Bolan said, sampling the coffee. “But we’d probably be landing in Kiev instead.”
Grimaldi snorted and readjusted his pillow. “The jokers flying this thing shoulda stuck to piper cups. They must’ve hit every bit of air turbulence over the damn Atlantic.”
“Can I get you anything, sir?” the flight attendant asked. “Something to settle your stomach, perhaps?”
“Hey, babe,” Grimaldi said, giving her the eye. “I left my stomach back over Hamburg, but I wouldn’t mind taking you out for a drink when we land.”
The flight attendant’s cheeks reddened as she flashed a nervous smile and walked away.
“Aww, whatever,” Grimaldi said, fluffing his pillow again. He resumed his recumbent position.
Good old Jack, Bolan thought as he drank more of the bitter coffee. Able to fly anything with wings or rotors and completely adept at being internationally disconcerting.
Moscow, Russia
THE MAN LOOKED lean but extremely powerful as he stood in the center of the large apartment. The building had once housed a factory but was converted to residential dwellings after the fall of the Soviet Union, when people began moving back into this section of the city. This particular dwelling could easily house two or three families. It was certainly much larger and more sumptuous than his own home. But then again, Stieglitz had no need of the extensive gymnasium equipment this one held.
He stood patiently as Boris Rovalev, also known in certain secret government corners as the Black Wolf, continued his assault of punches and kicks against a large, suspended canvas bag. The bag was the type boxers used but much longer. Its tail end hung only a few inches above the floor. Rovalev was shirtless and his body glistened with sweat. The hair on his back and shoulders made his nickname seem more appropriate, as did his lupine facial features—long nose, brownish-yellow eyes, swept-back dark hair and a thick but well-trimmed beard.
The bag continued to dance and jerk with each series of blows.
Stieglitz was in awe of the man’s speed and power and silently wondered how he would fare if pitted against Mikhal. But whereas the giant’s body was literally covered with tattoos the Black Wolf’s skin was devoid of any such illustrations, a result of his having been selected for intelligence work by the FSB fifteen years ago. Rovalev had barely been out of high school when he was one of the finalists for the Russian Olympic boxing team. A sharp-eyed government agent realized the young man’s talents could be put to better use after Rovalev methodically beat an older, more experienced opponent to the canvas after the man had floored him with a supposedly unintentional foul.
The Black Wolf delivered a series of punches to the heavy bag, stepped back and executed a spinning kick. As his foot smacked against the canvas the bag jerked from the power behind the blow.
Rovalev might just be able to beat the giant, Stieglitz thought, although it had undoubtedly been Mikhal who had decimated the three Chechens at Krasnoyarsk.
Stieglitz looked at his watch. Rovalev had insisted on completing his workout before discussing his assignment. Had his lack of deference been a deliberate sign of disrespect? Stieglitz wondered as he watched the Black Wolf deliver several more blows to the bag before stopping to strip off his gloves.
Finally, thought Stieglitz, but Rovalev was not yet ready to begin. Instead he ran past Stieglitz toward a pair of thick ropes that were suspended from the high ceiling next to a winding staircase. The Black Wolf grabbed the rope and went hand-over-hand up to the top, his legs held at a ninety-degree angle from his body. When he got to the top he paused and then did a quick descent. Again, Stieglitz glanced at his watch, more obviously this time. Didn’t this low-level government FSB agent know to whom Stieglitz reported?
He cleared his throat as Rovalev dropped to the floor, his feet bare and covered with thick calluses. They looked like they could split a brick wall with ease.
“We have much to discuss,” Stieglitz said. “And I am a bit pressed for time.”
Rovalev stared back at him, silent and motionless.
Stieglitz suddenly felt an unsettling twinge in his gut and wished he’d brought his security detail with him, but that was impossible. His orders were clear: the secrecy of the plan was imperative. It was indeed like looking into the eyes of a feral wolf.
Finally, Rovalev broke their locked gaze as he turned and reached for a nearby towel. He wiped his face and upper torso.
“So what are your instructions?” Rovalev asked.
Stieglitz let out a slow breath and frowned.
The other man tossed the moist towel to the floor and it landed on top of Stieglitz’s shoes.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked. “To whom I report? I could have you severely punished for your disrespect.”
Rovalev smiled, his white teeth glinting in his swarthy face.
“And who would you send to do that?” he asked.
Stieglitz maintained his stare for several seconds before answering. If he didn’t need this insolent bastard for the completion of the plan... It was clear he needed to pull out the big gun. He removed his mobile phone and punched in the special number.
The Black Wolf stared at him with a smile on his face.
The phone rang three times before the voice answered, “Yes?”
“I am sorry to disturb you, sir,” Stieglitz said. His voice cracked as he spoke, and he tried to muster enough spittle to swallow. “I am having a bit of difficulty with Rovalev.”
“Oh? What type of problem?”
Stieglitz glanced back at the yellowish-brown eyes staring at him with amusement.
“He does not seem to grasp the importance of this assignment,” Stieglitz said.
“Give the phone to him.”
Stieglitz handed the phone to Rovalev. “He wishes to speak to you.”
The Black Wolf smirked as he accepted it and put it to his ear. “And who is this?”
Seconds later his jaw sagged slightly and his face paled. “Yes, sir.” He seemed to become more erect, almost as if he were standing at attention. “Yes, sir, I understand completely... I am sorry for any misunderstanding, sir... I assure you, it will not happen again... Yes, sir, I shall do that... Thank you, sir. I look forward to serving with the utmost enthusiasm.” He nodded, as if this would be visible through the mobile phone connection, mumbled another apology and assurance, then blinked as he handed the phone back to Stieglitz.
Stieglitz placed it next to his ear.
“It has been taken care of,” the voice said. “Is there anything else?”
“No,” Stieglitz said. “Thank you, sir.”
The connection was terminated. Stieglitz replaced the mobile in its case and looked at the Black Wolf, raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He waited for the other man to speak. When he did, it was the apology Stieglitz was expecting.
Stieglitz
