could he?” Kurtzman asked. “We don’t exist.”
“Exactly,” Brognola agreed. “The President hinted the military would look into the matter and told the director it would be dealt with. I guess the director would have been relieved to have it taken off his hands. He’s going to have enough explaining to do over the Agency leak.”
“So we pick up the slack again,” Price commented.
“It’s what we do best,” Brognola said. “The director handed over all the intel his agent had gathered. His real name, by the way, was Carl Marchesse. Thirty-four years old. Native New Yorker. Joined the Agency when he was twenty-two and worked his way up through the ranks. Seems he showed a flair for undercover work early on. Worked a number of assignments that gained him a lot of brownie points. Five years ago he was recruited into a special ops section, specializing in the really down and dirty covert operations. He did well. When the Iranian operation was set up around five months ago, Marchesse was the man the director chose. He disappeared for a couple of months and when he resurfaced he was Harry Vincent. According to the director, he infiltrated the group suspected of providing the Iranians with weapons and data on nuclear weapons. The group’s headed by a Russian named Anatoly Nevski.”
“If a double agent in the CIA ordered his murder,” Bolan said, “all that intel is most likely in his hands, as well.”
“Unfortunately that’s probably true. Aaron, second file, please.”
“The gaunt-looking guy is Dr. Gregori Malinski, a Russian nuclear physicist. After the Soviet Union collapsed he was more or less out of a job. He moved around and started to sell his knowledge on the open market to whoever would pay. Marchesse’s intel told us the Iranians had him working big-time on their nuke development. But he dropped out of sight some days ago. Nevski had brokered Malinski’s contract with Razihra and his military backers. From what Marchesse managed to pick up the Iranians are less than pleased about Gregori’s jumping ship. It could be he left them at a critical stage in the development. If the Iranians had people clever enough to develop their own nuclear weapons they wouldn’t have needed to buy Malinski.”
“This is an old photo,” Kurtzman said. “The girl is Malinski’s estranged daughter, Sashia. She’s management in an international travel agency. Hops around all over the place. Right now she’s based in Paris. It might be that Malinski got in touch. It’s a long shot, but it could happen. It would be helpful for us if he did. But not so much for Razihra.”
“And this is because…?” Bolan asked.
“Malinski knows the location of the Iranian base where the nuclear development is taking place,” Brognola said. “Also, he’s just one of the equations in the picture.”
“I get the feeling you’re about to tell me what I’m about to let myself in for.”
“That’s my guy.”
Kurtzman brought up more pictures. “This next batch show the members of the Russian syndicate Marchesse infiltrated. I mentioned Anatoly Nevski. He’s the lean guy with the blond crew cut. He might look like a California basketball player but don’t be fooled by his good looks. He’s the top man. Not exactly Russian mafiya, but no Mother Theresa, either. It isn’t difficult to categorize him,” Kurtzman said. He pushed at a thick file across the table for Bolan to scan. “Courtesy of your buddy Commander Valentine Seminov, Moscow OCD. His attached note says he would be most appreciative if you could ‘take the piece of scum down.’ Do that and he will forever be in your debt. Nevski is no more than a connected street thug. Background is pure Moscow underworld. Worked his way through the ranks. From street hustler, pimp, pusher to present-day global arms dealer.
“When the Soviet regime collapsed, Nevski was in the front of local crime. Anything is fair game for the man. Stolen cars. Drugs. He was, and still is, one of Russia’s promoters of the white-slave trade, snatching young women off the streets to put them into prostitution and porn. He trades them across Europe, the Middle East and here in the States.”
“Sounds like a sweet guy,” Price said.
“Nevski has a unique business procedure,” Kurtzman went on. “If he takes a liking to your business, he makes a single, time-limited offer. If you say no he sends in his people and you get a bullet to the back of the head. Deal settled. No sentiment. No reasoning.”
Bolan was leafing through the file. “How did he segue into the arms business?”
“He saw the opportunities when the Soviet military machine started to fall apart. He nurtured contacts, wiped out a couple of smaller dealers and took their place. No hassle. He surrounded himself with plenty of muscle and firepower, and within twelve months he was one of the major players. He added industrial espionage and technical expertise to his catalog.”
“Which brings us back to the good Dr. Malinski,” Brognola said.
“Nevski looks for what the client wants, makes them a good offer because money is never a problem in this market,” Kurtzman said. “He sets up the whole package and delivers.”
“A nuclear physicist to jump-start your missile program,” Bolan added.
“Exactly.”
“But Malinski going AWOL has spoiled his customer satisfaction record.”
Kurtzman nodded. “Damn right. It isn’t going to make him popular with Ayatollah Razihra. Nevski will do anything to stay on Razihra’s good side. The word is Nevski is in very deep with the Ayatollah. This is more than just a one-off contract. Nevski is with Razihra for the long term. He’s realized the profit margin that staying with the guy will bring. So he’s in there pitching. Anything Razihra wants Razihra gets.”
“So he quickly gets rid of the CIA mole as soon as he’s been exposed,” Brognola said. “We were right it being a professional hit.”
Kurtzman tapped in another image. “The scowly guy is Nevski’s second in command. Lem Kirov, all round bad guy. Unstable and very violent. Next up is Claude Stratton. British. He’s a fixer, paymaster, dealer, for any number of dissident groups floating around Europe and the UK. He does a lot of transactions for ex–Saddam Hussein loyalists, like these three charmers—Ahmer Musak, Omar Jafir, Ibrahim Hassan. They appear to have access to some of the money Hussein stashed away. They’re using it to help Razihra and keep things hot in the region. They were all colonels in the Iraqi military. Now they’re being feted by militant Jordanians. They’re holed up in the desert at some training camp, along with some of Razihra’s hard-liners, led by Yamir Kerim. Marchesse knew that a consignment of weapons was shipped out to this camp. He never got the chance to find out what it was for.”
“Educated guess?” Bolan asked and answered the question himself. “Israel?”
“Borders Jordan. And we know Razihra is anti-Israel. It’s one of his main political rants,” Kurtzman said. “And why would weapons be delivered to Jordan if they were intended for Iran? Too far to risk transporting all that way. Could be part of Razihra’s aim. He doesn’t hide the fact he wants Israel destabilized. To be frank, his ideal would be Israel up in smoke.”
“If Razihra’s group has its way, it will boost its standing within the radicals across Iran,” Brognola said “It would strengthen their cause. A victory over the current administration isn’t what Iran needs. It could make for an isolationist condition that would back them up against the wall. It could happen if Razihra plays to fundamentalist emotions. The man
