her face wouldn’t be a good start to their relationship. Then again, he couldn’t be entirely sure where her loyalties lay—she did hang out with one of the worst criminal elements in the city, after all, and he doubted she behaved like an angel while in their company.
Bolan made his move as soon as Vdovin’s feet touched the ground. He stepped from the shadows as she walked past him and drew up on her left flank. He wrapped a hand tightly around her elbow and steered her onto the sidewalk. Her eyes grew big and she started to open her mouth to scream when Bolan clamped his left hand over it.
“Quiet,” he commanded. “I’m not going to hurt you. I need your help.”
She tried to kick at him with her spiked heels, but Bolan moved out of the line of attack. He swung her body into the wall, not hard enough to hurt her but with adequate force to get the message across he wasn’t fooling around. Hand still over her mouth, Bolan leaned close.
“I already said I wasn’t going to hurt you, so there’s no more reason to fight me.”
Tears glistened as they pooled in her lower eyelids. Bolan felt her body shudder against his own and realized she wasn’t wearing a jacket. He slowly let his hand off her mouth, released his hold and quickly shrugged out of his coat. He held it out and she stepped off the wall to allow him enough room to drape it around her shoulders. He still wore the sport jacket beneath the overcoat so the Beretta remained concealed in shoulder leather.
“Come on,” he said more quietly. “Let’s go someplace we can talk.”
THE SOMEPLACE TURNED OUT to be a cozy bistro-style restaurant a mile from the club.
The waiter took their orders for coffee, bread and a soup appetizer. Vdovin had kept the overcoat draped across her shoulders when they entered the place so as not to call much attention to the skimpy blouse and short skirt she wore beneath it. She looked older than her twenty years, so her appearance on Bolan’s arm didn’t seem out of place with the other patrons, most of whom looked to be from high society. The place was also crowded, which surprised Bolan until Vdovin explained, according to the waiter, that a late opera had just ended.
“Your English is good,” Bolan said. “With barely any trace of an accent.”
Vdovin smiled briefly. “I was born in Russia but spent a number of years in Australia.”
“That explains the strange inflections.”
“My parents were not popular people. I was too young to remember, but they were forced from the country during the revolution. I only returned a few years ago.”
“And got in with the best crowd right off,” Bolan quipped.
“You’ve no right to judge me for that,” she countered.
“You’re right. Sorry. But I’m sure you know by now I’m not out to hurt you. All I want to know is where I can find Rostov and Cherenko.”
She snorted. “Of course. You and half of the people I know in the Sevooborot. But I don’t know where they are. And even if I did, I would not betray my friends.”
“I thought Rostov and Cherenko were your friends.”
Vdovin signaled for the cigarette girl who came over and extended a tray arrayed with a variety of smokes. Vdovin selected one, waited for the cigarette to be lit and then looked expectantly at Bolan. The Executioner shook his head at the cigarette girl as he handed her a generous tip and she sashayed from the table. Bolan looked around them but nobody seemed to notice them.
“You were saying?” he prompted.
“I have nothing to do with Leo and Sergei, either for or against. I only knew them for a short time, and I broke all contact with them once I had learned they betrayed the Sevooborot. My only connection with them is my friendship with Kisa.”
“Kisa…Kisa Naryshkin?”
Vdovin seemed to let her guard down some. “You know Kisa?”
“Not personally,” Bolan said with a shake of his head. “But I know she’s Rostov’s girlfriend, and I know she could be in serious danger from people inside the SMJ.”
“She is in no danger from the Sevooborot.”
“Want to bet?” Bolan countered. “I think there’s something you don’t understand here. Those people you like to hang out with aren’t in this just for the sake of Mother Russia. Don’t get that in your head for a second. They’re driven by two things, power and money, and they’re willing to steal or kill or whatever else they have to do to accomplish their ends.”
“I do not believe you,” she said. “I know these people. They are my friends.”
“Time to find some new friends, Sonya.” Bolan leaned over the table and lowered his voice. “You act like this is some kind of country club you belong to. I have intelligence that these supposed friends of yours are in bed with members of the Jemaah al-Islamiyah. Are you familiar with that group?”
Vdovin shook her head.
“Well, let me give you a clue. The JI is one of the most influential terrorist organizations in Southeast Asia. They’re responsible for the murder of thousands of innocent people.”
Vdovin took a long drag off her cigarette, sat back and folded one arm across her body defensively, holding the cigarette high in her opposing hand. “I do not believe you.”
“Whether you believe me or not isn’t important,” Bolan said. “And it doesn’t change the fact the JI is active in places like Afghanistan, the Philippines and Indonesia, to make no mention of the campaigns they sponsor in a half dozen other countries.”
“My friends fight against those people. They stop them from coming into our country and stealing jobs and murdering our people.”
Bolan’s smile was frosty, at best. “I think you’re confused, Sonya. The SMJ has made some kind of deal with the JI. Now I don’t know what it’s for, but Rostov and Cherenko know. That’s why your friends in the SMJ want them dead.”
“Leo betrayed the code of silence,” Vdovin insisted. “Anything that was done to him or is done to him is because of that. And in the course of betraying the Sevooborot, he brought down Sergei, as well.”
“I’m not part of these people. Why did they try to kill me?”
“Because you came to kill them.”
Bolan shook his head. “No dice. We came looking for you, not them. The man you were with tonight. Who was he?”
“I have told you before, I will not betray my friends.”
“What about Kisa?” Bolan said. “You said she was your friend.”
“And so she is.”
“Who do you think arranged to get Rostov and Cherenko out of the country?” Bolan replied. “You don’t think your precious revolutionaries won’t try to kill her once they find out?”
“They will probably do nothing,” she said. “She is not even part of the Sevooborot.”
