didn’t come off as particularly special. He didn’t seem all that bright, either, but Bolan knew appearances weren’t trustworthy. Lutrova’s long, blond hair hung in unkempt and dirty strands. Brown eyes, deeply set and lined with circles, peered with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity at Bolan’s imposing form entering the room.
Bolan met the look with frosty indifference as he stood opposite Lutrova, who was seated at a gray metal table in one of the U.S. Customs holding rooms.
“Who are you?” Lutrova asked in a heavy Georgian accent.
“Shut your yap,” Bolan said, jabbing a finger at him for emphasis. “Four of your friends out there just attempted to kill me.”
Lutrova scoffed mockingly. “What friends? I have no—”
The Executioner reached across the table and one-armed Lutrova out of the chair. He dragged the Russian computer hacker across the table and pushed his head down so that the edge buried itself in a painful nerve just under Lutrova’s chin. The man squealed something in Russian, but Bolan doubted the outrage would have been intelligible even in English.
“Let’s start again,” Bolan said with a steady increase of downward pressure. “We’re not going to play games right now because I’m not in the mood for them. You’re also not going to play the victim, since we both know better than that. You know where I’m coming from now?”
The man made some additional sounds the Executioner couldn’t understand, but the furious movement of Lutrova’s head made it apparent he understood the new terms of their relationship. Bolan nodded in satisfaction and released his hold, propelling Lutrova into his chair with a shove. The door opened and Hampton entered—followed by a short, swarthy man Bolan recognized as the guy that had earlier attempted to cuff him—in time to see Lutrova’s scrawny form land hard in the seat.
“I see you’re getting along,” Hampton said with a smirk.
“I was just explaining the rules to Mr. Lutrova,” Bolan said.
Hampton nodded, gestured for the other agent to close the door behind them, and then sat on the edge of the table to one side of Lutrova, dropping a thick manila folder in front of him. It hit with enough force that Lutrova jumped in spite of himself. A red divot had formed on his chin, a lasting reminder of Bolan’s “explanation.”
“You’re in deep shit, Lutrova,” Hampton said. “You know what’s in that folder? It’s a list of names, the names of the hit team sent to kill you and anybody else who got in their way. It seems your friends in the Russian Business Network don’t like you too well.”
Lutrova didn’t say anything at first, but a slight movement of Bolan in his direction made him quickly change his tune and throw up his hands. “Wait! Wait! Don’t touch me. I’ll tell you what I know. But you must protect me.”
“No way,” Hampton said. “Your associates out there just tried to kill a bunch of my people. And the fact that they’re foreigners here on American soil, attacking American federal buildings, makes that an act of terrorism. Which means you’re not entitled to any protection.”
Lutrova looked at Bolan, who was staring at him, his arms folded. When he looked back at Hampton, who raised his eyebrows to indicate he was serious, Lutrova’s defiant expression transformed into defeat. They had him dead to rights and he knew it; worse yet, Lutrova knew he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. And that’s exactly where the Executioner wanted him.
“You can see, Lutrova, you don’t have many options,” Bolan said. “You can take a risk with us, spill everything—”
“And we mean everything,” Hampton interjected.
Bolan continued without missing a beat, “Or you can take your chances with your friends in the RBN. But you should know, if you don’t already, that whoever you’re working for has the means and connections to make you dead very quickly.”
“We put you in protective custody, you might have a chance,” Hampton said, taking Bolan’s lead. “But you’re definitely a dead man if you go inside the system.”
“And what do you wish in return?” Lutrova asked.
“Everything,” Bolan replied.
“Which is?”
“All information you have about your comrades in the Russian Business Network, including why you entered the country illegally and why they want to kill you.”
“I keep telling you, I don’t know—”
“Don’t play games, Lutrova,” Bolan said, putting an implicit edge in his voice. “You’ve already spilled the fact you’re in bed with the RBN, and I know all of your qualifications.”
Lutrova sneered. “Like?”
“You were formally trained at the Moscow Power Engineering Institute, top of your class. After that, you dropped off the face of the earth for ten years. For the past three years, the RBN cybercrime network activities have increased a hundredfold or more. And then you suddenly show up here and now.”
Hampton folded his arms. “So once more, what’re you doing here?”
Lutrova took a deep breath and a hint of resignation appeared in his expression. “I was sent here by Yuri Godunov. You know this man?”
Bolan scanned his mental files but couldn’t recall the name.
“What about Godunov?” he prompted.
“He is perhaps one of the greatest leaders we have ever known. He is connected to people in nearly every country, and extremely elusive. There is nothing you can do to stop him now.”
“What’s the angle?” Hampton asked.
“What do you mean by this angle you speak of?” Lutrova asked in turn.
Bolan put both palms on the table. “He means what’s Godunov’s plan?”
“Mr. Godunov does not reveal his plans to me. I only know that he sent me to break into the New York banking sector. I was ordered to fly in through Boston, and once here I was to then take a rental car to New York. I was to meet him there. But now that you have taken me, I am a liability to him. He will come after me and kill me, and there is nothing you can do to stop him.”
Bolan couldn’t be sure they were getting the truth. He’d have to run Yuri Godunov’s name through Stony Man Farm’s data banks to get more intelligence. If anyone could come up with something on Godunov, it would be Aaron Kurtzman and his team. Meanwhile, he would be forced to sit on Lutrova—keep the Russian computer hacker on ice—while he waited to find a way inside Godunov’s organization.
“Let’s take a break,” Bolan suggested to Hampton.
When they were outside the interrogation room, he stated, “I don’t like it.”
“You think he’s lying.”
“On the contrary. I think he’s completely legit. Lutrova might be a cybercriminal, but I know the type. He’s scared and with good reason, and he’s looking to make a deal.”
Hampton
