Hard Passage. Don Pendleton

in a small coffee shop on the outskirts of St. Petersburg, the massive clock on a nearby church had nearly struck 10:00 p.m. and another three inches of snow had fallen. Bolan shook the snow from his overcoat as he came through the door. He nodded at the barista, ordered a coffee in Russian and then moved over to Carron’s table.

      “Mind if I sit down?” Bolan asked quietly.

      Carron’s eyes focused on Bolan’s with surprise, then the company guy gestured to a seat in front of him. Bolan sat but the two men said nothing until the barista arrived with a carafe of hot coffee and then departed. Wisps of steam danced off the coffee as Bolan poured a cup for himself and then refilled Carron’s. The Company man looked bothered, his face gaunt and drawn, and Bolan had been in the business long enough to know what was eating at him.

      “It wasn’t your fault,” Bolan said. “Balford, I mean.”

      Carron looked Bolan in the eyes, something few men seemed able to do without looking away just as quickly. While the CIA agent didn’t say anything, Bolan could tell Carron was sizing him up. Many other men had looked into those same twin points of ice blue and shrunk under the stare. Carron seemed to take little more than a passing interest, obviously trying to decide whether he could trust Bolan.

      “How did you find me?” When Bolan frowned, Carron waved it away and added quickly, “Never mind. Dumb question.” He took a sip of coffee and said, “You’re not Company.”

      It wasn’t a question and Bolan shook his head. He extended his hand and said, “Name’s Cooper. Or Matt, if you prefer.”

      “NSA?”

      “Let’s just say I’m not on any page in the book,” Bolan said with a wan smile.

      “The other shooter at the hotel. You?”

      Bolan nodded. “Sorry I didn’t stick around, but I had to beat feet for the same reasons you did.”

      “I’d like to know who sent you,” Carron said matter-of-factly. “And why.”

      “And I’ll be happy to tell you,” Bolan said. “But first I have a question for you. What do you think may have happened Rostov and Cherenko?”

      Carron shrugged and let out a sigh. “I figure they made someone who was onto them, maybe they had a tail. They would have known it was too risky to make the rendezvous or lead their friends from the SMJ to the hotel. Probably took them on a wild-goose chase. Either that or the SMJ caught up to them before they could meet us, tortured them for the time and place, then sent some boys to take care of me and George.”

      “What about the car? You didn’t try to follow it?”

      “What car?”

      “The one that deposited the four hardcases outside the front door.”

      Carron shook his head and frowned. “There wasn’t any car there. I used the front for my own exit, and only thing I saw was a corpse. Figured that was your handiwork, too.”

      “No dice,” Bolan replied.

      The Executioner felt a knot settle in his stomach. Somebody had obviously ambushed the driver, left his carcass on the sidewalk and taken the car. All of that had probably happened during Bolan’s trip to the first floor and the subsequent gun battle. He hadn’t even thought about that; he figured the driver would either get spooked after a certain amount of time elapsed and split, or the cops would pen him in and nab him when they arrived.

      “The fact someone smoked the driver and got away means they were waiting for them,” Bolan finally said. “Either that or they saw an opportunity and decided to exploit it.”

      “Yeah,” Carron replied. “And I don’t think it takes a genius to figure out who did it.”

      “I sat watch on that street for more than an hour,” Bolan said. “And I never saw Rostov or Cherenko. Never saw anybody.”

      “Not your fault. The weather was shit and you couldn’t have figured the SMJ would try making a play with me and Balford covering all bets. Besides, you weren’t there as the primary.”

      Bolan reacted to that.

      The CIA man smiled. “Don’t look so surprised. The Company has some sources, too.”

      “So you knew they sent me?”

      “Well, not you specifically, but I figured they’d send someone,” Carron replied. “Let’s face it. It would’ve been stupid for the upper echelon in Wonderland to put all of their eggs in one basket. I think that’s what got me incensed more than anything. They put out George and me as sacrificial lambs, almost like they were expecting us to blow it. Okay, I’m thick-skinned and I can take it, but George was barely out of college. Just a kid, Cooper.”

      Carron lit a cigarette and poured them more coffee, then said, “I get it, though. And I understand them sending you as backup. The information Rostov and Cherenko have is obviously too important to trust without some type of failsafe operation in place. For what it’s worth, pal, I’m still glad you were there to cover my six.”

      “Fact of the matter is, we both lost this one,” Bolan said.

      “Maybe just the battle,” Carron replied with a wink. “War’s not over yet. Just what do these two know that’s so important? Any idea?”

      Bolan weighed his one of two possible responses. He liked Carron, genuinely trusted him, but he couldn’t be sure how much he should let on he knew. Of course, Carron would have had a general idea anyway, although maybe not privy to all the details Stony Man had given Bolan. Still, the Executioner would need all the allies he could get if he were to find Rostov and Cherenko and get them out of the country. Carron had all of their documents, and he also knew the Russian sector pretty well if the information contained in his dossier was any indication. Besides, he’d lost his partner to this mission already and Bolan doubted he’d be able to keep that guy at any distance. Bolan had succeeded on missions like this partly because he knew when it was appropriate to take a lone-wolf stance versus when to accept an offer of help.

      “I can give you a lot more details,” Bolan said. “But before I do, you should know I expect we’ll be working together from this point forward. And since we’re now in backup plan mode, and I’m the backup, I call the shots. You read me?”

      “I read you,” Carron said, leaning forward on his elbows. “We follow your lead.”

      “So we agree. Now, Rostov and Cherenko’s introduction to our people came by way of a woman named Kisa Naryshkin. Apparently she’s Rostov’s girlfriend or fiancée, something like that.”

      “You’re thinking we should reach out to her.”

      Bolan shrugged. “That’s a possibility if we don’t turn up any solid leads on Rostov and Cherenko, but I worry about compromising her cover. In fact, what happened at the hotel may indicate she’s already been compromised.”

      “So how do you propose we find them?”

      “I’d say it’s a pretty safe bet they’re our mysterious carjackers,” Bolan replied. He gestured at the window and continued, “We can also assume they won’t get far in this weather.”

      “Agreed.” Carron took a last, deep drag from his cigarette, then stubbed it in the ashtray. “Where do you want to start looking?”

      “Well, this is your neighborhood,” Bolan said. “If you were a pair of ex-militant youths in a stolen vehicle, where would you hide?”

      Carron scratched his chin and stared at the ceiling in thought for a time. Finally he replied, “It’s not where they’re hiding that’s important. That could be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. I’d suggest we find the ones who are after them. And for that, I know exactly where to look.”

      CHAPTER TWO

      A cool morning wind gusted across the veranda of Anatoly Satyev’s