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 retreat home in a private community outside Reno. Satyev’s mansion was one of several secreted within the Sierra Vista on more than seven hundred acres sprawled around a central golf course and private resort. Only the richest and most influential people lived there.
Once a high-ranking military power broker inside the Soviet Union before its dissolution, the tide of change had forced Satyev to flee his country. He’d barely escaped with his life, and it had taken a number of years to secure his holdings and move his liquid assets safely out of the now-defunct commerce system. The cash from his investments had proved more than adequate to satiate his eclectic if not rather lavish tastes and within a few years he’d establish a sound reputation within the American business community.
With his personal and professional reputation now reestablished in a new land, Satyev set upon a course for reinstating the Communist Party in his homeland while profiting from the socialist fanaticism of those who considered themselves pure revolutionaries.
This morning, though, Satyev had awakened to a new sensation, one he’d not experienced for more than a decade: dread. And he was going to make sure that the man who arrived soon heard about it. That man was Jurg Kovlun, a former Spetsnaz commando and head of Satyev’s personal security force during his tenure with the Party. Kovlun showed up shortly after Satyev finished his breakfast in front of an open-pit fire that his servants had lit to keep off the morning chill.
“Good morning, sir,” Kovlun said.
Satyev waved him into a seat across from him at the table. He reached into the pocket of his robe and opened a silver case. “Cigarette?”
Kovlun nodded and gingerly removed one. Satyev took one for himself, which he affixed to a long cigarette holder, gestured for a light, and then once they were both comfortable and smoking he dismissed the house servant who had attended them.
“I’m not happy, Jurg,” Satyev said. “What is going on with this operation?”
“I’m sorry, Comrade Colonel, but I’m afraid I do not understand.”
Satyev pulled the long stem of the holder from his mouth, exhaling slowly through his nose as he repeated “You don’t understand” several times. “I see. Well, let me ask it another way. Why the fuck are two members of the Sevooborot running around the Mother Country shooting off their mouths about our agreement with the Jemaah al-Islamiyah? Hmm? And more importantly, why the fuck are they breathing? Hmm? Can you explain that, Comrade?”
“Ah, yes I have just recently heard of this.”
“Why have you just recently heard of it?” Satyev demanded.
“Well, I—”
“Never mind,” Satyev cut in, raising a hand. “I’m sure I don’t want to know why your men aren’t keeping you properly informed. That is not my problem to work out. Rather, it is yours. And you will work it out, Jurg, or I’m going to become very angry with you, and I’m sure you do not want that.”
“No, sir,” Kovlun replied quickly and he took a few short, successive puffs from his cigarette.
“Take care of this, and I mean soon. Otherwise, I’ll have to find someone else to handle this little problem. Understood?”
A few quicker, more nervous puffs. “Perfectly.”
“Fine. Now, tell me about the rest of the operation and how it’s proceeding.”
“We’ve secured the weapons we were promised, and the training is almost complete. I expect the first operation to begin tomorrow night.”
“Where will it begin?”
“It starts in Seattle. By the timeline you’ve given us, we’ll then move operations slowly down the West Coast until we reach Los Angeles. Then we will begin to expand toward the east. We expect everything to be completed within the year, just as you originally planned it.”
“Good, good,” Satyev said with a nod. “I cannot be any more satisfied with this news. What of our personnel issues?”
“We’re still having a bit of trouble getting some of the JI’s men into the country. None of our personnel have had a problem, but with the crackdowns it’s more difficult to get Muslim males through customs without them being subjected to some scrutiny.”
“Maybe I can do something about that,” Satyev replied. “Maybe we need to change the cover stories. Perhaps we can convince the American government they are mostly students, refugees of the recent violence against foreign immigration into Russia.”
“That
