolan said. “Besides, Godunov needs you. He wouldn’t have gone to such lengths to let everybody else know how important you are, otherwise. Or risked exposing his plans.”

      Lutrova had no reply for that, and Bolan knew he’d struck a nerve. The soldier had never really bought the idea that Customs catching someone like Lutrova red-handed was merely a stroke of good fortune and nothing else. He’d suspected from the beginning the RBN had concocted this entire charade to throw them off the track, and Bolan’s plan to insert himself into the organization as a freelancer searching for employment was little more than a way to capitalize on their deception. The fact that he’d more or less blundered into the situation didn’t matter—Bolan would use every advantage to get at the heart of the organization.

      He had contacted Stony Man, and Brognola promised to put Kurtzman and Price to work on identifying this Yuri Godunov. It surprised Bolan that he hadn’t heard of the guy when Lutrova first mentioned his name, and part of him wondered if he even existed; it seemed possible, however unlikely, that Lutrova was just lying to them to stall for time. Bolan didn’t think so. Lutrova was bright, sure, but he didn’t come close to being a criminal mastermind and this Yuri Godunov sounded like the type who would never hire an underling smarter than him, anyway.

      As if on cue, Bolan’s cell phone buzzed inside his jacket pocket. He answered midway through the second ring. “Go, Bear.”

      “We’ve got some updated info on your boy Godunov, Striker,” Kurtzman replied. “You’re not going to like it.”

      “That’s usually a given,” Bolan said with a frown. “Talk to me.”

      “Yuri Godunov’s been long suspected of ties to the Russian Business Network, but nobody’s ever been able to pin anything on him. In fact, he went as far as getting permission to operate business concerns within the United States quite some years ago, and is protected just one level beneath diplomatic immunity.”

      “Meaning?”

      “Meaning that he enjoys some sort of special consideration because his business concerns—which, by the way, are nothing more than probably shell and paper companies—are directly involved in dealings with Russian heads of state.”

      “In other words, there’s a profit to be made by one or more of our politicians in Wonderland.”

      “Right.”

      “What else do we know?”

      “Well, Godunov’s never made his presence in the country a secret,” Kurtzman replied. “He owns an estate in the West Hamptons and he regularly makes business trips to New York City. I’m sending the actual GPS coordinates to your phone as we speak. I also hacked into his computer network at his office. Can you believe this guy actually rents space at the Chase One Plaza in Manhattan?”

      “I believe it.”

      “According to his records, he’s in town all week on business. One entry we found was very cryptic at best, and we think it’s probably the meeting he had scheduled with Lutrova.”

      “That would make sense,” Bolan said. “He’d be expecting that situation long resolved by now. What about the hit team in Boston?”

      “None of them were Americans, and three of the four were here illegally. We think they’re part of a freelance team of mercenaries, but I can’t pin down which one.”

      “So we’re not much further than we were before,” Bolan replied.

      “Sorry, Striker. I wish I had more solid info for you, since I know going cold into a situation is tough, but there’s just not much there. If this Yuri Godunov is as crooked as the folks in the CIA’s counterintelligence unit say he is, well, you can bet he’s gone to good effort to cover his tracks and hide any goings-on that would even hint at impropriety.”

      “Understood. Looks like I’ll have to work this one by ear.”

      “If I get anything else, I’ll contact you.”

      “Just hold on to the info and wait for me to reconnect,” Bolan said. “I don’t know what I’m up against yet and I wouldn’t want to put your end in jeopardy.”

      “So don’t call you, you’ll call us?” Kurtzman replied with a chuckle.

      “Just like that.”

      “Okay. Be careful, Striker.”

      “Out here.”

      Bolan disconnected the call and spared a glance at Lutrova. The young hacker returned the look but didn’t say anything. “Seems like your pal